Page 32 of Blindside Me
“Seriously, are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine.”
“It’s just … You’ve always been serious, but you’d also let loose. Hell, you’ve always been the life of the party.”
“Until it cost me.” My jaw sets, fists tightening around my towel. It’s easy for Easton. He doesn’t want to go pro. But for me, I don’t want to do anything else but play.
“I get it. I just … I don’t know, man. I hate seeing you this way.”
“I’ll be fine.” I tilt my head, smirk sliding into place. “But thanks for caring.” My mocking tone wipes the concern from his face.
“Asshole.”
“There’s my guy.”
“Fine. I’ll back off.” He shakes his head. “But quit brooding. You had a great game. Teams would be idiots not to include you in the combine this year.”
Yet, they’ve passed me by for the past three years.
I shower quickly and change even faster. My ribs throb where the puck hit them. I’ll have a bruise tomorrow, but it doesn’t matter. What matters is whether I did enough.
I slip out while the celebration continues and find a quiet hallway near the rink. The stands are mostly empty now, and the maintenance crews are already at work. I lean against theconcrete wall and close my eyes. My chest heaves, not from exertion but from fear finally catching up to me.
What if I’m not good enough? What if I never escape Jake’s shadow? What if Coach Howell’s faith was misplaced?
“You look like you lost instead of won.”
I snap my eyes open. Jade stands a few feet away. Her blonde hair and blue eyes catch the fluorescent lighting.
“Just getting some air,” I say, straightening up, wincing at the pain in my side.
“Bullshit.” She steps closer. “You played great. Why are you hiding?”
“I’m not hiding.”
She raises an eyebrow. “So you regularly skip victory celebrations to stand alone in empty hallways?”
I don’t answer. Don’t know what to say.
“You blocked that last shot with your body,” she says. “That took guts.”
I shrug. “It’s the job.”
“Is the job also beating yourself up after a win?” She leans against the wall next to me, close but not touching. Her warmth drifts in my direction, calm and grounding. “Everyone’s talking about how clutch you were. Everyone except you.”
I study the floor, the scuffs on my shoes, anything but her face. “They didn’t see the turnover in the second. They didn’t see how close we came to losing because of me.”
“But they saw everything else.” Her voice softens. “What did that feel like? The win?”
I start to deflect the way I always do when someone gets too close to what’s really going on. But something in her expression stops me. She’s not asking to make conversation. She genuinely wants to know.
“Honestly? Relief.” The word comes out before I can stop it. “Just … relief that I didn’t blow it.”
She nods like she understands, though how could she? She doesn’t know about Jake, the scout, or everything riding on tonight. She sees the hockey player. The hothead. But something makes me think she sees a lot more.
“My uncle talks about you, you know.” She picks at a thread on her sleeve. “Says you’re the most talented player he’s coached, but you’re so afraid of making a mistake that you never play freely.”
The observation hits too close to home. I bristle. “Coach should worry about the team, not my mental state.”
