Page 65 of Shoot Your Shot

“Talk to him about this. He has no way of knowing how you’re feeling or what you’re thinking if you don’t.” He inhales so drastically that I hear it through the phone. “I truly believe he’d walk away from it all if he could have you. The question is … are you really going to ask him to do that?”

“No,” I whisper. “I—I don’t know what to do.” I pinch the bridge of my nose with one hand, keeping the other snugly on the wheel. “I have to stop for gas. I’ll call you later.”

“Don’t be mad. Just talk to him,” he says softly. “Love you.”

“I love you too.”

Ending the call, I pull into the gas station parking lot and kill the engine.

His words hit deep. Because truthfully, I know I could never ask Kolt to do such a thing. I don’t even know who he would be without hockey. It’s not only his job; it’s who he is. And my dad’s right; it gave him life when he had nothing else. Back when his home life was shit and his father was making his world hell, he could turn to the ice, and it always had his back.

Yet I also know my dad is right about something else. Kolt would walk away if I asked him to. Because that’s how much he loves me. And that love should be enough, shouldn’t it? But everyone knows love isn’t the only thing a relationship needs to survive.

Ibrush my hand along the dresser before looking around the bedroom. A bedroom that used to be so full of life is now so dreary. Heck, even Ted doesn’t come in here, it seems.

Every square inch I look at, a different memory flashes through my brain. I hear the sounds of laughs, cries, yells, and squeals when I think back to everything that has taken place in this bedroom.

I look at the chaise lounge in the corner, and I can see myself sitting there nearly two years ago.

My head is hanging, and a pregnancy test is in my hand. And in comes Kolt, crouching down beside me. He puts his forehead to mine and tells me it’s all going to be okay before wrapping his arms around me and pulling me closer.

Because my periods were always so heavy and so painful, I always knew something wasn’t right, even before the doctor confirmed it months ago. But before that, I never gave up on my body, even though there were times when I wanted to. In those moments, my mind would travel to a dark place, and I’d wish I had a crystal ball to look into the future to see if I’d ever get to be a mom or if everything I was putting myself through was for nothing.

I wrap my cardigan tightly around myself before sitting on the edge of the bed.

I got home an hour ago from the office, and Kolt isn’t due back for another hour or so. I don’t know why I wandered in here. I think I just needed to.

I look at the chaise lounge again and close my eyes. I hear his voice, telling me he loves me and that it will all work out. He’s always been an anchor in my stormy seas. I guess I just forgot that we were on the same ship for a while.

I hear myself laughing and imagine him chasing me into the bedroom, scooping me up, and taking me into the bathroom.

There have been so many memories that made up our life together, and it’s hard to believe we threw it all away like it was trash. The worst part of my reasoning was that I felt like he was pushing me away—exactly what his mother had warned me about and made me promise to stay anyway. But at that point in our marriage, I was fighting my own battles, and I was losing.

Picking up a throw pillow—one I remember choosing, along with the sheets and bedspread—I hug it close to my chest. It doesn’t smell like him. Or me.

Or us.

This doesn’t feel like our room because, right now, it isn’t. And while the memories play out before my eyes, I feel like I’m looking at a snow globe from the outside, a stranger in my bedroom.

I hear footsteps coming toward the room, and before I can get up, Kolt stops outside the door and stares at me.

“What are you doing?” he says, not stepping into the room, but instead keeping his feet outside the doorway. He leans against the door, the tattoo of my face on his arm on full display.

“I don’t really know,” I say honestly. “I was changing the laundry over, and then … I ended up in here.”

I inhale, throwing my head back slightly and letting a breath out before straightening my shoulders and looking back at him.

“How was your first day back at practice? I thought you wouldn’t be home for at least an hour.” I have to force the words out because all I want right now is to curl up in a ball and not talk, or think, or do a thing. Just being in this room has depleted my mind, body, and soul, but I still care how today went for him because it’s important to Kolt. And that makes it important to me too.

I know he didn’t physically take part in today’s practice. But this is step one to getting him there, which scares me because the thought of him putting himself in harm’s way again fills me with fear.

“It didn’t go as late as I’d thought it would,” he mutters. “And I didn’t practice. I just sat and watched.” His voice drips with frustration, and I’m not surprised.

I’m sure the last thing a player like Kolt Kolburne wants to do is sit and watch his team practice and not take part. Me? I’m secretly happy that he’s not cleared yet. But how could I ever say that out loud without sounding like an awful wife?

“You’ll get there,” I say, even though it’s hard.

He looks down at his feet, as if he’s unsure if he should take the step into the room or not. He seems to have an internal battle with it before, finally, he steps into the room and walks toward me.

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