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What the fuck did I do?
She slides off the counter, grabbing a dishtowel to clean herself up and then fixes her skirt. She absently looks for some paper towels and Lysol under the sink, completely avoiding my gaze. The smell of citrusy antibacterial cleaner fills my nostrils while I put my pants back on and stand there like an idiot while she cleans in silence.
Suddenly, she shoves the paper towel in my hands and bolts toward the bathroom.
"Excuse me," she whispers, passing me without even looking at me.
I don't know what to do. Em stays in the bathroom for several minutes while I wipe down the kitchen and everything I swiped onto the floor back where it belongs.
Em is poised and put together when she comes back into the kitchen. I know she's been crying from the redness in her eyes, but she's put on a brave face.
"I have to go," she blurts out, grabbing her purse and phone off the table. She swiftly walks over to me and gives me a perfunctory kiss, brushing me off.
I don't like it.
I've seen this Em before, and it terrifies me. This is the cold, closed-off Em from when she broke my heart and walked away from me. No part of me wants to believe we're headed down that path again, but something is definitely wrong.
"Can we just forget this happened?" she pleads quietly. She's still avoiding my gaze, and something in her voice tells me she needs me to let this go.
"Okay," I reply dumbly, not knowing what else to say.
Turning to leave, Em smiles, but it's not genuine. Something big just happened here, and I have no clue what. But there's a certainty in my bones and heart that if I don't figure it out and fix it, I will lose Em forever.
??????
I play angry at practice, and the rest of the team can easily see it and feel it in my game.
I'm throwing my body around during our scrimmage, hitting guys, and playing a little too aggressively. The short break before the first round of the playoffs is an opportunity for the team to tighten up our game, rest, and analyze our opponent. The most important thing we can do is stay healthy, and I'm practicing recklessly.
The puck gets dumped into the offensive zone. I get on my horse and skate to forecheck against Luke and Tyler Zingle. I line up my check and crush Luke into the boards, collecting the puck.
The whistle blows.
"Monk," Coach McCall barks at me. He skates over, brows drawn together. "What the fuck are you doing?"
"My job," I snap.
"When we start playing the Grizzlies, you can hit guys as hard as you want. But right now, if you take off one of your teammate's heads, I will fucking end you."
I skate to the bench, taking a sip of Gatorade. Luke plops down beside me, even though defencemen usually sit on the opposite end. He's silent for a moment, waiting for me to start a conversation. But I don't feel like talking.
"What's up, man? Who pissed in your Cheerios?"
"Nothing's up," I grumble. "You left your side open. If you do that against Boston, March will feed you to the boards."
Brad March is the league's biggest pest. He is a talented player who scores a ton of goals and doesn't mind playing dirty. He's a pro at getting under everyone's skin, and sometimes he's just plain weird. Last year during the playoffs, he started licking guys. His reasoning? There's no rule against licking other guys.
Fucking tool.
The league had to write a rule just for him to stop that bullshit. He's the guy you hate playing against but would love to have on your team.
"Let me worry about the pest," Luke says. "Right now, I'm worried about you."
"It's nothing," I sigh, removing my helmet and running my hands through my hair. Luke remains silent, waiting for me to cave in and talk. "It's Em. I fucked up today, but I don't know how."
Luke chuckles, patting me on the back.
"It'll be okay. Holly says Avery is in love with you. Maybe she's just getting used to the idea."
