Page 92 of In My Hockey Era
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I am not myself.
I can feel it—this weird, jittery energy buzzing beneath my skin, this tightness in my chest that won’t let up.
And it’s making me sloppy.
I never get distracted at work.Never.But today, my hands are shaking.My focus is shot.
I go through the motions—checking vitals, hooking up monitors, documenting meds—but everything feels off.
I hate it.Ihatethat Ben is in my head, that my body is running on autopilot because my entire brain is consumed with him.
We’re halfway through our shift when Ethan finally calls me out.
I’m restocking IV supplies when he leans against the counter, arms crossed, watching me like I’m a puzzle he’s trying to solve.
“You good?”he asks, voice casual.
I don’t look up.“Fine.”
“You sure about that?”
“Yes.”
“You hesitated before starting an IV earlier.Youhesitated.”
I exhale through my nose, clenching my jaw.“One time.”
“Yeah, and I think it’s the first time I’ve ever seen you do it.”
I slam a package of saline flushes into the drawer harder than necessary.“Drop it, Ethan.”
He lifts his hands, backing off.But I see it—the concern in his eyes, the way he’s still watching me, stillwaiting.
And I hate that, too.
Because if I say anything—if I admit I’m off my game because of a man, of all things—it makes thisreal.
It makes this colossal mess up real.
And I don’t know if I’m ready for that.
I just need to get through this shift.
And then—I need to face Bennett and get this over with.
Let the chips fall where they may.
34
THE WEIGHT OF THE TRUTH
Bennett
The knock on my door is softer than usual.
No playful pounding, no sarcasticOpen up, Wilder!like she might do if we were okay.No, this knock is hesitant.Like she’s already one foot out the door.
