Page 83 of Stuck with my Guarded MVP
Megan was right. I was living at half volume.
I want more. I need to stop holding everything at arm’s length.
Why did the apartment listings feel like a slap? Why was I bracing? What was I bracing for?
I crouched again as the next drill started. Blocker low. Glove up. Pads square. But it wasn’t instinctual, it was mechanical.
My body moved like it remembered. But my mind kept trying to predict the hit.
Not the puck. The hurt.
Something mattered, and I couldn’t stop it from leaving.
A shot rang off the boards behind me. Another skittered wide. I didn’t flinch.
I was holding tension in places that should’ve been fluid. Ankles locked. Glove too tight. My shoulders were riding too high. I knew it, and I couldn’t seem to stop it.
Bracing was costing me more than I realized.
The guys were winding down, chirping, loosening up. One of the rookies snapped a puck toward me just for fun. I batted it away, automatic.
But I didn’t leave the ice.
I stayed crouched in the crease, watching the cuts in the ice glitter under the overhead lights. Breathing through the burn in my legs.
I looked down at the cuts in the ice, the rubber smudges, the familiar chaos.
I used to find clarity here. Now all I could hear was “live at full volume.” I reached up and pulled off my mask. Let the cold air sting my face. Closed my eyes.
Maybe I need to follow my own advice for when things get scary. Remember what you like.
Time to stop playing safe.
Two Chairs
Claire
The suitcase lay open on the bed. Half-packed. A couple of stacks of folded clothes, a shoebox with my mug wrapped in paper, and extra toiletries tucked into a side pouch.
This is the plan. This is the next step. Still, each fold, each zipper, each item that goes into my suitcase erases something.
I folded the sweater, then unfolded it. Folded again, tighter this time. Still not right. I set it aside instead of putting it in the suitcase.
The door buzzed. Then the five signature doorknocks.
Nolan
I straightened, eyes lifting to the window. Buildings stacked tight, sunlight flashing off the glass. Two birds circled between them. My breath caught for a beat.
I wiped my palms on my jeans and headed for the door.
When I opened it, Nolan stood there with two flattened boxes tucked under one arm, trying to keep them from sliding.
“Brooke said to drop these off.” The corner of his mouth pulled into a smirk. “Don’t say I never did anything for you.”
I stepped aside to let him in. “Noted. I’ll put it on your permanent record.”
“Good. My ‘helping my sibling' record needs padding.” He set the boxes down. “How is the apartment hunting going?"
