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No longer than a second after I put the letters away, I heard the front door to my apartment open. I dashed out of the room and met her in the kitchen, and thankfully, she was none the wiser.
The problem is her words written on that card hang over me like a black cloud.
I try to shake it, but I can’t, and my game is off because of it.
She blames me…
But for what?
As I’m skating off the ice, my stomach feels like it’s filled with rocks. Fuck that, heavy boulders are weighing me down.
“Slate,” my coach yells as I make my way to the locker room. “What the fuck is going on with you?”
“What’s going on with m—” My words cut off, and I shake my head. I’ll get nowhere lashing out at Coach. “Listen—”
“No, you listen,” he snaps. “I gave you the benefit of the doubt after the shit hit the fan that you’d be able to handle your personal bullshit because I feel for you. I can’t even imagine what it’s like to have to deal with a mom like yours, but this shit has to stop. You have to get it together. It’s affecting your game, and in turn, it’s affecting your team.”
My jaw tightens. Nothing he says is wrong, but it still sucks to hear it. Mainly because it’s not as simple as handling my bullshit. This is my life. One that’s been nothing but a fucking travesty. Something he and most on my team will never understand. They didn’t live the life I did. They had loving families handing them everything they needed, and I’m happy for them. I wouldn’t wish my mom on my worst enemy.
“I don’t care what you need to do, Slate. But do it. Get your head back in this game, or I’ll have to make moves.”
His words echo around me like a stampede, but they also give me clarity.
I won’t be able to think, let alone play, if I don’t get to the bottom of what happened all those years ago.
I need to speak with Cass,but how do I say anything without telling her I went through her stuff?
It’s been a bumpy honeymoon period since we officially got together, and this won’t help things. I’m in a precarious situation, unsure how to proceed.
I hate to rock the boat because ultimately, Coach is right. If I don’t handle my shit, every other aspect of my life will come crashing down.
Heading into the locker room, I dunk my head in ice water, which helps clear my brain, and I resolve to see if I can get any more information from her.
I hardly remember completing my rituals. They were done in record time, and a little over an hour later, I’m home and in bed with Cassidy.
We’ve been lying here quietly for the past ten minutes. I haven’t broached the topic because I’ve been trying to work out how to do it. I can’t even think of what to say. There’s no way for me to bring this up that won’t allude to my snooping.
Finally, I can’t take it anymore, and I break the silence. “How did you end up in Birmingham?”
She turns toward me, peering into the side of my head. My eyes are trained on the ceiling.
“Well, technically, I wasn’t in Birmingham for very long. After I graduated, I ran as far as I could from my dad without leaving the state.” She shifts onto her back, looking up at the ceiling with me. “I ended up in Detroit. Figured two hours was a safe distance from that man.” She laughs, but it lacks humor.
I wonder what she’s thinking at this moment. I want to ask, but she continues.
“After college, a friend I met in Detroit got a job at a hotel in Birmingham. She lived in an apartment a few blocks away. That’s where I was staying before you.”
My head turns to look at her.
“This same friend is how I ended up at your hotel room,” she says, smiling at me.
“I still can’t believe you stayed in Michigan,” I say, remembering our conversations back in the day. We used to say how, when we could, we’d both go as far away as we could manage.
“Not all of us had the luxury of a hockey contract.”
There’s no trace of malice in her tone, and that settles me a bit.
“True, but if not for that contract, I would’ve chased a team in any other state,” I say, recalling the part of me that needed to get as far away from Michigan as I could.
