Page 193 of Becoming Selfish

“Did you see her?”

“She wouldn’t answer her door. I tried. She texted me to tell me she was sick and to go without her.”

“Marc, I need you to go back and check on her. Please. Something is going on,” I urgently request of him as the referee blows the whistle for me, wanting to start the opening puck drop that I’m clearly absent from.

“Maddison, let’s go!” my coach yells, my back still to the ice, desperate eyes locked on my brother.

“I know, I’m worried too. But Ali stayed back. She’s right across the hall, and Logan knows she’s there if she needs anything,” Marc calmly explains. “EJ, you have to get your head in the game. It’s just sixty minutes of hockey, and then you can go see her. But this game is too important for you to lose focus.” He looks over his shoulder, reminding me that my possible future NHL team is watching from just a few rows back.

“Text her for me, please. Let her know I’ll be there as soon as the game is over.”

I reluctantly turn around, finding every player’s eyes on me as I skate to the center circle to face off against Nebraska. I position myself as I always do, but I’m in too much of a daze to time my stick right, allowing the other team to win the opening face-off.

I skate back on defense as my mind swirls with thoughts of Logan. She had a doctor’s appointment yesterday, and now she’s not feeling well. Something is going on that she doesn’t want to tell me about.

Patrick steals the puck, pushing it up the ice to me, but I’m too distracted in my own thoughts to catch his pass as the team in red quickly picks up the failed connection.

“What the fuck is wrong with you, Maddison?” Patrick yells while covering his zone. “Get your head in the game or get off the fucking ice!”

As much as I hate the guy, he’s not wrong.

Intercepting Nebraska’s pass, I send it off to our other defenseman to take his time carrying the puck up the ice, allowing us forwards the chance to change out from our shift.

“Where’s Logan?” Cam asks as I take a seat on the bench next to him, clearly aware that her absence is already throwing off my game.

“I don’t know, man. She’s not feeling well.”

“Well, she will literally kill you if you blow this shot, so you better get your head in it, man.” Cam’s words are sternly delivered before he hops over the boards for his shift.

He’s right, and his words are all it takes. A reminder that this dream I’m chasing isn’t just for me. It’s for Logan, too, for our future. She would be just as mad at herself as she would be at me if her absence caused me to play like shit. So, for her, I put her out of my mind for the sixty minutes of play and focus on the game, which is exactly what she would want me to do.

Chapter 80

Logan

I’m a terrible girlfriend. I know I am. And I’ve never felt more selfish in my life than I do today.

I cried myself to sleep last night as the grief and guilt I’ve been running from crashed onto me like a tidal wave. When Eli came in late from his red-eye flight, I woke up but pretended like I was still asleep as I kept my back towards him, not wanting him to see my face. I knew as soon as he saw my puffy eyes and colorless skin that he would realize something was seriously wrong with me.

My sadness kept me awake the whole night as the warm tears fell down my cheeks. I quietly wiped them away, being sure not to wake Eli’s sleeping body wrapped around me. It was nice to have him with me, but at this point, I don’t think there’s anyone or anything that could make me feel better other than working through the emotions I need to deal with. And, even then, it feels like I might never be the same.

I was still awake this morning when Eli left, but again, I pretended to be asleep as he said goodbye to me. He has a huge opportunity today, and I knew if he saw me that he would be off his game, and I can’t feel any more guilt than I already do on this day.

Today is the one-year anniversary of my mom’s death.

Fuck, that sucks to say.

One year ago, everything I worked so hard at, every minute that I spent next to her in the hospital, every painful moment that came from trying to save her, all came crashing down when she took her last breath.

And it was my fault.

It was my fault she died. She was my responsibility, and I failed her. It was my organ that her body rejected. It was my fault. I should’ve done more. I should’ve tried harder—anything. Maybe I let the doctors stop her medications too soon. Maybe they would’ve worked if we just kept trying. Maybe she would still be here if I didn’t make the call to let her go. It’s my fault.

That decision crosses my mind every day before I shove it down and try to suppress the guilt that comes with it.

I’ve pretended like I had my shit together, like I was alright. Like I was strong and could handle the hand I was dealt. But it’s not true. I’m fucking weak and scared and a coward, running from everything for so long, like it would never catch up with me.

But it did today.

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