Puck Buddies

by Valente, Lili

  “Me, too,” she laughs. “All Stephanie and I talked about was you, but she’s patient with me, and it was a good chat. It gave me a flash of inspiration that might be the cure for the long-distance relationship blues.”

  “Perfect.” My heart lifts. “Can’t wait to hear it.”

  She nods toward the door. “Up for a walk?”

  “Totally. I’ve had my fill of the sport’s bar for the night.” I follow her out into the balmy evening. It rained early in the afternoon, but not long enough to cool things down. Even at seven o’clock, it’s still warm and humid, the smell of the river thick in the air. It’s a muddy, mineral and earthworm scent, but it brings back memories of all the summers I’ve spent in this city—from my first summer waiting for my rookie pre-season to start to this last bittersweet June spent circling back to my favorite haunts with Bree.

  We’ve hit all the best breweries, the shop with the dirty French fries we can’t get enough of, the farmers markets and the antique stores and the arcade over on Fifth Avenue with the 1980s games I had to teach Bree to play since she wasn’t lucky enough to grow up in a town with a pizza joint packed with arcade classics. Sharing Portland with her has made me love this wacky, wonderful city even more. I’m still excited for my fresh start in Kansas City and what it could mean for my career, but I’m also…melancholy.

  “Melancholy,” I repeat aloud as I thread my fingers through Bree’s. “There’s a word I never would have thought of before you and your books and poems came into my life.”

  “Stick with me, baby,” she says, swinging our joined hands. “I’ll teach you all the most depressing words.”

  “I’m not depressed, just a little…melancholy.” We turn the corner at the edge of Keller Fountain Park. In unspoken agreement, Bree and I both step off the sidewalk, wandering across the giant squares of concrete toward the multi-layered manmade waterfall. “I’m going to miss this city. And you. And knowing we’re never going to run out of places to eat or hidden city treasures to explore.”

  Bree stops at the edge of one of the wide concrete slabs, a few feet short of where the fountain water swirls through the wading area at the bottom of the falls. “This is why I had to ditch Stephanie and come find you ASAP,” she says, a nervous smile curving her lips. “I had an idea. It might be a crazy idea, but maybe it’s not. Maybe it’s a perfect idea. Just promise you’ll listen with an open mind, okay?”

  Intrigued, I nod and slip my hands into my jean pockets, the better to keep from fondling her ass while we’re having a serious conversation. “I’m listening.”

  Sucking in a breath, Bree props her hands on her hips. “Okay, so what if there were a way for you to stay? What if you asked Brendan to ask the Highrollers managers to consider a goalie swap? You in exchange for Tank.” Her eyes go wide and bright at the same moment that my brows pinch tight in confusion.

  I shake my head, but before I can begin to explain all the reasons that what she’s suggesting is impossible—from contracts to drafting rules to the fact that Tank and I aren’t anywhere close to being on the same pay scale—she rushes on.

  “Before you shoot me down, take a second to think about all the reasons this makes complete sense,” she says, pacing back and forth across the cooling concrete, the falls of the fountain a dramatic backdrop for her speech. “One, this isn’t Tank’s home, so he won’t be sad to leave it. Two, the Badgers would be so happy to have you back. They weren’t thrilled when you got drafted into the expansion team, and you know it. Three, the Highrollers will also be thrilled because they’ll be getting an even better goalie than they thought they were going to get.” She lifts her hands at her sides, fingers spread wide. “Everyone wins!”

  I cross my arms. “Where did you get the idea that Tank is a better goalie than I am?”

  “He’s your trainer, your teacher,” she says with a shrug. “Doesn’t that mean he’s better?”

  “It means he has skills I don’t have, but I have strengths he doesn’t,” I explain, doing my best not to let her assumption hurt my pride. “And I’ve got an impeccable record on and off the ice. Tank had a drug problem for a while that led to him tanking his career. That’s how he got his nickname.”

