I want to believe him. I want to give in. But I know better. Presley left, and though I’ll never understand why, I know some part of it has to be because of me. I was bringing them down. And I won’t let that happen to Stephen. He deserves so much more than what I can offer him. He doesn’t realize it now, but he will.
I pull back from his touch, and his hand drops at his side. “There is nowewithout her. She’s gone, so it’s over.”
“You don’t even want to try?”
“What’s the point? You’re only fooling yourself if you think this’ll work.”
His eyes narrow. “Why are you saying this? I know you don’t mean it. I know you love me.”
A searing knife slices into my chest. I want to tell him he’s right; I do love him. But it’ll only hurt worse in the end, so I might as well cut it off now.
“This isn’t real.” The lie burns like acid on my tongue. “And now the fantasy is over, so we can get back to reality. I’m here to play hockey, and leave everything in my life behind.”
Hurt flashes in his eyes as they fill with tears. “Even me?”
I swallow the bile climbing up my throat. “Especially you.”
I force myself to look away, and push away the painful memory.
I don’t have time to feel all of these emotions right now. I have to prove my worth on this team, and that’s where my focus needs to be. Hockey is the only thing I have in this life, and I can’t fuck it up.
As soon as the puck drops, my skates dig into the ice, propelling me forward. Adrenaline floods my veins. My team comes away with the puck, and I instantly spot an opening on the right side. But as I approach it, there he is right beside me.
I speed up, preparing to accept the pass from my teammate, but Stephen’s stick juts out and he steals it away before skating off in the opposite direction.
Fuck.
I fly down the ice after him, tunnel vision taking over in this silent war between us. The anger, the pain, the resentment, the heartache, the guilt—it all surges inside me like a tidal wave, and I’m helpless to stay afloat. I shove him into the boards, and take the puck back down to my side of the rink. The crowd roars around us, but it sounds like a whisper compared to the sound of my pulse in my ears. Before Stephen can get to me, I pass the puck off to my teammate, but the goalie stops his shot at the net.
We’re at a stalemate for the first period, but we start the second like we’ve been shot out of a cannon.
Stephen and I play our hearts out while simultaneously gunning for each other. He’s right behind me, and no matter how hard I try, I can’t seem to shake him. Every move I make, every shot I attempt, every pass—he’s right there with me like my fucking shadow, taunting me with the memory of what we once were.
Anger flares in the pit of my stomach, and when Stephen gets possession of the puck, I smash into him. Hard.
This ends now.
He stumbles but regains balance. I drop my gloves and my stick, and the last thing I see is that smug fucking smirk on his face before I slam my fist into it.
Stephen’s fist connects with my jaw in return, but I don’t feel any pain. It feels too good, taking out my aggression on him. This kind of contact is better than no contact at all; this is the only way I can get my hands on him.
We trade blows, until I grab onto his jersey and slam him back against the boards.
Stephen grins, blood dripping from his nose. “This make you feel better, baby? You always did like it rough.”
“Fuck you.” My arm cocks back to punch him again, but the referee pulls me off him before I can have my fill.
Though I don’t know that I’ll ever have my fill of this man.
It’s never going to be enough, because it’ll never be what it once was.
And at the end of the night, my team loses the game.
0-1.
It’s fitting.
A big fat zero. An empty nothing.
