Page 89 of Aftersome
It was nearing the end of the first period and luckily we were up by two goals, thanks to Vince. He was on fire tonight, so every chance I could get, I tried to get videos of him. At one point, he’d even noticed me recording him and tossed me a wink over his shoulder as he skated past the glass.
I chuckled, knowing instantly that the video would be a hit.
Once we were halfway through the second period, my mind wandered over to how Mal was doing. Whether he was okay or not. I went to check my phone and realized I had four texts waiting for me and they were all from an unknown number.
Unknown (18:16): Where are you?
Unknown (18:29): Come to the physical therapy room when you get this.
Unknown (18:34): I know you’re getting these messages, Doe…
Unknown (18:56): Please?
My heart sunk from his last message. He only said please when he really needed something and gathering from his text, he was desperate.
Desperate for me.
Although I felt skeptical, I couldn’t brush off the feelings of concern. To the point my stomach was in knots every second I stood there not making any moves to go to him. To make matters worse, he’d sent the texts almost forty-five minutes ago.
I was sure my lack of response added insult to injury, making the connection we had the other night completely useless now.I could only imagine what he was thinking. What he was feeling and just how lonely he was sitting in a room where only uncertainty of the future could be identified.
He was there for me when I needed him. I didn’t even have to ask because he was always thinking of me.
Worrying about me.
Yet, when he needed me, he had to resort to begging. Pleading. And I felt horrible about it.
Mal should never have to ask for someone to be there for him. He should never have to beg for it either. Someone should always just be there. Supporting, comforting, loving, it’s what every person needs and deserves.
Despite all the circumstances of our pasts and maybe even the present.
Though I wasn’t exactly confident in myself and what I was about to walk into, I decided it was time to finally face him. Without replying to any of his messages, I made my way toward the therapy room. It had taken longer than it should have to get there, but I blamed it on the nerves for the grandma-like pace I had. Even as I stood just outside the door, I couldn’t find myself to do it.
A frosted glass window on the center of the door was the only thing separating Mal and I at the moment. Flutters of tension broke out like an unwanted disease throughout my body and I had a feeling that it wouldn’t go away anytime soon. Just standing out here, I could feel the negative energy seep through the bottom of the door and fill the air around me.
Extremely uncomfortable.
But it was also heart-wrenching.
With zero desire to remove my hands from my pants pockets, I reluctantly pulled them out of their safe place and went to open the door. Then ever so slowly, I turned the handle, anticipatingand waiting for what onslaught of words I’d get thrown at me by Mal.
My eyes had even closed briefly as I prematurely flinched from the squeaking of the door, thinking it was something else entirely. What that something else was, I had no idea, other than it could have been Mal.
Once I had the door fully opened, it didn’t take long for me to find Mal. Sitting alone on an exam table, his jersey and shoulder pad were gone, leaving him in only his pants, shin pads, and skates.
His back straightened the second he noticed me. Immediately, his face went dark with fury as his eyes clashed together with mine. Though it was the reaction I was expecting, I was hoping for something less angry and intimidating. Especially after everything we shared with each other the other night.
But of course it was just wishful thinking.
“Where have you been?” He had tried pushing himself off the exam table with his good arm, but a low hiss of pain poured out of him, causing me to rush over to his side.
“Jesus, Mal. Don’t try to get up, you’re hurt,” I berated, not thinking twice about his mood or what he might say in return. My eyebrows were pinched together as I glared down at him, but in no way did he look affected by my wrath.
Instead he looked torn.
He looked broken.
His dark hair was slicked back in a messy sort of way as if he’d been constantly raking his hands through it. But it was his tired face and defeated gaze that shredded at the pieces of my heart.
