Page 27 of Summer with a Player

"Seriously, man," Ryder chimes in, concern etched onto his face. "This is the second time in a month. Everything okay?"

"Everything's fine," I snap, my patience wearing thin. "And hey, maybe you should worry about your own game instead of my personal life."

"Whoa, easy there," Ryder holds up his hands defensively. "Just making sure our star player's head is in the game."

"Sure," I grumble, strapping on my skates and grabbing my stick. "Let's just get to practice."

As we hit the ice, my thoughts race back to Elle, the confusion that being with her is hurting my career is threatening to swallow me whole. I just need to focus on the game.

"Alright, men," Coach barks as we gather around him. "Let's see what you've got today."

Ice shavings fly as I attempt to pivot during a drill, but my skates slip on the slick surface, and I barely regain my balance. My mind is scattered, and it's becoming increasingly difficult to concentrate on the task at hand. Each mistake I make further fuels my frustration.

"Come on, Gray!" Coach yells from the sidelines, his voice sharp like a whip. "You need to be on point today!"

"Sorry, Coach," I mutter, gritting my teeth and forcing myself to refocus. I can feel the eyes of my teammates on me, their concern mixing with my own growing shame.

"Pick it up, Jet!" Kaleb shouts from across the rink, trying to encourage me. But his words only serve to remind me of how far I've fallen from the man they all believe in.

I take a deep breath and push harder, attempting to drown out the thoughts of coming to work late again. But every stride on the ice feels heavier, as if the weight of my regrets keeps piling onto my shoulders.

As practice comes to an end, my performance has been nothing short of abysmal. My teammates exchange worried glances as we file off the ice, leaving me feeling more isolated than ever.

"Hey, man," Ryder catches up to me as I make my way to the locker room. "That was rough. You sure you're okay?"

"I'm fine," I snap, brushing past him and slamming my locker door open. The metallic clang echoes through the room, mirroring the chaos inside me.

In the locker room, I strip off my sweat-soaked gear, each piece a reminder of my dismal day on the ice. I slump onto the bench, head in my hands, replaying the events of the morning in my mind. In my haste to leave Elle's place, I'd let my fears and insecurities jeopardize my hockey career – the one thing that has always given me a sense of purpose.

"Shit," I whisper to myself, feeling both defeated and disgusted. How could I have let things spiral so far out of control?

As I sit there, surrounded by the cold, empty lockers, I wonder if this is the price I must pay for attempting to balance love and hockey. Loneliness seeps into every corner of the room, and I seriously wonder if I'm not cut out for both.

My phone buzzes in my pocket, pulling me from my thoughts. I glance at the screen to see a text message from Elle:Hey Asher, is everything okay? I'm worried about you.

Her words hit me like a slap in the face. It's true – I've been a hypocrite, telling her we'd work things out and be honest with each other, but here I am, unable to pull my own head out of my ass and lead by example.

I stare at her message, fingers hovering over the keyboard as I try to find the right words. But what can I say? I'm drowning in doubt and fear, unsure if I can truly give her what she deserves while chasing my hockey dreams? No, that's not fair to her. So I say nothing, letting the silence grow a wedge between us.

Feeling more lost than ever, I change and leave the rink, avoiding any further conversation with my teammates. I step outside, the crisp coastal air stings my face, a harsh reminder that the sun is setting on yet another day wasted in self-pity.

Back at my house in Pawleys Island, I retreat to my room and lock the door behind me. With each breath, loneliness closes in like walls of the darkened room, suffocating me. I picture Elle in her cozy little sanctuary, surrounded by vintage decor, plants, and calming scents. The thought only intensifies the ache in my chest, making it hard to breathe.

"Dammit," I mutter under my breath, pacing the length of my room. I've made a mess of things, and now I don't know how to fix it. Something has to change, or I risk losing everything I've ever cared about.

Once again, my phone buzzes, breaking the oppressive silence. And once again, I glance at the screen and see Elle's name displayed. My heart races, and my fingers hover over the screen,itching to answer her call. But the fear of facing her and admitting my failures holds me back. I let it ring until it goes silent, a quiet act of cowardice.

"Jet, you're an idiot," I tell myself, staring at the missed call notification. I convince myself that pushing her away is for the best, that it will protect my focus on hockey. But deep down, I know I'm just using it as an excuse to avoid confronting my own insecurities.

The night drags on, sleep eluding me like a mirage in the desert. Regret and loneliness gnaw at me with every toss and turn. I replay our last conversation in my head, cursing my inability to open up and be honest with her. In trying to protect my career, I've pushed away the one person who made me feel truly alive.

The morning shines pale light through the window, but I’m not any closer to a solution. How can I bridge the gap when I don't even trust myself? What if she's already given up on me? The questions swirl around in my mind, threatening to consume me whole.

"Get a grip, Jet," I whisper, forcing myself out of bed. I need to figure this out, not just for Elle but for myself. It's time to face my fears and learn how to balance love and hockey before I lose both.

***

I squint against the new light of the morning, groaning as I rub at my sleep-deprived eyes. My body aches from a night spent tossing and turning with no relief.

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