It already cost me the world. I don’t need it to cost me my mom, too.
“I can still skate, Mom.” I try to sound light, but the words slice through whatever the silence wrapped around us anyway.
It’s another question I get asked all the time with good intentions. Was I careful?
But it’s not just the ice, I rarely skate anymore. This was the first time in months.
It’s “Did I remember my prescription sunglasses?” because it was a sunny day. It’s “Did I remember my meds?” It’s “Did I take extra care walking down the street to the subway, because you never know—someone might accidentally bump into me and send me careening to the ground where I’ll smash my head against the pavement?”
She forgets I’m a grown man who lost more than his ability to get through a week without a pounding headache.
He lost his career. His dreams. His entire life.
Himself, probably.
The silence carries again, and for one stupid minute, I let myself hope that she’ll ask me the question I wish someone would.
How did it feel? Am I okay?
I’d tell her the truth—that it was the first time I’ve felt free in months. That it was just as incredible as I remember. That I’d do anything to be able to get it back. Would she please help me?
But she doesn’t.
She changes the subject.
“Of course you can, Bohdan.” I can practically see her forced smile from here—the way her eyes, just like mine, collapse a bit before she scrunches her nose and gives her head a tiny shake. “Why don’t you come out here? Join me for a few weeks? Playoffs are just about done; you won’t have many other commentating spots. Your grandparents would love to see you.”
She’s not wrong. Cup final is this week, and then I’m as free as someone like me could be.
I don’t know what I’m going to do next. Zane’s offer is still there, hanging over my head. My agent, Shay, thinks I should take it. Says it would be groundbreaking. The opportunity to make a difference.
My therapist says I should only do what I’m ready for.
The only thing I know for certain is that I’m booked on a flight next week for Talon’s stupid cruise.
Eyes cutting to the empty beer, I wish I’d thought to bring up another. “I’d love to. But I can’t. I’m actually heading to Barcelona next week to meet Talon and Jay. Talon’s retiring and he roped us into a cruise to celebrate. You know him, I’m sure he wants to—”
“Start his retirement in style?” My mother’s fond laughter spills through the phone, and I think I feel it in my chest, cracking the thing open and lightening it all, just a bit. “That sounds fun. Who’s going?”
That sends the whole thing crashing to the ground, and whatever modicum of happiness I felt before dissipates, and my chest seals itself shut again.
“Me, Talon, Jay, and Tia.” I tell her the whole guest list, minus the one name she wants to hear the most.
Silence again.
But heavier this time, because it’s weighed down by a woman with brilliant eyes and an even more brilliant brain.
“Oh,” my mom starts, and I can feel her debating her next words from here. “I thought maybe Sloan would go. Talon is one of her best friends, too.”
“Sloan doesn’t want anything to do with me,” I cut out, words harsh. “I wouldn’t want anything to do with me either. She didn’t even answer the fucking text.”
“Bohdan, if you’d just call her—”
“No,” I interrupt, a throb aching in my temple.
My mom thinks I’m being stubborn—a display of wounded male pride.
She doesn’t know I’d drop to my knees and beg for Sloan in the middle of Times Square and let everyone in the world record it if it meant a second chance with her.
