Page 31 of Exes That Puck
I look away deliberately. Not because I don’t want to see her, but because I respect her space. Because staring isn’t what she needs from me right now.
The tunnel back to the locker room feels longer than usual. I hang back, letting Carter lead the way to whatever media obligations wait. I towel off my face, breathing steady and even. Sixty-four days of learning to sit with discomfort instead of acting on it.
The hallway outside the locker rooms is narrow, lined with cinderblock walls and fluorescent lights. I’m heading back from getting a protein bar when I see Kara walking toward the concession area with her friends. The corridor is too small to avoid each other completely.
“Hey,” I say as we pass.
“Hey,” she replies.
Warm but quick. No lingering, no attempt to extend the moment. Just acknowledgment between two people who share history but are respecting boundaries.
My phone buzzes as I reach the locker room.
Carter:You coming?
I type back: Coming.
For a split second, I almost addWho’s bringing friends?The old me would have been calculating, hoping Kara’s group might show up, engineering ways to be in the same space as her.
I delete the question and just send the first message.
The bar is exactly what you’d expect. Big TV screens, bar stools, nothing crazy here. The booth seating that’s seen better days. The team claims a section near the back, still riding the high of the win.
Kara’s group settles at a table across the room. I can see them in my peripheral vision, but I keep my attention on my teammates. Carter’s telling some ridiculous story about his statistics professor, and I find myself actually listening instead of tracking movement across the bar.
Dylan nudges my shoulder. “You good?”
“Yeah. Really good.”
And I mean it. There’s something satisfying about being where I am instead of constantly wishing I was somewhere else.
Later, when her eyes meet mine, it’s just for a moment. She gives a small smile, not an invitation, just acknowledgment. The electricity is still there, crackling in the space between us, but it doesn’t burn. It doesn’t demand action.
When the team starts talking about heading to another bar, I finish my drink and stand up.
“I’m gonna head out,” I tell Dylan.
“You sure? The night’s young.”
“Yeah. Have fun.”
Outside, the cold air hits like a slap, sharp and clean. I laugh at myself as I walk to my truck, breath forming clouds in the frigid air. Discipline tastes like snow in the lungs, like choosing the harder thing because it’s the right thing.
I’m changing. The real question is whether she can see it without me having to say a word.
12
I scan the bar, starting with the back booth where the team was sitting. Carter’s still there, Dylan too, but no Zeke. I check the dartboard area, the bar rail, even peer toward the patio door that leads to the smoking area.
Nothing.
He left. The thought hits with an unexpected sting. Did he leave with someone? Some girl who caught his eye after the game? The possibility makes my stomach twist in ways I don’t want to examine.
“Bathroom,” I announce to the girls, already standing.
Payton’s eyes narrow slightly. She knows I’m lying, but she doesn’t call me out. “Want company?”
“I’m good.”