  Bree winces. “Ouch. How awful. That must be such a painful reminder of everything he lost. People can be so mean.”

  “Tank gave himself the name. He wants the reminder. Says he never wants to forget how much he lost chasing a stupid high.”

  “Wow,” she says, the shock on her face slowly transforming to respect. “That’s pretty hardcore.”

  “It is,” I agree, “and he’s an amazing player. But we aren’t the same person or the same goalie. We aren’t interchangeable, and even if we were, I could never ask Brendan to have a conversation like that for me. It would give us both a bad reputation, and on top of that, it wouldn’t work. That kind of thing just isn’t done.” I sigh, hating how crestfallen Bree looks as her big plan goes up in smoke.

  I step closer, curling my fingers gently around her arms, knowing this is it. My moment. I was planning to wait until this weekend and ask her over a romantic dinner the night before my going-away barbecue, but clearly, it’s time to put both of our minds at ease about our impending separation. “But don’t be sad. Because I have a brilliant idea, too.”

  She glances up at me through her lashes, looking doubtful. “Yeah?”

  Heart racing with anxiety and a sharp, aching kind of hope unlike anything I’ve felt before, even on the day I skated onto the ice for my first pro tryout, I say, “Come with me.”

  Bree’s eyebrows fly up. “What?”

  “Come with me,” I repeat, throat tightening as I read the surprise on her face. I’d assumed she must at least have rolled the possibility around in her head, but maybe I was wrong. “You can transfer to the University of Missouri at Kansas City. They have a psychology undergrad program, and admissions are still open for the fall semester. I checked.”

  Bree blinks faster. “But I love the program here. I mean, yes, some of my teachers are weird, but I love that, too. And I’ve actually got a decent GPA.”

  “Your grades will transfer.” A sour taste rises in my mouth as this conversation continues to go not at all as I’d hoped. “And you could concentrate on school without having to worry about working yourself half to death holding down a full-time job at the same time. I would cover all of our living expenses. Rent, food, all the rest of it.”

  “But how would I pay for classes without a job?” she asks.

  “I can pay for those, too,” I offer impulsively, but I immediately know it’s the right decision. I smile as I add, “I would love to do that, Bree. To support you as you go after your dream.”

  Her forehead wrinkles and her eyes begin to shine. “That’s the sweetest thing in the world, and I love you for it…”

  “But,” I prod in a soft voice.

  Her throat works. “But I can’t, Shane. I can’t leave Portland. At least not right now. My whole life is here. My school, my friends, my family.”

  “We could visit all the time,” I say, some stubborn part of me insisting on making a fool of myself, though it’s clear she doesn’t feel the way I feel. Or at least doesn’t need to be close to me the way I need to be close to her. “We could fly your sister or your mom out every other month if you want. And head back here every time we’ve got a long weekend free. I have friends I want to keep in touch with, too, you know.”

  “I know, but…” She crosses her arms, the movement causing one thin dress strap to slide down her tanned shoulder. I reach out to guide it back into place, but Bree takes a step back and adjusts it herself, clearly not wanting me to touch her.

  Pain stabs so deep into my heart that for a moment I can’t breathe. That’s how fucking miserable it feels to know Bree doesn’t want my hands on her, that she may never want me to touch her again.

  “I just can’t leave everything I love and run off again,” she says, voice trembling. “I did that once and I
was miserable. For two years I traveled the world, staying at incredible hotels and doing photo shoots in the most beautiful places on earth. People would have killed to be living my life, but all I could think about was home. I was on the verge of having a serious career in fashion, Shane, and I walked away from it without a second thought. My model friends thought I was insane.” Bree lifts her gaze to the darkening sky. “But I had no choice. I had to come home. I had to come back to Hailey and my parents and the friends who’ve known me since I was little and who don’t care if I’m famous or perfect. I need familiar sounds and smells and the vibe of a city that fits with who I am and what I believe.” She shifts her attention to the water crashing down around the people wading in the fading light.

