And I feel nothing. Even though I’m starting in goal tomorrow again. Even though my team is on a winning streak, and springtime has finally arrived in Colorado.
None of that matters. The sky remains gray, at least in my mind. Because Forest is still an idiot, and because I ruined everything by telling him how I really feel.
If I could go back in time and take it all back, I would. Just for a couple more nights of his company.
I load the plates onto the machine like I’m mad at gravity itself, then slump into the seat with a grunt. Webster walks by, towel around his neck, and gives me a once-over.
“Damn, you look like someone ate your last Pop-Tart.”
“Worse,” I mutter. “Someone emotionally withdrew after mutual orgasms and excellent cuddling.”
Webster flinches. “That answer was… surprisingly specific.”
“It’s fine. I’m processing. With Madonna. And quadriceps.”
He snorts. “You’re a weird little man.”
“Incorrect,” I grunt, pushing the plates with more enthusiasm than necessary. “I’m a tall goalie with feelings and elite musical taste.”
“You gonna cry-lift through the whole workout?”
“Only if ‘Oh Father’ comes on. That song wrecks me.”
Webster laughs as he wanders off. I keep pressing. Each rep feels like I’m trying to push Forest out of my system. So far, it's not working.
The session is almost over when Coach Tanner stomps into the room with a snarl on his face. “Where’s James? I gotta problem with him.”
Oh great. Another satisfied customer. “Over here, Coach. What did I do now?”
Coach stops in front of the Bluetooth speaker and snaps it off. The gym goes silent, so I guess the whole crew is about to witness my latest humiliation.
“Get up, James. Get out of here. You’re wanted in Denver tonight.”
“Holy shit,” Rigsy whispers.
But I’m still trying to process. “Wanted…by the cops?”
Coach tips his head back and howls with laughter. “You were always such a smartass. Gonna have to tell those jokes in the Cougars’ locker room tonight, though. You’re in the net against Calgary.”
It’s like the air pressure changes suddenly. There’s a swoopy sound in my ears.
“I shouldn’t even be surprised,” Coach says, oblivious to my shock. “Late season game, so Powers wants to rest both his goalies for the playoffs. Get on outta here, James. They want you for a pregame meeting with the goalie coach at the Four Seasons by the arena, okay? Then you’ll get some downtime in a hotel room before you head into the arena. Make us proud. Don’t fuck this up.”
My teammates launch into furious applause and cheering. “Get ’em, Beck! Woot! Make the magic happen!”
Still reeling, I rise from the leg press. I suddenly have a million things to do. I make my way to the door, interrupted by back slaps and awkward high-fives from the other Ice Cats.
My mind spins. I’ve got to sharpen my skates.
I’ve got to find my luckiest water bottle.
I’ve got to make sure I know where to park at the arena in Denver.
I’ve got to call my mom, because that’s an automatic. But I’ve really got to tell Forest. He’ll?—
Oh.
“Beck?” Rigsy has followed me into the dressing room. “Something the matter?”
