Page 55 of Exes That Puck
Scott’s not normally out with us, but tonight he is, and he’s ragging on Dylan about his personal trainer all night because I guess he went to the gym where they train, and she is a smoke show.
Carter laughs. “Wolf Boy is Rocky. Did you know that?”
My stomach tightens. Kara said Wolf Boy was mysterious. She was talking about Rocky? My teammate? The guy who thinks he’s God’s gift to hockey. The old me would’ve made some possessive comment, staked a claim.
Instead, I excuse myself to the bathroom and stare at my reflection under fluorescent lights. I’m pissed, and it’s fucking stupid.
It’s innocent. She’s not yours. This is why she broke up with you. This is why she won’t get back with you. You need to change. Control the controllables.
Back at the table, I shift the conversation to tomorrow’s practice schedule.
That night, I prepare a low-pressure plan. If she texts, I’ll offer a coffee date. If not, silence is fine too. But I still don’t know if she’s coming to the party.
I send a group text to Westley and Dylan.
Zeke: New house rule. No comments if Kara’s name comes up Saturday.
Both respond with thumbs up.
The next day, the group chat explodes with party logistics.
Rocky:Bring whoever. Tell everyone.
Scott: Dylan, I need to test a theory. Invite her.
I shake my head, knowing Scott can be a shithead.
Carter:I’ll bring the whole campus then
I think Kara will be there, so I make a rational decision.I’ll attend, but I won’t seek her out. If she approaches, I’ll listen, not steer.
Thursday afternoon, I clean my truck inside and out, tossing an old hoodie that’s been living in the back seat. I put a spare water bottle and granola bar in the console.
Kara’s hair tie goes in my top drawer, a small symbol of patience instead of possession.
My phone chimes with the counseling appointment confirmation: Thursday 3:30 p.m. I add it to my calendar and set two reminders.
Then, after staring at her contact for several minutes, I draft one more message. This time, I send it.
Zeke: Party’s at Rocky’s Saturday. No expectations. If you’re there and want space, I’ll give it. If you need anything, I’ll be nearby.
I lock my phone immediately after sending. No second text. No checking if it’s been read.
The phone stays silent for the rest of the evening, and I let it.
Before bed, I tape a handwritten note inside my hockey locker. “Breathe. Listen.”
Small steps toward becoming someone she can trust again.
I’m not tired yet restless energy still humming under my skin. I grab my phone and scroll to my mom’s contact, hitting call before I can overthink it.
She picks up on the third ring. “Hi, Z.”
“Hey, mom.”
“How are you? Everything okay?”
“Yeah, I just... can I ask you something?”
