The Good Luck Charm

by Helena Hunting

  I wrap an arm around her waist, pulling her tight up against me, and she comes willingly. Her moan is despondent, and her grip on my shoulders tightens as I deepen the kiss, my own fear channeling into this connection I’ve fought so hard to bring back and keep in my life.

  But I realize she’s right. In a way, I believe I can’t succeed without her. I also know that if I push, she might relent, but it will come with a price. I can’t risk her putting all the walls back up that I’ve torn down, one brick at a time. So I slow the kiss, loosen my grip, and release her, even though it makes my chest feel like it’s splitting open.

  “I should leave now?” I mean for it to be a statement, but it comes out a question instead.

  Lilah nods, fingers at her lips, eyes still full of tears. It goes against every inclination I have to show myself out. But I do. Because I love her enough to give her whatever time she thinks she needs.

  * * *

  I’ve been sleeping like shit post–Lilah break. Days creep by in reverse. Time drags and life tastes plastic without her. Last night I drank too many beers so I could crash, which means I’m sloppy on the ice during practice. I’m trying to get my head out of my ass and gain control of the puck, but I’m all over the place, missing stupid shots. In my frustration, I take a turn too fast and roll my ankle, slam into the boards, and land on my ass.

  “Shit. Fuck.” I lie there, staring up at the steel beams above me, hating life.

  Josh comes to a stop beside me, ice spraying out beside him. He holds out a hand. “You all right, man? You’re off today.”

  “Tell me about it.” I take the offered palm, testing my ankle as he pulls me up.

  “Kase. Hit the bench,” Coach calls out.

  “I’m fine.”

  “Bench, Kase. Now.” He points to the empty space beside him.

  Josh claps me on the back of the neck and knocks his helmet against mine. “You need to check your ankle out. We’re too close to the playoffs to lose one of our best players, yeah?”

  I nod and skate over to the bench, testing the ache. It’s the same ankle I rolled a while back. I’m suddenly terrified I’ve fucked it up and that I’ll be out for the rest of the season and everything will be screwed. I’ll lose my whole season. All because Lilah broke up with me. Because I suffocated her. Because I forced her to need space.

  I drop down on the bench, gritting my teeth against my frustration.

  “Let’s have a look at the ankle.”

  “It’s fine. I just rolled it.”

  He arches a brow. I don’t say anything else. Instead I unlace my skate and let the team doctor do his job. “Looks fine, but I’m going to suggest cold and heat therapy tonight, and no more ice time today.”

  “It’s really fine. I’m good to play.”

  Coach’s lips flatten into a line. “I’d rather have you warming the bench during practice than on game day, so enjoy a few minutes of downtime. It looks like you need it today.”

  Realistically, I haven’t done any damage to my ankle, but this feels like an omen. I fucked up with Lilah, and this is the start of the downslide. I’m agitated and anxious as I watch practice. I want to call Lilah, to tell her I was right, that I need her. I can’t do this without her, but if I do, I’m going to ruin any chance of getting her back, so instead I stew. Like I’ve been doing for the past week.

  “Kase, a word.” Coach motions me over as I’m leaving the locker room after practice.

  Josh pats me on the shoulder as he passes. “You want us to wait?”

  “Nah, I’ll catch up with you.” I expected this, the being pulled aside for a one-on-one after my performance on the ice today. At least it was just practice, but tomorrow night we have a crucial game. If we win, we start the playoffs against a team we’ve never lost to this season. But if we lose, we play a team we’ve struggled to beat. Obviously a win would put us in a far more favorable position.

  “Follow me.” Coach leads me down the hall to his office.

  I expect him to sit behind his desk, but he doesn’t. Instead he takes the club chair and points to the one across from him.

  “I promise I’ll rest tonight and I’ll have my head in the game tomorrow. And I know I was off a bit the last game, but it won’t happen again.” I only managed an assist and fumbled a potential goal. Thankfully, we still won the game.

