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“I didn’t know,” I whisper, moving my hand from her breast to her jaw. “Is there anything I can do to help? I feel bad ’cause I haven’t been able to go lately.”
She shakes her head. “No, please don’t. It’s just… I’ve been thinking a lot about what Stu said, and maybe I should just stay behind the scenes. Write the music and let the performer worry about the stress and shit that comes from being out there.”
I get what she’s saying, and it’s smart. But at the same time, I want her to follow her dreams. I don’t want her to regret anything. I don’t want her to hold back her awesomeness. But I nod and look back up at her. “So you don’t want to be the Carrie Underwood to my Mike Fisher?”
She grins as she shrugs. “I don’t know. A part of me does, but the other part doesn’t. I just don’t know.”
She looks nervous, maybe a little anxious, and that, in turn, makes me nervous. I don’t want her to worry. I want her to love life and enjoy it, but I know that’s hard for her. She has to have a sense of control over everything. I get it, I do, but I don’t want her to regret this later. Swallowing hard, I look deep into her eyes. “I support whatever you want, Avery. But please promise me you’ll do what makes you happy.” When her mouth lifts at the side, my other hand comes up to wrap around her neck. “That’s all I care about, you being happy. If you want to be onstage, then, baby, I’m there, front row. If you want to write chart-toppers, then I’ll sit front row at the Grammys beside you. You just have to tell me what you want. Trust and believe, I’ll be right there with you through it all.”
She nods slowly, her eyes filling with love. “Thank you.”
“Of course.”
“I don’t know yet, though. I’m still thinking it through.”
“Sounds good,” I say with a nod. “Just find your dream and live it.”
She smiles. “That’s the plan.”
“Good, now are you done talking?”
She gives me a sinful little grin. “Yes, Jace.”
“Good.”
Without another word, I take her with the hope that this is forever.
And that what Jude has to say won’t change that.
But I’m scared it will.
Coach is running us into the ground.
It’s the practice before our game and we have to be perfect.
I have to be perfect.
Rushing down the ice, I move the puck to the left as Ricky comes toward me, trying to poke the puck away. Turning around him with the puck, I send it to Markus who shoots but misses the goal completely, the puck rocketing off the glass and onto the defense’s stick. Ricky tries to send it up to someone, but I’m there, stopping it and sending it over to Archer. He fakes it, really sending it to Markus as I crash the net, trying to screen. He sends it back to Archer, who sends it to Bloomy, but he only holds it for a second before sending it back to Markus. He winds up, and he has it, I know he does, but when he shoots, instead of going in, it hits me.
Fuck.
Crumpling to the ground, I feel tears sting my eyes as I reach down to my leg. Oh no, this can’t be happening again. In practice? Really? Couldn’t be in a game at least? Shit! He got me right where my pads don’t cover, on the side of my knee. And just like that, I see my career going down the drain. The pain is shooting up my leg, and fuck, it hurts. Damn it. No, this wasn’t supposed to happen. I’m supposed to go in! This is my year!
Soon, Markus is beside me, his face full of worry as he throws off his helmet. “Shit, dude, you good?”
I nod as the pain throbs, taking away my breath and causing sweat to drip down my neck. I can see the worry in his eyes, and I know my job. It’s to be strong for my team. So I lie, “Yeah, hit me wrong.”
“You okay, Sinclair?” Coach asks as Justin, one of the trainers, comes to my side.
“Yeah, I think. Got me on the side of the knee,” I say, and I don’t know why I’m lying.
“Can you walk?” Justin asks and I nod because, even if I couldn’t, I would.
“I think so.”
He reaches for me as Coach does the same and they lift me. My leg comes down onto my skate, and thankfully, I can put weight on it, but it does hurt. Badly. It’s throbbing, but when we start moving toward the bench door, I think I might be okay. Thank God. As relief floods through me, I swallow back the puke that wants to escape as my teammates tap their sticks to the ice, wishing me words of encouragement. When I see Markus beside me, I wave him off. “Dude, I’m good. Go practice. If I can’t play, I need you to know how to go on without me.”
He rolls his eyes. “Shut up.”
