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That’s true. Collin, Cal, and I would also go ice skating together with some other friends before Cal and I started dating. Cal didn’t have the patience to teach me how to skate, which should’ve been a sign, but Collin did.
We hold hands as we walk inside, rent skates, and Collin is impressed that I no longer need help tying my skates. Unlike back then, I see a different side of Collin. Despite his recent play, fans still support him, and those who are here skate up to him while we glide around the ice and ask for autographs.
Not only does he do that, but he has full-blown conversations with some of them. He truly makes them feel as if he’s available to them and in no hurry to end the conversation, even though he’s on a date. After each person leaves us, he glances at me with the cutest shy smile.
“You’re amazing,” I whisper after watching him spend twenty minutes talking to a kid and even showing her some stick handling skills with the stick he just signed for her.
Collin shrugs. “I’m just talking to people; it’s something I do all day every day, unfortunately,” he says with a bit of a laugh.
“But you don’t have to.”
Collin glances at me in surprise. “Yeah, I do,” he replies seriously. “It’s part of the job, and the fact that I don’t want to be the reason anyone turns away from hockey. You don’t think a quick conversation with a fan helps to further grow the game? That young girl? She’ll probably play in the Olympics one day because she’s dedicated already and wanting to learn, and hopefully by the time she’s an adult, women’s hockey will be even bigger than men’s.”
My eyebrows rise at hearing this. “You want the women to be more popular?”
Collin nods. “Or at the very least, just as popular. Within the next year, I want to start an organization or something geared just to girls and professional women’s hockey. They should have the same chance as us.”
Wow. “How come you’re passionate about this?”
Again, he shrugs. “Met a girl in college. You remember me talking about Carla?” I nod. “She played on the women’s team and we were friends.” He stares ahead as his cheeks flush. “Dated for a bit. Anyway, she would always talk about how it would be so hard on her having a career doing the exact same thing I planned on having a career in, and it’s always stayed with me how much that fucking sucks.” His voice lowers in shame. “I just haven’t gotten around to doing anything about it and I’ve decided it’s time to stop wasting time.”
“That’s awesome, Collin.”
“Not until I do something to help.”
He’s so amazing and I’m happy that he’s mine. We can finally make an us possible, and maybe, just maybe, we can get our happily ever after.
Monday morning comes as well as another practice. Another practice where my thoughts are so fragmented yet dominating, I have no clue what’s happening. Well, that’s not exactly true. I know based on the worried looks from the coaches and trainers and my teammates, even from my twin, that I am not doing well. I’m falling apart more and more and I don’t know how to stop it. Hockey and playing professionally are supposed to be my safe haven.
My speed is like a turtle compared to everyone else’s, despite the way my legs feel as if I’m pushing them to their absolute limit. When we practice shots, my aim…well, I might as well not be aiming. Instead of feeling like I’m on a team, part of a team, I feel like a flailing six-year-old in the middle of a grown man’s game.
What am I even doing here? Obviously I’ve lost my touch. I shouldn’t be here. I don’t know if I’d even qualify as an amateur hockey player, but I’m definitely not playing like a pro. Do you know what makes things even worse? One fucking mistake was all it took to unravel me. That’s how weak and fragile I am.
I yank off my equipment and throw my ass into my stall, hunching over with my legs bouncing a mile a minute. I need to get out of here. I don’t belong here anymore. I inhale, realizing it’s loud even with my teammates talking, and still my lungs feel tight and restrained.
Fuck it.
I’m leaving.
I can’t do this anymore.
I don’t want to do this anymore.
I drown on air and my irrational thoughts sever the bits of sanity I cling to.
I stand and take two steps before a hand grabs my arm. Instinct has me yanking away and the built-up hysteria causes me to yell, “Get the fuck off me!” My chests labors heavily. It takes me a second to realize it’s Brayden who stands before me with his hands up in surrender. “Leave me the fuck alone!” Every pair of eyes stares at me, but I don’t care.
I need to leave.
I need to change.
I need to get away from these people and out of this building.
My feet carry me toward the door as I hear, “Collin,” from a voice that sounds exactly like mine.
“Fuck off, Cal.” I push through the double doors, relishing in the loud thunks as they close behind me. I head to the other locker room where our clothes are stored and quickly change, not caring that everything is being left in the wrong place. I’m in the corridor and almost to the exit when I hear my name again, but I know that voice too, and it forces me to stop and face Coach Mike.
“You don’t need to leave, Collin.” His voice scrapes down my skin in irritation with the caution and worry in it. “Not only because of the state you’re in right now, but because we officially need a meeting.”
