Page 24 of Exes That Puck
I’m out of the car and halfway to the building entrance before he can respond. I don’t look back, don’t let myself see if he’s watching me go.
But I hear his engine idle for a long time before he finally drives away.
8
I watch her disappear through the doors of her dorm, shoulders hunched like she’s carrying the weight of the world. Even from here, I can see the way her hand shakes as she swipes her key card. The way she pauses before the door closes behind her, like she might turn around. But in the end, she doesn’t.
The lobby light illuminates her silhouette for just a moment before she’s gone, swallowed by the building that houses her life without me. A life I’m apparently not welcome in anymore.
I sit in my truck with the engine running, hands gripping the steering wheel until I let out a breath. This is worse than any of our other breakups. Worse than the screaming matches or the silent treatments or the nights she’d storm out and come back the next day ready to pretend nothing happened.
This time feels final. Permanent. Like she’s not just walking away from me. She’s walking away from the possibility of us ever existing again.
The worst part? I can’t even blame her.
I saw the look in her eyes after. The regret. The self-loathing. Like being with me was something she had to recover from instead of something that made her happy. How did I become that person? How did loving her turn into something that hurts her?
A couple of students walk past my truck, laughing about something on one of their phones. Normal college kids living normal lives. The kind of life Kara probably wants. The kind she deserves.
I pull out of the parking lot and drive home on autopilot, muscle memory guiding me through familiar streets while my brain replays every moment of tonight on an endless loop. The way she kissed me back in the parking lot. How perfectly she fit against me in my bed. The devastating finality in her voice when she said goodbye.
The house is dark when I get home, but I can see light spilling from under Dylan’s door. I consider going straight to my room, avoiding any conversation that might require me to put words to what just happened. But when I close the front door, I hear movement in the kitchen.
Dylan emerges with a bowl of cereal, taking in my expression with one glance. “Rough night?”
I drop my keys on the counter, not meeting his eyes. “Something like that.”
“Kara was here?”
My head snaps up. “What?”
“Relax. I saw her shoes by the door when I got home from the gym. Wasn’t exactly a mystery.” He leans against the counter, studying my face. “But I’m guessing from your current mood that it didn’t go well.”
“Forget it, Dylan.”
“Look, man, I know you don’t want to hear this, but maybe you should be careful—”
“I said drop it.”
He holds up his hands. “Okay. But if you need to talk, I’m here.”
I stare at him for a long moment, this kid who’s somehow become the closest thing to a best friend I’ve had since high school. Dylan, who minds his own business and never judges, even when I’m being a complete disaster.
“Is there something wrong with me, man?” The words spill out before I can stop them. “Do I have a serious problem? Be brutally honest with me.”
Dylan sets down his spoon, expression shifting from casual to concerned. “Brutally honest?”
I nod. “Yeah. Brutally honest.”
He’s quiet for a moment, like he’s choosing his words carefully. Then he sighs.
“On the ice, you’re controlled. You expect everyone else to be that way too. You’ve got this vision of how plays should go, how the team should move, and when someone deviates from that, it pisses you off.”
“That’s called leadership.”
“Is it? Because sometimes it feels more like control.” He pauses. “And with Kara... man, you made her everything. Your whole world revolved around her. That’s not healthy.”
I don’t like to hear that, but I asked him to be honest. I clench my jaw, trying to think. “What do you mean?”
