Page 96 of In My Hockey Era
My jaw clenches.“She didn’t dump me.We weren’t—” I stop myself before I say something even more pathetic.“It’s complicated.”
“Is it?”Chase leans against the wall, crossing his arms.“Because from where I’m standing, it seems pretty freaking simple.You’re miserable without her.”
I say nothing.
Chase exhales.“Whatever happened, fix it.Or don’t.But stop taking it out on everyone else.”
He leaves before I can respond.Not that I would.
Because he’s right.
I’m miserable.
And the worst part?I don’t know how to fix it.
35
BREAKUPS & BAD DECISIONS
Lucy
Istare at the blank cursor on my phone screen, the familiar blue and white interface of my social media app open, waiting.Waiting for me to post something—anything—about tonight’s game.The one I should be talking about, analyzing, breaking down with stats and commentary.
Instead, I’m frozen.
Because the only thing worse than pretending everything is fine… is knowing that everyone is going to ask abouthimthe second I hitpost.
I can see it now—the replies, the messages.
Where’s Bennett?
Why aren’t you teasing him tonight?
Is #QuinnWilder over?
I squeeze my eyes shut, stomach twisting.
The thing is, Iwantto post.I want to lose myself in the sport, in my usual routine, in something—anything—that doesn’t feel like the gaping hole inside my chest.But the moment I try, I can’t.Because all I can think about is the last game I watched in person, standing in the tunnels waiting for Bennett to come off the ice, his jersey wrinkled from play, his face lit up with that cocky, teasing grin.
The last time we wereus.
My throat tightens, and with a frustrated sigh, I toss my phone onto the couch and flop backward beside it, staring at the ceiling.
I was fine before Bennett Wilder.
I was independent, career-driven,unbothered.I didn’t care about relationships, didn’tneedto be anyone’s girlfriend, didn’t daydream about things like stolen kisses in hotel hallways or the way his hand felt on my waist when we danced at that stupid gala.
But now?
Now, I feel like I’m standing outside in the cold without a jacket, and the worst part is… it’s my own damn fault.
I was the one who left.The one who said I needed space.
And now, I have it.
And I hate it.
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