Chapter Eleven
Dallas
All I have left of this evening are the sweet memories of spending time with my girl and her phone. And a shoe.
She dropped both while making her quick exit.
I went back to my place instead of my teammates’ house, needing the quiet to be alone with my thoughts.
I texted her once I made it back to my place, but her phone just dinged on my desk. Clearly, that plan is toast. I also sent a message directly to her in the chat room where we first started talking. I just want to ensure she’s okay.
Nothing back. Yet. It’s only been a few hours, but I check my account way too frequently to know my mailbox is empty.
I scratch my head and rub my hand over my face. Her exit was so abrupt. Was it me or something else?
Now I’m doubting myself for not going back to the hockey house. Maybe I shouldn’t be alone with my thoughts right now, because I might be spiraling.
I drop my head on the pillow and close my eyes, willing myself to sleep.
Let’s hope I wake up to a message tomorrow.
* * *
Nothing.
It’s been three days, and nothing.
No messages or any type of communication from her whatsoever. It’s like she totally disappeared off the planet. That may be dramatic, especially since I’m holding her main piece of communication, but still. It’s weird.
I’ve been keeping my eyes open on campus for my mystery woman, but no one has approached me as her yet.
Okay, that’s a lie. Women approach me all the time. But no one has even hinted that they are my girl from Halloween. Wouldn’t someone ask if I’ve seen their missing phone or shoe?
I’m starting to worry I’m never going to find her again.
Should I launch a search party? How would that even work? Flyers? Bulletin board announcement? Dorm-to-dorm search party to measure feet?
I have zero ideas.
I glance to my side as my teammate passes me the puck, but I flub the play—letting the opposing player steal it—and the stadium groans. It’s the final period of the game. We haven’t scored tonight, and we are down by four against one of the worst teams in our division.
It should have been an easy win, it’s anything but.
A teammate jumps over the boards, points to me, and I slide off the ice.
“Dawes. What’s wrong with you tonight!?” coach screams. “Get your head in the game!” His face is red, and his brows are furrowed as he pats me on the back. I sit on the far side of the bench, as far from my teammates as humanly possible.
They all leave me be.
This is undoubtedly the worst game I’ve ever played.
My heart is not in it.
* * *
Okay. I was wrong.Tonightis my worst hockey performance ever. That’s including my prior two games and that time in peewee that I scored for the other team.
This is also the least amount of ice time I’ve had since playing for the Harbor Seals in my year and a half on the team.
