Page 7 of Hockey Boy

A sense of calm washes over me the moment my skates hit the ice. From a young age, I’ve known two things with complete certainty: that I was destined to be a hockey player, and that Lennox Kennedy is the love of my life.

For ten years, I’ve focused on only one of those things. I pushed the other out of my mind completely. What’s the point of knowing something so definitively if it’scompletely out of reach?

All along, I’ve understood that no woman would compare to her. That I would never feel as comfortable, as at home, as infatuated, or as cared for as I did when she was mine.

But I couldn’t have her, so all of those facts became irrelevant.

I may be the funny Langfield, and the world may assume that because of my humor, I’m not very bright, but I’m quite possibly the smartest, because I managed to successfully put her out of my head.

For years, I didn’t think about her. My brothers may think I pined for her, but unlike them, I have a healthy sense of self-preservation.

Beckett pined for his wife, Liv, for over ten years, even while she was married to another man. He walked around miserable, day in and day out, snapping at everyone in his proximity, all because he couldn’t put Liv out of his head.

Gavin—fuck, the guy fell for his best friend’s daughter and then stayed away from her for an entire year, even though he could think of nothing but her. Then the idiot almost lost her again.

And Brooks? Jesus. Anyone could see that Brooks and his fiancée, Sara, were meant to be, but he settled in the friend zone without a fight, then stared at her like she was a damn ice cream sundae on a hot day.

Me? Lennox Kennedy owned me. So the moment she said shamrock and ripped my heart out, I knew the only way I could move on was to forget she existed.

What I didn’t realize was that forgetting her meant I’d be giving up my heart. So I’ve been walking around with a hole where that organ used to be for the last decade. Day in and day out until she waved at me last season, and I slammed into the plexiglass. Flat on my back, I went, almost knocked out cold.

And since then? Fuck, since then, I can’t get her out of my goddamn mind.

She’s been my every thought for months. My heart pounds at the mere mention of her.

It was beyond idiotic to propose to Jill. Even if I hate her for whatshe did, I’m no better. I used her to fill a hole in my life, and if it hadn’t been her, it would have been another woman who didn’t deserve to be my second choice.

Because any life short of one spent with Lennox would be half a life.

Now that I’ve acknowledged the truth I’ve been running from, the real question is, what the hell am I going to do about it?

I press my skates deeper into the ice, forcing myself into suicides. This move is pure torture most of the time, but today, after just a few passes, I’m locked in completely on each movement. If not, I’ll be tempted to fly into the wall in order to force my mind to go blank. My lungs constrict, desperate for more oxygen. My legs burn with each stride, and my mind goes numb.

At the sound of my name, I’m pulled from my trance-like state. Sweat drips down my body despite the cold arena, and my chest aches as I come to a stop.

“Aiden.” Daniel Hall, my right winger, skates toward me. “Jesus, I said your name fifteen fucking times. Why the hell are you doing suicides on a Sunday?”

Flattening my palms against my knees, I drop my head and pant out a few ragged breaths. As I straighten, Hall tosses a water bottle at me.

“Here, you need that more than I do.”

I twist the cap and take a few seconds to breathe before guzzling it down.

He points to the boards, and with a nod, I follow him off the ice and onto the bench.

“I ended things with Jill.”

God, it feels so good to say it out loud. Like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders.

“Holy fuck.” Sliding his hand through his dark hair, he studies me, his lips tipped down in a concerned frown. “You okay?”

I allow myself to really sit with that question.For so long, when asked even the most surface-level questions about myself, my immediate response has been to joke around, to laugh, to smile, to hide the pain, the melancholy, that constantly plagues me. Bury the negativity. People ask because it’s polite, not because they actually want me to open up and say that no, I’m not feeling particularly great. Or that I woke up that morning and thought,why the hell am I here? What am I doing with my life? Do I even want to get out of bed?

I settle my elbows on my knees and survey the ice. More often than not, I am okay. But in this moment, I remind myself that it’s okay that right now I’m not.

“Ya know, I’m really not.”

I turn to Hall, not sure what to expect. He’s only twenty-four, and in general, he’s a happy guy. Fucks around a bit too much, but that’s what a lot of the rookies do. I don’t judge him for it. The only time he’s truly serious is when he’s on the ice. Though right now, his hazel eyes hold more understanding than I thought him capable of. Is it possible that beneath his playboy persona, there’s a layer of him I’ve yet to see? Yeah, I wouldn’t be surprised, knowing that so few have ever seen beneath the mask I wear.

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