Page 13 of Exes That Puck
“I’m serious, man. You guys do this every few weeks. Break up, get back together, break up again. It’s exhausting just watching it.”
He’s not wrong but hearing it out loud makes my jaw clench. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Alright.” He pauses at the door, bag slung over his shoulder. “When’s the last time you went more than a week without texting her?”
I don’t answer because we both know the truth. I’ve never made it more than a week. Hell, I’ve never made it more than three days.
“Maybe try actually moving on this time,” Dylan says, not unkindly. “Might be good for both of you.”
The door closes behind him, leaving me alone with my coffee and my phone and the silence that’s eating me alive.
I try to eat breakfast, but everything tastes like cardboard. Try to watch TV, but I can’t focus. Every few minutes my eyes drift to my phone, sitting on the coffee table like a bomb waiting to go off.
Still nothing.
By the time I need to leave for practice, I’ve checked our conversation maybe twenty times. The meme is still sitting there, read but unanswered. Like she couldn’t even be bothered to send back a laughing emoji.
The drive to the rink doesn’t help. Every red light gives me another chance to grab my phone and torture myself. Every song on the radio reminds me of her somehow. Even the sports talk show guys are discussing relationship drama, like the universe is conspiring to keep her front and center in my head.
Practice should be my escape. The one place where everything else fades away and it’s just me, the ice, and the game. But today I’m off from the first drill.
“Heads up, Wilshire!” Coach barks when I miss an easy pass from Carter.
I shake it off, try to focus. The next drill goes better, but then I fumble a shot I could make in my sleep. The puck sails wide, clanging off the boards.
“What the hell was that?” Coach’s voice echoes across the rink.
Carter skates up beside me during the water break, grinning like he thinks this is hilarious. “Kara on your mind again?”
I want to tell him to fuck off, but that would just confirm what everyone already knows. Instead, I take a long drink of water and avoid his eyes.
“That bad, huh?” Carter laughs. “What’d you do this time?”
“Nothing,” I say, which is mostly true. I didn’t do anything wrong Saturday night. If anything, she’s the one who—
“Right.” Carter doesn’t buy it. None of them ever do. “Well, whatever it is, figure it out before Thursday’s game. We need you focused.”
He skates away, leaving me alone with my water bottle and my thoughts. Around me, the rest of the team runs through drills, their voices echoing off the arena walls. Normal Tuesday practice stuff. Chirping each other, talking about weekend plans, complaining about professors.
I used to be part of that. Used to joke around with them, give Carter shit about his terrible beard, plan weekend parties. But lately, it feels like I’m watching everything through glass. Present but separate.
All because of her.
The rest of practice drags. I manage to pull it together enough that Coach stops yelling at me, but I’m still not playing like myself. Every save I miss, every pass I fumble, just reminds me that she’s got me more twisted up than I want to admit.
In the locker room after, I shower fast and check my phone while water’s still dripping from my hair. The screen lights up with notifications, but none of them are from her.
Group chat with the boys. Instagram likes. A text from my mom asking how classes are going.
Nothing from Kara.
I scroll to Instagram, telling myself I’m just checking the hockey team’s page, but my fingers find her profile like they always do. Her story loads immediately. A mirror selfie with Payton and Tori, all three of them smiling with their arms around each other. Glossy lips and perfect hair, like they’re getting ready for something fun.
The timestamp says it was posted twenty minutes ago.
My stomach twists. She’s out with her friends, smiling like nothing’s going on. Like she’s not ignoring my texts. Like she’s serious about breaking up with me. Like she’s really done this time.
But I know better. I saw the way she looked at me when I kissed her. Felt the way she melted into me, all that anger and pretense dissolving the second our mouths touched. That wasn’t fake. That was the realest thing between us in weeks.
