Page 97 of In My Hockey Era
I thought time would make it easier.That if I could just get through a few days—maybe a week—without seeing Bennett, without hearing his stupid, cocky voice, without checking my phone every five seconds for a text that wasn’t coming… I’d be okay.
But I’m not.
It’s been a week.A week of silence.A week of pretending I’m fine, pretending I don’t miss him with every breath, pretending that I don’t think about him every time I step into my apartment and remember the way he stood in my kitchen making me dinner like he belonged there.
The ache in my chest has settled deep, a constant, dull pressure that won’t let up no matter how much I try to drown it out with work, with hockey, with Mia’s relentless attempts at distraction.
And tonight?Tonight, it’s winning.
I sit curled up on my couch, knees to my chest, staring blankly at the untouched takeout container on my coffee table.Max rests his head on my lap, his big brown eyes looking up at me like he knows.Like he can sense that something inside me is breaking apart, piece by piece.
I drag in a shaky breath, swiping at the tear that slides down my cheek.I feel hollow.Empty.Like I let go of something I was never supposed to lose.
I reach for my phone before I can stop myself, my thumb hovering over his contact.His name stares back at me, waiting.
Listening to Benson Boone on top volume while ugly crying can only get you so far.
I squeeze my eyes shut, my thumb twitching—then, with a choked breath, I close the screen and drop my phone onto the couch beside me.
I can’t call him.
But I can’t sit here, drowning in this feeling either.
I pick my phone back up and scroll down to another name instead.
Connor.
It rings three times before he answers, his voice groggy.“Luce?You okay?”
I let out a broken laugh.“It’s late, huh?”
“Yeah, but don’t worry about it.”He pauses, and I can hear the rustling of sheets.“What’s up?”
I press the heel of my hand against my eyes, trying to keep my voice steady.“I, uh…” I trail off, unsure how to say it, how to explain this ache that won’t let up.“I think I made a mistake.”
Connor is quiet for a second.“About what?”
I swallow hard.“Bennett.”
Another pause, this one heavier.Then, softer, “Talk to me.”
My chest tightens, and before I can stop it, the words tumble out in a broken rush.“I miss him, and it’s stupid because I was the one who walked away.I told him I needed space, I told him I couldn’t trust him, and now—” My voice catches, and I press my knuckles to my lips, trying to hold it together.
Connor exhales.“Oh, Luce.”
I shake my head, tears slipping down my cheeks faster now.“I don’t know what to do.I don’t even know if Ishoulddo anything.But everything feels… wrong.I feel wrong.”
Connor doesn’t say anything for a moment, just lets me cry.And I hate it.I hate crying.Hate feeling weak.But something about my big brother being on the other end of the line, steady and unwavering, makes me feel a little less like I’m falling apart completely.
“I don’t want to tell you what to do,” he says finally.“That’s not my job.But Iwilltell you this—you’re not stupid for missing him.”
I sniff.“Feels like I am.”
Connor huffs a quiet laugh.“Nah.You fell for the guy.Of course you miss him.”
I close my eyes at his words, my heart twisting painfully.
You fell for the guy.
