Delete.
Me:I might be getting traded
Delete.
Me:I don’t know what’s happening with us, but I need you to know
Delete. Delete. Delete.
My fingers hover over the keyboard. The cursor blinks, waiting.
What am I supposed to say? How do I explain that the life I’m building—the one that finally,finallyfeels like it might be worth something—could be ripped away at any moment? How do I tell her that I’m terrified? That I haven’t been this scaredsince I was seven years old and a social worker told me my mother wasn’t coming back?
I can’t. I don’t have the words.
I type:
Me:Goodnight, Win.
Her response comes quickly:
Winnie:Goodnight, tough guy. *heart emoji*
A heart. She sent me a heart.
I set down my phone and press the heels of my hands against my eyes.
This is what I wanted. Someone who texts me goodnight. Someone who sends hearts. Someone who makes me smile like an idiot when I think about them.
And now I might lose it.
Not because I did something wrong. Not because I pushed too hard or pulled away or fucked it up the way I’ve fucked up everything else. Just because some people in suits decided I’m not worth the investment. Just because the business of hockey doesn’t care about the life I’m trying to build here.
I think about calling her. Hearing her voice. Telling her everything.
I don’t.
Instead, I lie in the dark and stare at the ceiling, the same way I’ve been doing my whole life. Waiting for something bad to happen. Bracing for impact.
The worst part is, I don’t know how to doanything else.
The next few days are a blur.
I go through the motions. Practice. Meetings. Games. I play well enough not to draw attention, but not well enough to silence the doubts. Every time I step on the ice, I wonder if the scouts are watching. If the front office is taking notes. If this shift, this game, this moment will be the one that tips the scales.
Winnie texts. I text back. We make plans, then I cancel them—”tired” or “busy” or “early practice.” Excuses that aren’t quite lies but aren’t quite truth either.
She notices. Of course she notices.
Winnie:Is everything okay? You seem distant.
Me:Fine. Just work stuff.
Winnie:Want to talk about it?
Me:Nothing to talk about.
The lies taste like ash in my mouth.
