Page 106 of In My Hockey Era
And then, because I’m an idiot, because I hate this distance between us, I say the thing I probably shouldn’t.
“I used this as an excuse.”
Bennett slows beside me, glancing over.“What?”
I swallow hard, my grip tightening on the leash.“Your past.Your divorce.I used it as an excuse to push you away.”
He doesn’t respond right away.He just looks at me with those haunting blue eyes.
So I keep going.
“Because I was scared,” I admit, my voice barely above a whisper.“And I didn’t know how to handle it.Us.”
His breath hitches.Just barely.
And then, quietly, he says, “I didn’t know how to handle it either.”
I turn my head slightly, my heart thudding unevenly as I meet his gaze.There’s something raw there.Something that makes my stomach twist.
Because if I let myself believe it—if I let myself really look—he isn’t just here because he feels guilty.
He’s here because he cares.
And I don’t know what to do with that.
The dogs tug us forward, breaking whatever fragile moment we just had, and I clear my throat, refocusing on the path ahead.
We keep walking.
We don’t talk much after that.
But somehow, the silence between us isn’t quite as heavy anymore.
By the time we circle back toward the shelter, I feel lighter than I have in days.
He slows beside me, his voice low.“I know I messed up.”
I look over at him.
And for the first time since this whole thing fell apart, I think—maybe, just maybe—I’m ready to hear him out.
But we don’t get the chance for some big, emotion-filled conversation.Because when we reach the shelter, there’s more to do.Lots more.I shampoo dogs, and Bennett helps Danielle unload heavy bags of dog food from her SUV.
I see him again, heading out to walk Waffles and smile remembering our conversation about his name from when I barely knew him.It seems like so long ago.
38
PLOT TWIST, BABY
Bennett
The game is brutal.
Not in a physical, fists-flying, gloves-off kind of way—though there’s been plenty of that too—but in a way that feels like I’m fighting against something invisible.Something I can’t pin to the boards or skate away from.
My mind won’t shut up.It hasn’t in weeks.
I shove down the frustration, gripping my stick tighter as I rush down the ice.Chase is in position, calling for the pass, but I don’t take it.I’m not thinking, just moving.Cutting through the neutral zone, ripping a shot on goal that’s too wide, too fast—wrong.
