Nothing helps.
Because every time I close my eyes I see her face when she walked away from me. The hurt there. The doubt. The way she looked at me like I was Garrett and I wanted to scream that I’m not him, I’m nothing like him, I would never do what he did.
But I hid something from her.
And now she can’t trust me.
And I don’t know how to fix it.
Practice Thursday morningconfirms what I already know: I’m completely fucked.
Every drill is wrong. Passes going wide. Timing off. My body knows what to do but my brain won’t cooperate. Too busy replaying the fight on loop, too busy trying to figure out what I should have said differently.
“RODRIGUEZ!” Barrett’s voice cuts through my spiral. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
Everything. Everything is wrong.
“Nothing, Coach.”
As I skate closer I can see the frustration radiating off him. “You’re playing like you’ve never seen a puck before. Whatever’s going on with you, fix it before tomorrow’s game or you’re riding the bench.”
“Yes, Coach.”
After practice, Almardon sits down next to me in the locker room without saying anything. Just sits there while I unlace my skates with hands that won’t stop shaking.
“You gonna tell me what’s going on?”
I focus on the laces, on the mechanical process of loosening them, anything to avoid looking at him. “Sienna got to Juliette before I could explain. Now she thinks I’ve been cheating on her.”
“Have you tried talking to her?”
“She asked for space.” The words taste like ash in my mouth. “So I’m giving her space.”
Almardon’s quiet but I can feel him studying me, weighing whether to push or let it go.
“You’re in love with her.”
It’s not a question. Doesn’t need to be. I’m sure it’s written all over my face. Has been for months.
“Yeah. I am.”
“Then stop giving her space and go get her.”
“That’s not how this works.”
“That’s exactly how this works.” He stands and claps my shoulder once. The weight of it grounds me for half a second. “You fucked up. Now you fix it. Figure it out before you lose her for good. Cap and Doc read all those romance novels, maybe ask them how the guys in those books grovel.”
He walks away and I sit there in the empty locker room staring at my phone, at the messages that still haven’t been read.
Maybe he’s right.
Maybe I should?—
But what if she doesn’t want to hear from me? What if I push and it makes everything worse?
I put the phone down and finish changing.
Tomorrow. I’ll figure it out tomorrow.
