Page 23 of The Has-Been

But it’s so much more than that.

It’s the thought of seats on the sideline. A Frozen Four Championship I’m watching on television, not on the ice.

An NHL contract I’ll never sign.

A dead-end future I don’t want.

That’s what the pills help numb—the voices in my head that remind me that I’ll never be the man I once was ever again.

I’m chasing silence, running—sprinting for the edge I’m desperate to dull.

“Liam,” Doctor Shannon starts in again, “I’ve told you this a dozen times, and it’s not any easier for me than it is for you—” I shake my head, fidgeting in my chair. “But your career is over. I’m so incredibly sorry, but this type of injury is impossible to come back from.” He shakes his head, and I swear I see tears beading in his eyes. Like I’ve caused him physical pain. “If I could fix you, I would.” He shakes his head, “But I can’t, kid. And I’m sorry for that.”

I stand. In one sweeping motion, bursting out of the exam room doors.

I don’t want to listen to another fucking word that man has to say.

Aubrey calls after me, whispering apologies as I storm out of the office.

When we are outside, away from prying ears, I turn on her.

“What the fuck was that, Aubrey?” I scream, my face heating as I look her over.

She shrinks back a bit, like she’s suddenly scared of me.

She should be. Even I’m terrified of myself—of this version that I no longer know.

“You threw me to the fucking wolves in there,” I accuse, pinning the blame on her. I’m good at that nowadays, pointing a finger at anyone besides myself. “You didn’t need to tell them that. I have it fucking handled!” I spit. “I know my body’s limit!”

“Do you?” She counters, arms crossing over her chest as her bangs fall over her eyes.

My head inclines back, my feet stumbling backward like she’s struck a blow to me.

“Because it sure doesn’t feel like you do, Liam.”

A car horn blows.

I gasp, finding my feet within a second as I try to brush the debris off me.

“Hey, you alright?” one of the neighbors yells through the cracked window of their car.

I nod. Just once, and it must be enough reassurance because they drive off.

I don’t run back to the apartment.

No. I walk. Leisurely. Taking in the sights of fall all around me and breathing in the air, drawing it deep into my lungs.

For once, I don’t try to outrun the past—I think it’s finally starting to catch up with me.

Later that night, Reid walks into my room.

No knock. No announcement. Just throws the door open like he owns the place.

His eyes glance around, clearly evaluating my space. “Shit,” he starts, “I forgot how small your room is.”

I mockingly laugh at him.

“Yeah, well, not all of us have a trust fund paying for the primary bedroom,” I counter.