Page 39 of Huge Pucking Play

I can see it all again in my mind's eye. The growing dread as I moved through the house.

"I ran upstairs to our bedroom. Her closet was bare. Dresser drawers pulled out, empty." My voice catches. "On the bed was a note. Just a few lines."

Cyn leans in, her eyes soft with sympathy. "What did it say?"

"'I can't do this anymore. I've found someone who actually cares about me, who's there for me. Don't try to find me.'"

The words still sting, even after all these years.

"God, Garrett. I'm so sorry," Cyn whispers.

I shrug, trying to play it off. "It was a long time ago. But yeah, it wrecked me. I threw myself into hockey even more after that. I had nothing else at that point.”

Cyn's eyes soften. "Did you ever see her again?"

I shake my head slowly. "Not until the lawyers got involved. Six weeks later, I was sitting in some fancy office downtown—all chrome and glass and uncomfortable leather chairs talking about how we were going to divide all of our stuff."

The memory feels fresh, razor-sharp

"I'd been trying to reach her for weeks. Calls, texts, even went to her parents' house wondering if she was there. Nothing." I take another sip of bourbon, longer this time. "My attorney tells me we need to meet at her attorney’s office. I walk in, and there she is."

Cyn watches me intently, her thumb tracing small circles on the back of my hand.

"She looked...different. New hairstyle, more makeup on her face than I’d ever seen before. She wouldn't even look at me." The memory makes my jaw clench. "Like I was nothing to her. Ten years together, and she couldn't even meet my eyes."

"That's awful," Cyn whispers.

"Yeah. And her lawyer—this shark in an Italian suit—he slides this document across to me. Demands half of everything. The house, my savings, even wanted a percentage of my future earnings."

I shake my head, willing all these memories to disappear.

"Enough about that. What about you?" I ask. "Any relationship skeletons in your closet?"

She laughs, but it's tinged with sadness. "Oh, plenty. My last serious boyfriend...he couldn't understand why my job was so important to me."

I nod, understanding all too well. "It's not just a job, though, is it?"

"No," Cyn says firmly. "It's everything I've worked for. My independence."

She takes a long sip of wine, her eyes growing distant. "My dad abandoned us when I was eight. Just up and left one day."

"That's rough," I say softly, shaking my head.

Cyn nods, tracing the rim of her glass with her fingertip. "Mom and I were eating breakfast. Cheerios. I remember because they got soggy while I waited for him to come eat with us." Her voice takes on an edge. "Turns out he'd packed his bags the night before while I was asleep."

I pick up her hand and kiss her knuckles.

"No goodbye, no explanation. Just gone." She swallows hard. "My mom was blindsided. He'd cleaned out their joint account too—left her with the twenty-three dollars she had in her purse."

"Jesus," I mutter.

"We lost the house within three months. Moved into this tiny one-bedroom apartment in a neighborhood where you didn't go out after dark." Her eyes flash with something—anger, determination. "Mom and I slept in the same bed four years until we could finally move into something larger."

She looks down at our intertwined fingers, then back up at me.

"She worked three jobs at first. Waitressing in the mornings at a diner, receptionist during the day, and stocking shelves at night. I barely saw her." Cyn's voice catches. "I'd fall asleep before she got home and wake up to find lunch packed in the fridge with little notes inside that said things like 'Study hard today, baby girl' or 'You're going to change the world someday.' Small things that kept me going."

"My mom was my hero," Cyn continues, her voice soft but strong.

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