The flight to Vancouver is short but feels endless.
Marnie sits three rows ahead of me, looking at her phone constantly. Every buzz could be about her mom. Every call could be the one.
Brody drops into the empty seat beside me.
“She okay?”
“No.”
“You okay?”
“Also no.”
“Want to talk about it?”
“Not even a little.”
“Cool.” He doesn’t move.
“Elliot says Marnie’s mom is really bad.”
“Yeah.”
“And you two are...”
“Complicated.”
“That’s one word for it.” He stretches his legs into the aisle. “I’m just saying, life’s short. Whatever’s stopping you from being with her, maybe reconsider.”
“It’s not that simple.”
“It’s exactly that simple. You want her. She wants you. Everything else is just excuses.”
He walks away before I can form a response, but his words stick.
Maybe it is that simple. Maybe I’m making it complicated because complicated is easier than admitting I’ve never felt this way about anyone before and I have no idea what to do about it.
Vancouver
Game day.
I go through the motions. Team breakfast, meetings, watching them prepare. But my mind’s on Marnie.
She’s been avoiding me since Edmonton, maintaining perfect professional distance. When she has to check my shoulder, she’s clinical. Efficient. Doesn’t meet my eyes.
We lose 3-1.
It’s not even close. The team looks lost, disconnected. Passes aren’t connecting. The power play is anemic. And I’m up in the press box, useless in my suit, while everything falls apart on the ice.
Back at the hotel, everyone scatters to their rooms. No one wants to talk about three straight losses. No one wants to admit we’re struggling without our captain.
It’s 2 AM and I can’t sleep.
I pull on shorts and a t-shirt, grab my room key. I know this is stupid. Know I should stay in my room, maintain the distance she’s trying to create.
But I knock on her door anyway.
She opens it in tiny shorts and a team t-shirt, hair messy, eyes red. She’s been crying.