  Coach raises a hand. “There’s a lot of pressure on the team to do well, and I’m aware you’re feeling that. You’ve had an excellent season, and I have no doubt you’re going to give us your best going into the playoffs, but you need to ease up on yourself out there. You don’t have to be perfect every play. It’s not a failure if you miss one shot or a pass. Or if you have one bad practice.”

  Of all the things I anticipated, a lighten-up speech certainly wasn’t it. “I just want to do my best.”

  “Your performance this season has made that very clear. I know there’s been a lot on the line for you career-wise, and bringing you home could’ve gone one of two ways. I also know trade talks are coming, and you’re going to have to make some tough decisions once the playoffs are over.”

  I drum my fingers on the arm of the chair. “I don’t want to ruin it all by messing up the playoffs.”

  “That’s not going to happen.”

  “Look how I performed today. What if that happens again? What if I choke?” Shit. I shouldn’t be voicing this to my coach. But it’s what happened every time I was traded to a new team, until I came back home. Until Lilah came back into my life.

  “Come on, Kase, you’re a commodity. You’re playing like they expected you to when you were first drafted. People are noticing, and I’m aware of how much pressure that puts on you to perform well all the time. Just remember, how you played during the season isn’t wiped out by one bad game or one bad practice, so don’t put yourself in a negative headspace before you’ve even started the first playoff game.”

  “I’ll do my best to go in with a positive frame of mind.” I don’t know how I’m going to manage that, though, unless Lilah miraculously decides she doesn’t want to be on this motherfucking break anymore. With my luck, she’ll probably decide she’s done for good, and then I’ll be fucked for the rest of my goddamn life. So far I’m sucking with the positive attitude shit.

  He taps on the arm of his chair. “How’s your father? He still doing okay?”

  “Oh yeah, much better. His stubbornness has been as much a pain in the ass as the reason he’s pretty much himself again.” Or as much himself as he’s ever going to be. Some things are harder than others and probably always will be now, and his speech has never fully recovered. A barely noticeable slur affects certain letters. His lack of censor can be tough to take at times, especially when he’s frustrated, but otherwise, he’s good.

  “Everything else is okay?”

  I look down at my bobbing foot, crossed over my leg at the ankle, and will it to stop shaking. “Everything’s fine.”

  He observes me for a moment. “Okay. You let me know if there’s anything you need—extra tickets for tomorrow night’s game, one-on-one with the trainer, physio, massage. We can make it all happen.”

  “Thanks, Coach.”

  I meet up with the rest of my team at the buffet close to the rink so I can carb-load. Going home hasn’t been all that exciting, not when there’s no one to go home to. That big, empty house feels even emptier without Lilah in it. I’ve woken up the past two nights on the couch in the living room, uninterested in sleeping in the massive king bed without her.

  In the morning I wake up to find a text from Lilah. It’s the first time she’s reached out since she asked for the break.

  Lilah: Check the front porch. I’d wish you good luck tonight, but you don’t need it.

  I roll off the couch and trudge to the front door. Thankfully, my ankle feels fine. I did what I was supposed to last night—soaked in the hot tub, iced it while I drank a beer, got a semidecent sleep. I almost expect to find Lilah standing there when I o
pen the door, but the message was sent two hours ago, and Lilah’s at work.

  A small box sits on the stoop, a notecard attached to it. I turn it over.

  It’s not quite what you’re used to, but know I’m rooting for you tonight.

  ~Lilah

  The box is full of Hot Lips. I smile and pop one in my mouth, despite the fact that sugar is not on the menu today. I snap a picture and send it to her along with a thank-you. Her response comes a few minutes later, while I’m brewing a fresh pot of coffee.

  Lilah: You’re going to be great.

  I want her to be there with me, so I put it out there, even though I can already predict the response.

  Ethan: I still have an extra ticket if you want it.

  The next message takes a while longer to arrive. The hope I tried not to give in to deflates like a balloon.