  On a hot summer day, every pool in the fountain—from the top of the falls to the bottom where a fine mist cools waders and sunbathers stretched out on the tiered concrete—is packed. Even now, far past prime splashing hours, there are still several dozen people with their pants legs rolled up, plodding meditatively through the water, laughing with friends, or holding the hands of children so small they’re unsteady on their feet.

  Bree motions toward the scene. “Like this. Not every city is like this. Laid back and cool, but with such a good heart. For me, Portland isn’t just the city of weird, it’s a city of love, a place that cares.”

  I nod, realizing that maybe this isn’t about rejecting me. This is about Bree being scared to leave home after it ended in disaster the first time. “I know you love it here. I do, too.” I shift a tentative step closer, relieved when she allows me to take her hand and press it between both of mine. “But Portland isn’t going anywhere. It’ll still be here when I’m done with my contract in three years and you’re finished with undergrad. And you wouldn’t be headed off by yourself this time. You would have me. And Brendan and his wife and their two kids are moving to Kansas City, too. I know you don’t know Laura well, but I’m sure you two would be great friends. And their kids are the best. Chloe is crazy smart and funny, and Baby Patrick is the cutest thing I’ve ever seen. He laughs all the time and—”

  “I’m sure they’re awesome,” Bree cuts in. “And I know Portland will still be here, but it won’t be the same and neither will I. Life changes so fast, Shane. In the last year, my parents split up and Hailey got married and there were so many other things that happened along the way. Highs and lows and moments when the people I loved needed me that I would have missed if I’d been thousands of miles away.”

  She curls her fingers around mine. “And moments when I needed them, too. It’s been a hard year in a lot of ways. I don’t know what I would have done without my sister and Steph and the rest of my friends. And even though I don’t like to call Mom and Dad when shit hits the fan, it helps to know they’re only a ten-minute drive from downtown if I need them. It helps me be brave even when I’m scared and nothing is going right.”

  “I get it,” I say, my voice tight.

  Bree’s forehead furrows. “Do you? Really?”

  “I do.” I tuck my chin, staring at our joined hands, torn between the resignation settling heavily in my heart and the denial churning through my gut. “So you’re staying here, and I’m moving to Kansas City next week.”

  She sighs, soft and sad. “I guess so.”

  I force my attention back to her face, finding no comfort in the fact that she looks as miserable as I feel. “So we stick to the long-distance plan? Calling or video chatting every night and hooking up in person for a long weekend once a month? Twice if we can make it work with our schedules?”

  She presses her lips together and blinks faster, but she doesn’t say a word. And when I slowly pull my hands from hers, she doesn’t even try to hold on.

  I know in that instant that it’s over.

  We’re over.

  I’m losing the girl I love, and nothing aside from violating a signed contract, leaving the NHL, and throwing away everything I’ve fought so hard to accomplish for myself and my family, will get her back.

  And I can’t do that. Not even for her. I have people depending on me and the money I send home every month. Even more importantly, I’m depending on me to prove that I do this. That I can be the first man in my family who didn’t give up on his dreams.

  I love Bree—I will always love Bree—but if I give it all up to be with her, there won’t be any me left to love. I would be empty, hollow, scrambling to find my footing on sinking sand. Eventually, she would realize that and leave me for someone with the balls to stand up for what he believes in, no matter what.

  So even though it feels like it’s killing me, I take a step back and then another. And another and another, until I’m stepping onto the sidewalk at the edge of the park.

  I lift a hand and force a sad smile. “Good luck, then, doc. With life and love and…all the rest of it. I’ll be rooting for you.”

  Tears spill quietly down Bree’s cheeks, but knowing her heart is breaking, too, doesn’t ease the pain. It only makes it worse. Makes it smothering, suffocating, until it feels like Misery has his hands wrapped around my neck.

  I force myself to wait until I round the corner, out of Bree’s line of sight, and then I burst into a sprint, racing down 2nd Avenue toward Columbia. I run until my breath comes hard and fast, until the choking feeling fades and my blood pumps smooth and steady through my veins once more.

