Page 68 of Shiver
I shake my head. No. No message.
I hang out at his building for a while. Just to see if he shows up. He doesn’t. I don’t see him. No sign of him anywhere. But I stay there until practice, though it’s pointless to go because I’m shit. We have a game tomorrow and I’m going to fuck it all up.
There’s no text when I get out of practice. None. Hope flutters inside me and I practically run to his apartment and knock on the door. My heart races. Pounds. Thunders. There’s no answer so I knock again.
“Rake,” I whine and then clear my throat. Why the fuck would he answer me when I sound like that? “Rake, please.” My voice is quieter. Less whiny. But no less needy. No less desperate. The hurt, the pain in it is loud, even to my own ears.
There’s no answer.
I knock again, quieter, resting my forehead against the door. “Please,” I whisper. “Just tell me what I did.”
Tears sting my eyes. My lip trembles. I pull in a shaking breath and knock one last time. Quietly. It’s all the strength I have. Tears stream down my face and I can’t stop them.
I turn my back to the door and let myself slide down it. I’ll just wait. Maybe he’s not here. Maybe he was called away for an emergency.
I wait. And wait.
Several hours go by. I don’t hear anything on the other side of the door. And no one comes or goes. Finally, I pull myself to my feet and slowly trudge to my room. When I collapse in bed, still clutching my phone, I feel numb. My head hurts. Everything hurts.
Friday I’m expecting silence. I make several trips to his apartment. I spend all day looking for him everywhere. But by the time the game is about to start and I’m standing in my gear right at the mouth of the chute and stare at the spot where Rake usually is for my games, I’m crushed when he’s not there.
No one is in those seats. They’re empty. Staring at me. Mocking me.
I can’t breathe. I clutch at my chest as I try to suck in a breath.
“Egon.”
Blinking away the rapidly forming tears, I turn to look at Caulder. I can tell he’s concerned by the way he looks at me.
“What’s wrong? Are you okay?”
I shake my head, an answer to both questions. “I can’t do this,” I whisper, turning to leave, but the rest of the team is right there. And so is Coach Larder. He’s looking at me, stern and imposing.
Without a choice, I step onto the ice with the rest of my team. I skate around, but not even that breathes life back into me. I’m cold. Shivering. Not feeling good at all.
Then I’m standing where I’m supposed to, but as soon as the puck drops, I’m slammed into the boards and fall to the ground where I sprawl on my back.
“Wolf. Wolf.”
My name, over and over again. When I convince my swimming brain to open my eyes, Caulder shoves the player who hit me away and pulls me to my feet.
“I’m sorry,” the other player says. “I didn’t know he was going to go deadweight.”
Caulder shakes his head and pulls me to the box. Coach is yelling at me, but I just fall to the bench. I told them I couldn’t do this. I stare blindly at nothing before looking at the spot where Rake used to sit. Where he’s not. A ghostly memory of his smiling face drifts there and tears sting my eyes.
I suck in a shuddering breath and drop my head. Apparently, it’s too heavy and I nearly fall off the bench. One of the third linemen catches me.
“Jesus, Wolf,” he hisses. “You look like hell.”
Because I’m in hell. I don’t stop the tears as I sink forward as far as my pads will allow me.
What did I do? What do I do now?
TWENTY-FIVE
RAKESH
It takes a week.A torturously long week before Egon stops trying. After Wednesday, I stop texting him to cancel, figuring he’ll work it out. But it’s worse when he starts coming to my apartment and knocking on my door. Listening to his broken voice plead with me to open on the other side nearly undoes me.