  Lilah: I have class tonight, but thank you. I’ll either catch the end at home or the closest pub on campus with all the twenty-one-year-old lushes. eyeroll.

  I’d prefer no twenty-one-year-olds get anywhere near Lilah, but there’s not much I can do about that. I don’t know how to navigate the new boundaries, so I let her lead.

  I get why she needs this time, even if I don’t like it. I know what we’re like when we’re together, because she consumes my world just as much as I seem to consume hers.

  I fire off a quick thank-you, tell her to have a good day, and pour myself a coffee, feeling lighter than I have since she asked for space. I need to stop by my parents’ place this morning to drop off the tickets for tonight’s game before I head to the arena for the pregame skate.

  My mom’s car isn’t in the driveway when I arrive, which I assume means she’s out buying groceries or something. I find my dad sitting on the screened-in porch with a travel mug of coffee in his hands.

  “Hey, where’s Mom?”

  “We ran out of cream. Coffee tastes like shit with milk unless it’s one of those expensive latte things.” He pats the arm of the chair beside him and inclines his head, an invitation to sit. “What brings you by?”

  I drop into the chair. “I have tickets for tonight’s game. Row two, center ice.”

  He lets out a low whistle. “Pays to have someone on the inside, doesn’t it? It’s going to be a good one.”

  “I hope so.” I tap on the arm of the chair, restless. I wish I had the same faith in myself as everyone else seems to. “I got benched during practice yesterday.” Okay, now I’m being a little overdramatic.

  He raises a brow. “What’d you do?”

  I chuckle. “I rolled my ankle.”

  He nods knowingly. “Pushing too hard, like you’ve got something to prove.”

  “I do have something to prove.”

  He gives me a wry smile. “I think you’ve already proven it, son. You’ll be fine. You know what you’re doing out there on the ice. Just keep your head in the game and stay focused on the goal.” He takes another sip of his coffee and grimaces. “Lilah stopped by this morning on her way to work.”

  I glance over at him, aware the segue is meant to throw me off.

  “Give her some time. This is hard on her in ways you can’t understand, Ethan.”

  “I don’t know what’s going on with us,” I admit.

  “She’s scared. This year has been full of struggle, for both of you, but mostly for Delilah. She ended a marriage that wasn’t right for her, and I had a stroke and we had no idea if I was going to be okay. Those two things alone would’ve been difficult for her.”

  “And then I came back into her life.”

  He nods. “You did, and without warning, at a time when she was vulnerable.”

  “I don’t know if that’s good or bad, considering how things are right now.”

  My dad smiles with a serenity I don’t share. “You two fought against what you have for a long time, and then when you finally figured it out, there was no separating you. Your mom and I worried about what that would be like with you being a year ahead and going away to college while she was still here.”

  “That first semester wasn’t easy.”

  His expression turns somber. “I remember.”

  “My marks were shit.”

  “Well, Delilah was the one who kept you focused on school, wasn’t she? She was always the level head between the two of you. You’d go off half-cocked with these ideas of what things were going to be like, and she’d be over there planning things out.”

  “She was a drill sergeant with the studying.” And the rewards for correct answers were a real incentive to do well, not that I’m going to mention that to my dad.

  He sets his coffee down and shifts a little so he’s facing me more than the view. “You two can be a good balance for each other. Delilah is grounded and logical, and you’re an idealist.” He raises a hand when I open my mouth. “Now, before you take that as an insult, hear me out. That idealism is exactly why you’re where you are in your career, so it’s not a bad thing. Delilah made safe, strategic choices, and you made the ones you felt were right, at least most of the time, when I wasn’t interfering.”

  “You were right, though, about us breaking up when I was drafted—whether you meant it or not. That was the right thing to do. I just should’ve found a better way to do it.” I look at the lake, watching the waves lap against the shore. In little more than a month it’ll be warm enough to swim. Eight more weeks and it’ll be perfect. I wonder if Lilah and I will be together by then, if this break will be enough time for her to figure out what she wants. I hope so. I hope I don’t fuck my career without her.

