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He nods with a smile, as if that answer means more than if I’d brushed it off with an I’m fine.

“Great. Can you do me a favor and call Sadie?”

“Yes, as long as you watch out for Bennett.”

“Deal.” He laughs, reaching his hand out to dramatically shake mine.

Chapter 76

NOW

Bennett

Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.

It’s not working—nothing is working. I can’t get a goddamn breath into my lungs, only staccato huffs that play at breath but give me no relief.

Just one more time—

It doesn’t help. The thoughts only intensify as I take off all my pads and start to resecure them—

Knee guards—left, then right.

Toe ties—over and under my skate blade until the knot is secured at the edge. Then the same exact pattern on my right foot.

Check it again. One is off and it’s going to move. It’s not secure.

I check again, redoing the back-and-forth under my blade until it’s fastened. Again.

I secure my leg pads—left then right, readjusting the Velcro three times before my hands are willing to let it go—but I’m shaking, fingers numb as I reach for my chest pad. Sliding it over my body feels like tightening the noose around my neck.

Wrong. It’s wrong. Do it again.

It’s just my pads. I’ve done everything right. I’ve done this a thousand times. Relax.

Check it again.

My stomach rolls, sweat dripping from my hair. I want to grab my phone and call my dad. Or Paloma. I want Rhys to walk in and see me and help—

Selfish. Don’t bring them down. Stay focused. Check it again.

Hands shaking, I rip off the half-hanging chest pad and toss it to the floor of the unfamiliar locker room. I try to stand, like I might go for my bag, before my skates slip under my uneven weight as I trip backward, my naked back slamming hard into the unforgiving wooden lines of the cubby.

Breathe. Stop doing this. Breathe—

I can’t, I can’t, I can’t.

The pieces of myself I hate the most shattered

Discarded across the hard carpet, unforgiving, unreflective

I’m unbound then, all the pieces of myself spilling around me, papers in a book I’ve ripped to shreds. Memories scattered and I still. Can’t—

Think of the water. Her voice is like silk in my ears, and I don’t even think it’s something she said, not a memory I can remember. But it’s something. And I’ll cling to it. Think of the water. Try it.

Nothing helps. Not even the idea of attempting to redo my pads, like securing them around me will make me into some strawman version of myself, enough to prop up in the goal and pretend. Just for a few minutes longer. Just for one more game.

The reminder of the game presses down on my shoulders, just adding weight to my fear and anxiety. I sink into a seated position. I’m back to square fucking one, the place I was seemingly always destined for—drowning quietly in the distance.