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I couldn’t let it go.
Now, I’m right back here again.
Hurting. Old. Knowing retirement is looming, all those changes bearing down on me anyway.
Only, what do I have for it?
My name on a silver trophy—three times.
My number likely to soon be hanging from the rafters.
My name in the record books.
And…
What do I have to show for it?
I exhale—the pain not just in my body now, but in my soul, my heart—and start moving down the hall. Food. Sleep. Push it down and keep moving forward.
I walk quietly toward the kitchen, the soft glow of the undercabinet lights I left on shining out, guiding my way.
Because I don’t have someone to leave them on for me.
Not any longer.
Sara—one of my good friends and wife of a former teammate, Mike Stewart (who’s a good friend too)—is doing me a solid by putting Rox to bed, staying with her until I get back, but I know I can’t continue relying on my friends to take turns watching my kid on my custody days.
I need to hire someone.
I need to take responsibility and deal with this shit already.
I just…I just thought that?—
Well, I thought it might be a nightmare…one I could wake from. One I could come back from.
Only…
Time has told me that isn’t going to happen.
My eyes sting, but—like usual—I ignore them, ignore the burn, ignore the pain.
Food. Sleep. Roxie. Hockey.
That’s all I’ve got.
I turn, move into the kitchen, and?—
The sound that comes out of me is part hurt, part panic, part…hope.
Because Stefan is sitting on that barstool.
The same one he was sitting on when he broke my heart all those months ago.
Five
Stefan
I’ve sat here hundreds of times before.