  But when I get home half an hour later—after running around my block in street clothes so many times I’m sure my doorman thought I was out of my damned mind—the pain is waiting for me in the kitchen where Bree and I loved to cook together. It’s in the shower where we made love last night, and in the bed where I’ve grown accustomed to waking up with my grumpy love in my arms, demanding I pull the curtains we forgot to close and stop being a morning person.

  Everything is haunted by her, by the loss of her, and I suddenly can’t wait to pack up the last of my boxes.

  I’m ready to go, to be in an apartment far away.

  Somewhere new with no melancholy memories in it.

  Chapter 17

  Bree

  Shoulders shaking and heart aching like evil gnomes are hacking away at it with a dozen tiny pick-axes, I take off my sandals and wade into the fountain, close enough for the spray to wet my face.

  It won’t hide the fact that I’m crying—my face gets puffy if I even think about something sad—but it soothes my hot skin.

  I’ve always found water healing, ever since I was a little girl. Any time I got hurt falling on the playground or was forced to go to the back of the lunch line by one of the popular girls who didn’t want my freakishly tall, skinny self sitting next to her in the cafeteria, I would come home, start up the shower, and stand under the spray until it washed away the pain.

  The sting of cuts and bruises as well as the ache of those wounds no one else could see—the water worked its magic on them all.

  But tonight there will be no magic. No healing.

  Shane is gone. The man I love walked away from me, and he’s never coming back.

  He walked away because you broke his heart. Did you see the look on his face? He loves you so much, and you just went and threw it all away.

  “I didn’t throw it all away,” I mumble aloud, swiping the back of my hand across my tear-and-mist damp cheeks. It wouldn’t have worked long distance. We already need each other too much.

  We need good morning kisses and hugs at the door before one of us goes to work. We need time bumping into each other in the kitchen, laughing as Shane tries, and fails, to master the art of making grilled cheese. We need snuggles on the couch listening to records and watching the rain fall outside my window while we daydream about all the places we’re going to explore when we get back to living the van life.

  We need long hours in the dark, wearing nothing but skin, giving and receiving the kind of pleasure I thought was the stuff of fairy tales and high-quality porn before Shane.

  Our love comes from the heart, but it lives in
our bodies, in a hundred different innocent and not-so-innocent moments of connection that form the bedrock of who we are together. Without touch and smell and the ability to look into his eyes without screens and thousands of miles between us, we’ll lose the vocabulary of our love.

  Yes, we’ll still have words, but as much as I love them, words aren’t enough.

  Shane is so much smarter than he gives himself credit for, but he prefers to let his actions do the talking. And though it surprised me at first, I’m the same way. When it comes to love, I would rather tell him everything I feel with a kiss, a touch, or a back rub in the shower after practice has left him beaten and sore. Sex is still largely uncharted territory for me, but this tenderness I feel for Shane is even more unfamiliar.

  I might not have taken physical intimacy to its natural conclusion before him, but I’ve experienced lust and desire hundreds of times before. I know what to do with those feelings.

  I don’t know what to do with the way I want to crawl into Shane’s skin so I never have to be away from him, not even for a second. I don’t know what to do with the way my chest fills with so much love that it’s painful and the only way to ease the ache is to find Shane, pull him into my arms, and kiss him until the suffering subsides and I can bear the beauty of being in so deep with another person again. I don’t know how to tell him with words how much he means to me.

  It’s like poetry. No matter how hard I try, I can’t get love to come out right on the page or over the phone, on those rare nights when Shane and I say good night with a call instead of in person.

  Trying to make a relationship work while we’re living in different time zones would be a recipe for disaster for us both. We would end up wasting months feeling sad, frustrated, and confused, while all the sweet, easy sexiness withered away, strangled by the long-distance weeds in our love garden.

  Better to end things now. Swift and horrible, but quick. Like losing a limb.