Page 25 of Exes That Puck
“I mean when’s the last time you hung out with the guys without bringing her up? When’s the last time you went to a party orgrabbed dinner or did anything that didn’t somehow involve her or factor her into the equation?”
I open my mouth to argue, then close it. Because he’s right. Even when Kara wasn’t physically with me, she was there in every decision I made. Every plan revolved around her schedule, her mood, her needs.
“I don’t know how else it’s supposed to be,” I admit.
“The relationship is important, man. But it becomes unhealthy when everything else comes second. When you stop making time for friends, or she stops seeing her friends because you don’t like them. When you guys fight on away games because you’re texting her every five minutes instead of focusing on hockey.”
The memories flood back. All the times I skipped team dinners because Kara was upset about something. The away games where I spent more time on my phone than in the moment with my teammates. The night I almost missed Carter’s birthday because Kara and I were fighting, and I couldn’t leave things unresolved.
“Why can’t my brain remember how bad it was?” I ask. “Like, I know we fought all the time, but all I can think about is how good it felt when we were good.”
“Because the good parts were really good. But they don’t cancel out the bad parts, Zeke. They just make you forget them temporarily.”
I run my hands through my hair, feeling like an idiot. How did I not see this before? How did I convince myself that the intensity was romantic instead of recognizing it for what it was—obsession disguised as love.
“You’re not a bad dude,” Dylan says quietly. “You’ve just got your shit to work on. We all do.”
I grin, “You want me to return the favor?”
“Hit me,” Dylan says with no heat. He’s a cool dude.
I smile. “You’re lousy with the puck when you’re overthinking. And you’re a pushover. You’ll fight for everyone else, but you won’t fight for you.”
He looks like he’s considering this. “Yeah, okay. Fair enough.” He puts his dirty dishes in the sink and says, “See? We all have our shit.”
I nod, feeling something like relief settle in my chest. Not because my problems are solved, but because at least now I can see them clearly. That’s got to be the first step toward fixing them.
“Thanks for the talk, man.”
“Anytime.”
Dylan disappears back to his room, leaving me alone in the kitchen with my thoughts. I grab my phone and scroll to my mom’s contact. It’s late, but she’s always been a night owl.
She answers on the second ring. “Zeke? Everything okay?”
“Mom, tell me what my problem is,” I plead, needing a second confirmation that I’m the piece of shit in this situation.
There’s a pause. “Well, hello to you too, sweetheart. Are you asking for a general assessment or something specific?”
Despite everything, I smile. My mom has always been able to make me feel lighter, even in my darkest moments. “General assessment.”
“Are you sitting down?” she says.
I almost laugh. “I’m listening.”
She sighs, and I can picture her settling into her favorite chair with a cup of tea. “You know I love you more than life itself, but you’ve got some things to work on.”
“Yeah? Like what?”
“Well, for starters, you don’t listen to anyone. Not really. You hear what people say, but you’ve already decided what you think before they finish talking.”
The observation stings because it’s accurate. “When did that start?”
“Honestly? When you were about fourteen and started hanging around with Michael and that crowd. You turned into someone I didn’t recognize for a while there.”
Michael. My friend from high school who thought the world owed him something. Who treated his girlfriend like property and called it love. I haven’t thought about him in years, but now I can see his influence in some of my worst moments with Kara.
“It’s okay to make mistakes, honey,” my mom continues. “But it’s important to learn from them instead of making the same ones over and over again.”
