“Everyone buckled okay?” he asks, his eyes pinned to me.
I grip the edge of the seat. I can’t bring myself to look at him anymore. He doesn’t lean in through the window, doesn’t brush his fingers over my coat, or fix my hair, or do anything that would cross a line.
It’s just Jack.
And me.
And enough space between us that I can feel myself drowning in it.
I roll up my window, and the truck pulls away. I press my forehead against the cold glass as the Boston skyline blurs past.
Chapter 26
Jack
Five days, still no Izzy since I saw her at Brooks’s show in Boston.
I can’t get my fucking gear on. My hands keep fumbling the straps, fingers shaking like I’ve never done this before. There’s a gnawing tightness in my chest that won’t let up, and the fluorescent lights are making my head pound.
“Have you seen this yet?” Noah asks Bosko beside me.
“No, you got a video?” Connor jumps to his feet and wedges himself between Bosko and Noah.
Alex kicks my skate, bringing my attention back to him. I know what’s going to happen before the video plays, but I’m still not prepared. The guys rallied and took me out last night. Well, Alex had to practically drag me off the couch. They made me eat something, some gross grain bowl with soggy greens they grabbed from the deli across from my building. Then, they agreed it was best that I go with them to karaoke for emotional support.
It was annoying, but not nearly as terrible as when I hear Alex and me butcher “Purple Rain.”
Emotional support? Right. Those fuckers bought three rounds of shots, then shoved Alex and me onto the stage.
Alex snickers as Bosko pries the phone out of Noah’s hand. “Whose brilliant idea was this?”
“Mine.” Connor runs his hand through his short brown hair, beaming. The smug bastard. “You’re welcome.”
“Way to kick a man when he’s down, Fitzy. I expected better.”
Noah steps in, always trying to insert himself into our group. “He’s not drunk, and he’s at practice on time. Take the win, Bosko.”
Our captain shoots him a warning glare. One I was also on the receiving end of when I was first traded here.
“Hey.” Alex slaps my shoulder. “You good, Murph? You look like shit.”
I force a grin, but it doesn’t feel right. “Yeah, thanks.”
Bosko leans over, dropping his voice. “Seriously, though, when’s the last time you slept?”
Slept? I haven’t slept much, but when I do, it’s on the couch. I can’t sleep in my bed, convinced I can still smell her perfume. Can still remember her tucked beside me, the way the light filtered through the white sheets as we burrowed beneath, stealing away from the rest of the world. Just us.
I really liked us. And I never thought I would ever say that about anyone.
“I’m fine.” I yank on my gloves. They stick to my sweaty palms. “Let’s just get on the ice. We have a game to win tomorrow. Detroit’s going to be hard to beat.”
Everyone exchanges worried looks, but they don’t say anything else. Good. I swear I can hear the hum of the lights, and it’s pissing me off.
But this is fine. I’m fine. I’ll fixthis mess.
I dig my skates into the ice, pivot, and take control of the puck.
It’s been me and the ice for years. It’s what I understand, how best to move through the world.
