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Our last conversation sucked, which is an understatement. And we haven’t spoken again other than a few texts that have been exchanged. But our messages were cold and stilted. Impersonal. She’s closed off now. She’s not the Madison I came to know this summer. We mostly discussed logistics about the apartment and my furniture there. I told her she could have whatever she wanted for her new place with Oakley and the rest she could give to charity. I don’t need it here.
There’s so much more I want to say to her. There’s so much left unsaid between us. I just don’t know how to do that over the phone. And the longer we go without talking, the less I have the words.
I didn’t mean for things to go down the way they did. But sometimes, even the best-laid plans can crash and burn. I’ve been on edge for so long about my hockey career. Everything has always been about the next step in my life, so much so that by the time I achieved my goal of reaching the big leagues, I wasn’t sure how to enjoy it. So, I focused on my training instead, the same way I always have. Working toward my goals is all that I know.
When I saw Madison sitting in that booth at Cheerz, looking for a way to avoid going home for the summer, I had no idea inviting her to stay with me would lead to her spending every night in my bed. It was naive of me though to think things could stay platonic and innocent between us. I’ve always been attracted to the girl, even when I wasn’t supposed to be looking at her. How could I not be? She’s a smokeshow. And her personality just makes her hotter. With a little distance between us, I was always able to ignore that spark I felt when she was near. But the space was obliterated when she moved into my place. I knew I was playing with fire. I was bound to get burned.
My confusion grew as the days ticked by and Mads and I spent more time together. All of a sudden, the little things became magnified. Her smile started to brighten my days. I bought her coffee each morning just to see that smile more often. I noticed the way her hair hung down her back and the way her clothes hugged her curves. The softness of her body made me ache to touch her. The smell of her lingered in my apartment and on my skin. Her things were in my bathroom and bedroom, and I didn’t mind them. I liked having her in my space. I started to see her in a way that I couldn’t ignore. I looked forward to coming home because I knew she’d be around. I started to need her.
But I’ve never wanted a relationship. I wanted one even less right now with this big life change looming.
And old habits die hard.
So, I did what I’d always done. I ignored the way I was feeling and kept moving. The problem was … Mads didn’t just worm her way into my bed … she found her way into my heart too. She’s always lived there. I’ve cared about her for as long as I can remember. I’ve protected her. She’s family.
But now, everything I feel is … so much more.
And I didn’t know what it meant for us with me moving here and her staying there. I didn’t know if I wanted it to mean something.
Then, I twisted my knee, and in the blink of an eye, everything I had worked so hard for all these years flashed before my eyes. I was pissed. I was bitter. My transition into the professional league just grew another obstacle, one that I didn’t need. And I wanted someone to blame. So, I chose her. She was an easy target. I mean, that night was her idea. And I guess if I was breaking her, then I didn’t have to accept the fact that she’d already shattered me. Before my temper could cool, our time was up. The days, weeks that I’d thought we had left shrank to a night.
The evening before my flight was a complete disaster. I had a million things to get off my chest, but didn’t manage to say any of them. Instead, I watched Madison run. If I had known that she was going to leave that night and not return home, I would’ve chased after her. But I foolishly thought she just needed some space to absorb everything and that she would be back before I left.
It was one of the longest nights of my life. Sleepless. Staring at the clock and willing time to slow down. Wondering where she was and who she was with. I was restless for hours, but by four a.m., I’d finally resigned myself to the fact that she wasn’t going to return and that she wouldn’t be there to say goodbye when I left in the morning. She was gone.
I left the empty apartment that I’d called home for the past year and took a car to the airport. I finally headed to Chicago after years of dreaming and grinding on the ice. I would officially be a professional hockey player. This was everything I had been waiting for my entire life. Everything I’d worked so hard for was culminating in that moment. But instead of feeling elated, my chest felt empty, and my stomach felt sick. I wanted to be excited about the trip. But I couldn’t get past the void that I’d left behind.
I cared that Madison bailed before we could talk.
I cared that she was upset but tried to hide it from me.
I cared that our last interaction was filled with anger and unspoken words.
And I hate that I still care.
When I arrived in Chi-Town, I met with the medical staff right away. They agreed that it was an MCL injury, and we started rehabbing. We’ve done lots of modalities on my knee to speed up the healing process. I’m still sore but getting better every day. And they anticipate that I’ll be back on the ice in another two weeks. I shouldn’t miss training camp, preseason, or any regular games. It’s all been good news.
So, why am I not happier? Why is my head still stuck back in that one-bedroom apartment in that small college town?
A call from the main desk downstairs rings through the phone on the wall, which is there just for that purpose. I rise from the sectional and limp over to grab it.
“Hello?”
“Mr. Burnham—”
“Ollie,” I correct him.
I can’t get used to the formality of the staff in the building. When someone asks for Mr. Burnham, I look around for my dad. I’m staying in the apartment of one of my veteran teammates. He only uses the place during the season, so he offered it up when he heard I was coming to town early. I’d much rather stay here than in a hotel, so I jumped at the offer. This place is fancier and more expensive than anywhere I’ve ever lived before.
“There’s someone here to see you,” he continues. “A Chase Matthews.”
My brow furrows. What the hell is Chase doing in Chicago? He didn’t tell me he was coming.
“Okay, thanks. Send him up. Oh, and I have a food delivery coming in the next hour.”
“I’ll take care of it, sir.”
I chuckle and roll my eyes as we hang up. Sir.
