Page 86 of Dear #47, You're the Worst
“Fuck off,” I mutter under my breath.
Ryan just laughs and walks away, like he’s solved some great mystery.
Shane bounces over, still high on adrenaline from skating with the kids. “Dude, that was awesome! Did you see the kid who tried to check me? Little savage.”
I have the perfect opportunity to mock him for being a goofy rookie who got schooled by an eight-year-old, but I just shake my head.
“You did well out there.”
Shane blinks at me like I’ve grown a second head. “Thanks, man.”
“Who are you and what did you do with Huxley?” Jett asks, tossing a towel at me.
“Shut up,” I say, but there’s no edge to it.
Silas raises an eyebrow from his corner stall. “You didn’t growl at the reporter. You didn’t snarl at the fan asking for a selfie. Are you dying or something?”
I flip them off lazily. I’m not about to admit it, but their teasing doesn’t land the way it used to. It just feels lighter somehow. It feels like something has smoothed the sharp edges.
I shower fast and get out of there before anyone else can comment on my apparent personality transplant. While I’m thinking about Juliet, I can admit something.
She isn’t who I thought she was. Not the icy, career-obsessed robot I used to make fun of in college. She’s steady and smart as hell. And when she smiled at me earlier while I was working with those kids, it felt like sunlight breaking through a crack in a concrete wall.
I don’t know what to do with this feeling.
I head home, restless energy making it impossible to sit still. I toss my gear in the corner and turn on the TV, but I’m not really watching whatever hockey highlights are playing. My mind keeps drifting back to the way Juliet looked at me today.
Eventually, I drag out the old journal from where I keep it buried in the back of my closet. I haven’t touched it in years. Not since my mom found one of my journals and read it to my brothers like it was a stand-up routine.
That was enough to make me burn the rest. But tonight my hands itch to do something that won’t end with me punching a wall.
10/14
Told myself to stay away. Safer for her that way. Better she only ever sees the part of me built to push people back.
She should have someone who takes her to dinner without looking for a fight. Someone who sleeps through the night without waiting for bad news. Someone whose hands aren’t always cleaning up the wreckage he caused.
But I keep seeing her at the clinic. Rinkside in that coat, laughing when the rookie made the kid smile again after the spill. Later, that same smile for me—when I was on my knees retying laces, talking stick handling like it was the only thing in the world.
At night she keeps me awake. When she moves around her room, I hear the faint creak of the floor. I picture her hair loose, her skin warm from sleep, her eyes finding mine in the dark. I turn over and try to shut it out, but she’s everywhere. In my head. Under my skin. Close enough to touch if I were willing to cross the line.
I write it down so it can’t slip away. That smile. The light in her eyes. For half a second, she looked past the temper and the ruin, like maybe she saw something worth keeping.
When I’m done, I shut the journal and shove it back in the closet. Lock it away like everything else that matters too much to risk losing.
I lie awake that night thinking about her. Not about sex, though that’s definitely part of it. Not about the fake engagement or what the team might say if they knew how badly I want her. Just about the way she looked at me today.
Like maybe she saw something I didn’t even know was still in there. Something that isn’t just anger and hockey fights and family drama. Something that might actually be worth keeping around.
Maybe it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world if she knew the truth about who I am underneath all the performance.
Maybe.
The thought should terrify me. Usually when people get too close, when they see past the Chainsaw persona, they either get scared off or try to fix me. No one can fix me. Too many pieces are missing or broken beyond repair.
But Juliet doesn’t seem like the type to run from a challenge. And she definitely doesn’t seem like the type to waste time on lost causes.
So maybe, just maybe, there’s a chance she could see the real me and stick around anyway.
