Page 14 of The Rebel (Looking to Score 1)
Now, less than six short months after he broke my heart, I’m watching Alex Braun play once again, but not from the stands like I used to. Now I have a view from the ice, and my eyes are locked on him for a whole new reason. I may have lost my girlfriend title, but I’ve swapped it out for a new one. Boss. A drastic upgrade, if I do say so myself.
“Two on one, boys. Do it again!” Coach Wilder’s gruff, commanding voice barks from beside me.
I watch as the players glide to their marks, running through the mechanics of the drill. But it’s just that. Mechanical. Unnatural, even. Like they’re six separate units going through the motions instead of one cohesive team.
When Reeves, our left wing, weaves down the ice, Alex shoulders into him at full speed, which earns him a shove up against the boards. I wince at the hollow thud, turning toward Coach Wilder, who looks rightfully frustrated, if not a little pissed off. Something tells me this isn’t the first time this has happened today.
My eyes narrow as I watch.
Bax, one of our best right wingers, rushes down the ice and comes up fast behind Alex, who struggles to maintain possession of the puck. It’s sloppy, not at all like Alex to be so unsteady on his skates. He skids to a jarring stop in front of the crease without completing the pass.
Sweat plasters Alex’s hair to his forehead under the helmet, and his chest rises and falls with quick breaths. His smile is usually crooked and lazy, and most times, easy. But today it’s nowhere to be seen. He doesn’t look particularly pleased to be appraised by his ex-turned-boss.
But that’s exactly what this is, an appraisal, and I don’t miss a thing. The way his gloved hands shake, the uncertainty in his eyes as he scans the ice.
I know Alex possibly better than anyone, and right now I know he’s not very happy. The last several years floated by with Alex by my side. After college, we became one, me working part time and taking graduate-level courses in whatever city he was playing for at the time, and Alex playing his heart out to become one of the best young forwards in the league. Salt Lake City, Toronto for a season, New York for another. We strolled along the city streets, window shopping and daydreaming together about our future. We ate our meals at the little dining table I moved with us from city to city, and we made love regularly and enthusiastically.
We were young, happy—and in his case, very talented with a hockey stick—and nothing could stop us. On the nights he was home, I cooked while Alex sat on a stool in the kitchen, watching his game-day videos and critiquing his performance. I always encouraged him, and he would listen to me talk about whatever my latest pet project was.
When we lived in Toronto, it was volunteering once a week at a women’s shelter. In New York, I became interested in running and joined a running club, though we moved away before I had the chance to compete with my group in the half marathon we’d been training for. The off-season was spent near family, or vacationing someplace warm.
Summer gave way to fall, and winter rolled in. Our months together turned into years as Alex and I built a life together.
What we had worked. At least . . . until it didn’t.
I’d like to tell you there was a moment, a distinct time or event that made everything fall to pieces. But it wasn’t as simple as that. While Alex traveled with the team in New York, I began spending time with my grandpa in Boston, learning the business of running a sports franchise. That was when Alex and I started to drift apart.
Things were changing. He’d still sit with me while I cooked, but he seemed more withdrawn. He didn’t ask me questions about my day anymore, and when I wanted to tell him all the things I was learning from Grandpa Pete, Alex seemed far away and distant. Our sex life, which had always been regular and fulfilling, became infrequent and less satisfying.
Late at night, I’d try to talk to Alex, ask if there was something bothering him, but he’d only turn his back to me in bed, saying that he was tired. I worried he was cheating on me—it had to be the only explanation for this new distance growing between us, but I could find no evidence of that. Still, I worried because I often heard rumors about professional athletes having a different girl in every city, and I was terrified of losing him.
We fought sometimes. I accused Alex of being with someone else, and he accused me of being insecure. But I was desperate to know if he had someone on the side, and what she was like, because I wanted to be like her. Wanted to feel like I was still enough for him, even though I knew I no longer was.
