Page 153 of Fake As Puck
“When were you long distance?” Colton asks, catching up to us at the blue line.
“Sophomore year of college. Girl back home while I was playing juniors in Ontario. Lasted about three months before she dumped me for some guy at her school.”
“That’s encouraging,” I say.
“Hey, I’m just keeping it real. Long distance is brutal. Especially when you’re both young and hot and have options.”
“Speak for yourself on the hot part,” Colton says.
“I am speaking for myself. I’m objectively attractive.”
“You’re objectively dumb too.”
“Either way, long distance killed that relationship dead. Just saying.”
“Not helping, Hurley,” Reed says, skating up to join our conversation.
“What? I’m giving him the truth. Better to know what he’s up against.”
“What he’s up against is missing someone he cares about. That’s normal.”
“Is it normal to play hockey like you’ve never seen a puck before?”
“Fuck off, Hurley,” I say, but without real heat.
“Just trying to help.”
“Help me by shutting up.”
“Can’t. It’s not in my nature.”
The rest of practice passes in a blur of drills and scrimmages, and by the time we’re back in the locker room, I’m exhausted but still wired.
Still thinking about her.
“West,” Reed says as I’m pulling off my gear. “Can I talk to you for a second?”
“Sure.”
He nods toward the hallway, and I follow him out of the locker room and into the equipment room where we can talk without the guys listening in.
“You okay?” he asks.
“Yeah. I’m fine.”
“You keep saying that, but you’re not playing like you’re fine.”
“It’s just... adjustment period. Getting back into the routine.”
“Is it the girl?”
“Is what the girl?”
“The reason you’re distracted. Tired. Not sleeping.”
I lean against the wall and run a hand through my hair.
“Maybe.”
