Page 77 of Crossed Sticks

A sob burst out of me, and the next thing I knew, Harp was sitting beside me on the sofa. We were holding each other, and he was crying, too. It wasn’t his fault others had hurt him so badly. He was a good man, and if he didn’t care about me, he wouldn’t have asked me to wait for him. If our relationship didn’t matter, he’d just say it was over.

It was dark outside by the time we calmed down. The cry had been cathartic, and I was determined to be the man he needed. As confused as I was about why we couldn’t work through things together, I’d had enough mental health issues to understand you sometimes have to do it on your own. Besides, waiting wouldn’t be that different from what my life had been before Harper. At least I’d have hope things would improve.

He reiterated his promise to let me know if he thought he couldn’t get it together enough for us to be a couple, and I promised to tell him if I couldn’t wait any longer. What lay ahead was daunting for both of us, but we wanted each other enoughnot to walk away. We spent the night on the couch, holding each other, but nothing more.

Early the next morning, I cooked eggs and bacon while he packed for camp. I helped him carry his things to the garage, and we exchanged a long hug before he drove away. As I watched him leave, my insides were a tempest of emotions. Had the night been the first step in getting us back on track, or was it the beginning of a long, painful goodbye?

30/

harper

I droveto the practice facility in Amherst and boarded a bus with the rest of the Warriors. The drive to Rocky River, Ohio, was a three-and-a-half-hour blur. Outside Cleveland on the shore of Lake Erie, Rocky River is home to one of the best nature parks in the country, but for the next three weeks, the town would be overrun by hockey. The Chill Factor Arena and a neighboring hotel were our temporary headquarters as well as home to the Warriors’ players and coaches, support staff, and a bevy of reporters.

I was happy to learn Nate Holcomb would be my roommate. Holky and I had hit it off over the summer, and his edgy sense of humor and devil-may-care attitude were a good counterbalance to my quieter nature. I’d been wanting to get to know him better, and being roomies would give us a chance to deepen our friendship.

The first team meeting was a less pleasant surprise. Ted Criswell, the head coach, was very different from the amiable man I’d spoken to on the phone during the trade. He’d always seemed unrufflable behind the Warriors’ bench during my years as a Barracuda, but now his voice was sharp as he snapped answers to questions and excoriated two guys who came in aminute late. Gabe said Criswell had been sick over the summer, and I hoped the man stomping around the front of the room wouldn’t turn out to be the kind of irascible coach I’d always disliked.

The training camp schedule was similar to the ones I remembered from Bethesda. Though the cast of characters was different, the goals were identical: get us into optimal shape as a team, and prepare us for a season that would end with the Warriors parading the Stanley Cup through downtown Buffalo. Everyone seemed excited to have me on board, and though I was struggling emotionally, it was hard to resist the wave of energy that had us all aiming high.

Meeting the guys over the summer had been a major advantage. While other new players tried to find their place, I felt more like a veteran. Some of my confidence may have come from playing with the Cudas, but much of it stemmed from the camaraderie we’d built during the pick-up games and lunches throughout the summer.

Sadly, there was also a downside to knowing people, which had surfaced as soon as I arrived in Amherst. Holky grinned and held up his fist for a bump. “How’s that dude of yours? You guys still solid?”

I groped for words.Solid?We were about as solid as quicksand, but since we were still fighting for life, I tried to sound convincing. “He’s doing well. Their camp doesn’t start for another month, so he’s still at home.”

“It was hard to drag yourself away this morning, right?”

He had no idea. Luca had walked me to the garage, and driving away was so difficult I almost hadn’t been able to do it. Acid had burned the back of my tongue when I looked in the rearview mirror and saw the distraught expression on his face. He held up a hand, and I stuck an arm out the window to wave while I choked back tears. “It was rough, all right.”

During the first week of camp, I tried to create a barrier separating my mental chaos and professional obligations. I was mostly able to focus while we were busy, but emotional crashes were inevitable during downtime. Luca was never far from my thoughts, and even when Holky and I played games at night, I missed Luca so much I inevitably embarrassed myself.

Once, after my character died five minutes into a game, Holky gave me an odd look. “Do you want to play something else? A game you know better?”

Nights spent staring at the ceiling were the worst, because the events of that fateful weekend when Caleb came to town replayed endlessly in my mind. Now that my faith in Luca’s honesty had been restored, I felt worse rather than better. What kind of emotional defect had caused me to be such a terrible boyfriend? Reaching a snap judgment might have been understandable under the circumstances, but refusing to hear Luca out and going hundreds of miles away to avoid him was inexcusable. Luca had talked about how he’d made a stupid mistake, but mine made his look tame by comparison.

“Fox!” Riley yelled the code word for “pass.”

I caught the puck, but with Team White’s D-men barreling my way, I immediately sent it to Logan. He started toward Team White’s zone, but Holcomb—the opposing center—swept in and tried to force a turnover.

One of the D-men who’d had me in his sights peeled away and headed in Logan’s direction, so Logan sent the puck back to me. With no one else open, I took off for the White zone, jinkingaround men determined to stop me, and swerving to avoid head-on collisions.

Mason, one of Team White’s wingers, appeared out of nowhere and extended his stick. Who knew if he wanted to steal the puck or trip me, and he probably didn’t care which.

“Fuck you, Masy!” Jax, one of Team Crimson’s D-men—so one of my scrimmage-mates—slammed into Mason, knocking him off course.

Gabe, Team White’s goalie, crouched as I approached. I faked left and drew my stick back to shoot, but a sudden memory of Luca’s face knocked the wind out of me like a fierce body check. My grip on the stick loosened, which caused my shot to go completely off target. The puck wobbled toward Gabe and missed the net entirely.

I did the skate of shame back to the bench, feeling like a total klutz. Criswell glared at me as I hopped over the boards and wedged myself between Logan and Paquette.

“Tough break, Harpy.” Paquette tapped my chest pads. “Don’t sweat it.”

Shame burned hotter than the muscles in my legs. I hung my head, unable to escape the fact that I’d become a clumsy mess both on and off the ice. In no time, I’d gone from being happier than ever to living in hell, and my emotional turmoil was now interfering with my ability to play hockey. If I didn’t get my act together soon, I might fuck up my chances in Buffalo.

Thankfully, it was Saturday, so after the nightly meeting, we’d be done until Sunday afternoon. Gabe and Logan were arranging a trip to a nearby bar, but I planned to lay low and try to relax. With two more weeks of camp ahead, I needed to be at my best. I also had to think about my relationship with Luca because I couldn’t leave either of us hanging much longer.

After the scrimmage, I slumped in my chair, ignoring a lunch of grilled chicken and pasta. I’d gone through the line with Björkand Jax, but since they had to take their food to a meeting with reporters, I found a corner where I could eat alone.

“This seat taken?”

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