Page 107
She didn’t reply.
“Kedish.” The coach’s voice cut through my thoughts. “Do you have a moment to talk?”
I stood, following him to the corner of the locker room.
“Is everything all set?” he asked quietly.
“I’m feeling good.”
“You look like hell.”
I shrugged.
“This about the doc?”
I froze. “How did you know about that?”
“I’m not blind. Most of the team knows.”
Heat crawled up my neck. “Does that—Is that a problem?”
“Is what a problem? That my goalie found someone who makes him care about something other than his save percentage?” Coach’s expression softened. “That’s the opposite of a problem, son.”
The word “son” did something to my throat I wasn’t ready for.
“I’m going to win the next game,” I said.
“You always do when it matters.” He paused. “But Kedish? Win or lose tonight, don’t lose her.”
He left me standing there, trying to figure out how wanting Ellie could make me anything but terrified.
I pulled my phone. No message.
I typed. Game six tonight. Wish you were here.
Sent it, but got no reply.
That’s when I realized she might not come back.
My stomach collapsed like I’d taken a hit to the gut. The protein bar threatened to come back up.
Win or lose, I needed to find her. Wherever she was. However long it took. I’d make her listen. She wasn’t just my physical therapist. Not the person who fixed my hip so I could play.
She was the coffee in my stall when I got there early. The smiley face on an instruction sheet I’d laminated because it was too special to let it fall apart. The only person who’d ever looked at me and seen something worth keeping.
She was everything, and I’d thrown her away.
Players started getting ready. I did too, donning my uniform. Pads. Skates.
“Let’s do it,” Crim called out. He paused beside me, not saying a thing. His presence was enough.
I checked my phone one last time before I had to shut it off.
A message lit up the screen. Good luck tonight.
I stared at the three words. Good luck tonight. Not “I hope you lose.” Not silence. She’d wished me luck.
That had to mean something.
