Page 51 of Staying Selfless

Cam looks back towards the ice while nodding his head before jumping the boards for his shift.

Eli turns back to me, trying to hide his smile as he furrows his brows. “Where’s my pep-talk?”

I look him up and down, openly checking him out. “You don’t need one, but you look hot in that jersey, thirteen.”

The corner of his lip tugs upwards as his eyes wander over my body in the same manner. “Right back at you, thirteen.” He nods towards the jersey I’m wearing before turning back and watching the game.

Goody steals the puck from one of Michigan’s forwards and pushes it up the ice towards Cam. Cam gains control of the puck as he heads towards the boards, just as he’s done almost every time this game. Michigan’s biggest defenseman is waiting for him, as always, but Cam catches him off guard as he quickly pivots on his skates and cuts towards center ice, heading straight to their goalie.

His lane to the goal is completely clear. Since Michigan is taken by surprise by Cam’s sudden bravery to get in the action, their defenseman trips himself up on his own skates as he tries to catch up to my friend.

Cam fakes left when he reaches the net, pulling the goalie in that direction before cutting back to the right and tucking the puck into the net with ease.

“Hell yeah, Cami!” I stand and cheer for my friend. The arena erupts, just as they always do when Minnesota scores a goal, even when it puts us up 4-1 in the third.

Eli stands with the rest of his team to bump Cam’s gloved fist as he skates by the bench before he turns around to me, laughing and shaking his head, knowing that my encouragement worked.

Cam hops over the boards to take a seat on the bench as Eli smacks his helmet in congratulations.

Cam taps the glass in front of me with the end of his stick. “Missed you back there, Logie.”

Eli told us not to worry about waiting for him outside the locker room after the game. His birthday party is tonight, and with the weird start time of today’s late afternoon game, he thought we should just go back to our dorms and get ready, so we can meet him at the hockey house sooner rather than later.

As soon as I make it back to my room, I slip off Eli’s jersey and plug in my curling iron. I take a seat on my floor, in front of my closet mirror, wearing my leggings and a sports bra. I curl my first section of hair, and as I do, the wooden box sitting on my desk catches my eye through the mirror.

I’ve stared at the box almost every day since I got back from Chicago, but I have yet to open it and read the words inside. I’ve been tempted, that’s for sure. But I haven’t committed to it.

Today is the best I’ve felt in a long time. I feel stable and happy, and the most myself I’ve been in weeks.

I continue to curl my locks as my attention drifts to the box on my desk. As soon I’m done with my hair, I touch up my makeup and pull out my new bodysuit from the closet, specifically bought for tonight’s occasion, before laying it on the bed. It’s a nude mesh with dark red flowers embroidered on it, covering all the crucial parts. It’s a little sexier than I would typically dress for a party at the hockey house, but it’s my man’s birthday, so I can do what I want.

I slip it on, pairing it with my favorite denim, showcasing every curve I’ve been blessed with, both natural and the ones I’ve earned in the gym. I finish off my outfit with a pair of strappy nude heels, showing off my matching dark red toes.

Marc might have to carry me into the house so I don’t bust my ass on the frozen sidewalk, but he’s strong enough to handle it.

Once I’m ready, my eyes once again wander to the box on my desk.

I text Ali, hoping she’s ready to go, needing to distract myself from it, but she still needs another thirty minutes.

Somehow this box has a magnetic pull on me tonight. I can’t keep my eyes off it. For the past two weeks, I couldn’t find the strength to open it, but now I can’t find the will to stay away. It’s like I was meant to read the words tonight of all nights.

Taking a deep breath, my fingers graze the top of the box before slowly lifting the lid and finding the letter I’ve been too afraid to read.

I grab the first from the stack of envelopes before closing the wooden box and hiding the rest of the letters away.

Taking a seat on my bed, I hold the paper in my hands. This envelope is a pretty shade of yellow, and the writing is inked in a green pen.

I run my fingertips over my mom’s handwriting. She always had the prettiest penmanship. Her cursive is swirly and dainty, but also so uniform and precise that it looks as if it could’ve been printed from a computer.

‘When I’m gone, and when you’re ready,’ the first envelope reads.

I think I’m ready.

I lean my back against the headboard, trying to make myself comfortable as I cross my legs at the ankles. I shouldn’t read this right now because I need to leave soon, but I can’t help it. It’s like I have to open this and see my mom’s words right now. As if I don’t read the words in this very moment, I might never have the courage to read them again.

I take a deep breath as I cautiously tear the envelope open, being sure not to rip any of her cursive that’ll never be written again.

Unfolding the paper inside, I instantly recognize her stationary with the ‘JL’ printed on the top center of the page. I can’t read her words yet, because my eyes are already blurry with tears, seeing an entire page of her penmanship in green ink, and knowing these words were written and intended for me to read after she was gone.

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