  “Maybe. But you were kids. You both need to let that go. I told her the same thing this morning. That we make decisions based on what we think is right at the time, and those consequences can follow us, but they don’t govern the path we’re on forever. It’s what we take from that experience and how we allow it to impact the choices we make as we move forward that mean the most.”

  “I’m worried I’ve screwed things up and pushed her away again.”

  “You two were never good at moderation. She’s trying to find a way to piece herself back together and fit you back in at the same time.”

  That makes sense. “The interview didn’t help. She said the pressure is too much.”

  “For her it is. Imagine if you’d been the one to lose her.”

  “I did lose her.”

  “But you had time to prepare for that loss. You had weeks, Ethan. We had those conversations where you’d idealized how things would go. You had your future all mapped out, but there were too many uncertain variables. Just like Delilah can’t handle the pressure now, she was less prepared to handle it then, but she would’ve tried for you.”

  He’s right. She would’ve followed me wherever I went, and if I’d failed, she would’ve owned it, internalized it. As much as I hate it, she was right to ask for space. I’ve dominated her life these past months, forced myself into every spare moment I could, and pushed down all the boundaries she tried to set for me, for herself. When I really think about it, I’ve kind of been an asshole.

  “She needs to be your equal, not a charm you stick in your pocket and carry around with you. She’s not the reason you’re playing the way you are, Ethan. You’ve always had the skills and the drive. You just needed the variables to line up.”

  “But Lilah’s a big part of that.”

  “She doesn’t have anything to do with your ability to play hockey. You’ve always been an excellent player. I remember the first year you played professionally. You were amazing to watch, all that anger channeled into the game. Professionally it was a great season for you, but emotionally, you struggled. And the further you got from the things that made you comfortable, the more your game suffered. You have all the things that make you comfortable right here.”

  “Not Lilah, though.”

  “She’s nervous about the trade talks. She’s afraid to lose herself again, especially when she’s finally on the path she set for herself.”

/>   “I want her to come with me this time if I get traded.”

  “Have you talked about that with her? Does she know that’s what you want? Is it what she wants?”

  “I haven’t brought it up because I don’t know what next year is going to look like.” I know exactly what I want, but I honestly don’t know if she’ll want the same, which is why I’ve avoided the conversation, and maybe that wasn’t a great idea.

  “Well, if it’s what you want, then you need to fight for that, son. For her. I think her biggest fear is that you want her for the wrong reasons. Her needing this time apart is as much about what she thinks you want as it is about her trying to put herself ahead of you. She was never good at that, just like your mother was never good at putting herself in front of me. They’re caretakers, sometimes to a fault. That’s something you’ll need to be mindful of in the future. It’ll be up to you to make sure you’re not always the first priority.”

  I consider this for a moment, the dynamics of my parents’ relationship, how my mother’s world has always revolved around my dad, and his around her. I see now what he’s talking about. For eight years Lilah learned to live without me, and I her. But since I’ve returned to Minnesota, I’ve made my world revolve around Lilah and hockey. What I failed to consider is the life she built without me in it. In trying to make her mine again, I’ve upset her balance and her life, pulling her away from the things she loves outside of me.

  “I’m not sure I know how to do that.”

  “You put aside your own needs. You do what you’re doing—you give her the space she’s asking for.”

  “That’s not easy.”

  He chuckles. “No, but you’ll do it because you love her and you want to keep her in your life, like she wants to keep you in hers. For as strong as she is, she’s afraid of being let down again.”

  “You’re really close to her, aren’t you?” I’m almost jealous of their relationship, because I’ve never been that close to my dad. This year has changed that to a certain extent. I’d always felt as if his disapproval over my career choice made it impossible to get close to him, that if I’d gone into medicine like he’d anticipated, we might’ve been closer. Or maybe not. Maybe this is just our time.