Page 8 of Off Season

“When are you going to be done with team stuff?” she asks again for the fifth time since she called.

“In a week or so.” The lie tastes bitter on my tongue. We’re going to be finished in the next few days, but I need to give myself a bit more time.

“Okay, well, you better make sure you book your flight as soon as you can. I want to see my boy. I miss you.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose as guilt ripples through me, settling in my chest. I don’t mean to be an asshole, especially not to my mom. She means everything to me. She’sthe only family I have aside from my teammates, and I know she’s doing this out of love.

She is the only reason why I agreed to go to this goddamn wedding and come face-to-face with my past.

“I miss you too, Mom. I’ll sort out my travel soon, I promise.”

There’s a beat of silence before her voice turns soft. I don’t miss how her words are hinted with sadness. “I hope you find your person one day. Someone you can open up to. Who loves you, and adores you, and appreciates you for who you are.”

I swallow the lump in my throat.

“There’s nothing wrong with having feelings, Ethan, whether they’re happy or sad. It’s what makes us human, and you, my son, are my favorite human.”

Fuck.Squeezing my eyes closed, I’m at a loss for words for the second time in days. I simply grunt before we say our goodbyes.

Ever since my dad left, I’ve struggled to deal with my emotions. He used to get so angry at me, telling me I was “too emotional”. Even with him gone, his words would play like a broken record in my head, and I didn’t know how to handle everything I was feeling. So, I squashed it all down and poured all my energy into being the best hockey player I could be. Whenever the weight of it all became too heavy to carry, I bottled it up and channeled every ounce of it onto the ice.

That hasn’t changed, and these days, when it becomes too much to bear, I find an excuse to get into a brawl on the ice.

I’ve sacrificed so much of my life to the sport. I didn’tget to play outside on my bike, or go to sleepovers, or attend birthday parties at Pizza Hut. I didn’t get to go to prom or the drive-in theater to make out with the boy I had a crush on.

Hell, I didn’t even have time to develop a crush.

I was the kid who was on the ice every waking minute that I wasn’t in class perfecting my craft. That hasn’t changed much either, which means relationships—both romantic and platonic—aren’t easy for me.

I’m not like Blaine or Elliot, who can spill their hearts out about whatever is on their minds. I’m always consciously aware that I could open the door just a fraction too far and allow someone to slip through my defenses, only for them to tear me up and leave me in a broken mess.

I can’t allow that to happen.

Not again.

It’s safer not to let them in. To just give them enough to know that I care, but not enough to risk getting hurt.

A loud pounding against the door snaps me out of my dark mental cloud. I slowly get to my feet, stretching out my back before making my way to it, only to be greeted by Elliot’s Cheshire Cat grin when I open it.

“Hello, Mr. Grouchy Pants,” he says as he pokes me in the pec with his finger before pouting comically. “You’ve been ignoring us and me no likey.”

I bat his hand away.

“Yeah, man. Where have you been?” Blaine peers over his brother's shoulder.

“We thought you might have left for England without saying goodbye.” Zach frowns from behind both of them.

I rub my palm over my chest. The sight of their stupidfaces thaws the ice that surrounds my heart. “You know I wouldn’t leave without saying bye. I just needed a few days.”

To feel sorry for myself. To mope around.

“Well, you’ve had a few days, my delightful ray of sunshine, and you’re not allowed any more.” Elliot pushes past me and heads into the kitchen. “I’m hungry, have you got any snacks?”

I roll my eyes, stepping aside to let the other two through.

“Do you guys want a drink?” I ask, turning the corner to see Elliot already raiding the fridge.

“He’s got water, soda, wine, and some weird green juice stuff.” He brings the bottle of kale, spinach, and celery juice to his nose and sniffs it. Gagging, he quickly puts the bottle back and looks at me, his face screwed up in disgust. “Dude, that’s vile. How can you drink that? It smells like grass.”

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