Two Years Later

“Will, we must have talk now, yes?”

I sigh and limp into Sergei’s office. He’s staring at me with those cold eyes of his, and I know what he’s going to say before he even says it.

I struggle for a second, but I manage to sit down without too much pain. I put the crutches against the wall next to me, my right left straight and nearly immobile from the slightly flexible cast.

“You play good,” he says. “Very good. Team happy. You score, good player. Everyone like you very much.”

“Thank you,” I say. “I’ve enjoyed myself.” I don’t bother speaking Russian to him. I’ve been told my Russian is atrocious and borderline offensive.

“Money tight now, you know this. I discuss with other manager, we all decide together. Will, we must cut you. I am very sorry.”

I sigh and nod. “I understand. Can’t keep a guy that may never play again on the payroll, can you?”

“No,” he says, sighing. “Especially not American. If Russian, we keep you, make you coach. But not American.”

“I understand.” I sigh a little shifting. I’ve been playing for Vityaz Podmoskovje for this past season, mostly playing wing and scoring some of the best goals of my career. I’ve been bouncing around the KHL, Europe’s largest hockey league, ever since leaving Notre Dame and failing to make the NHL. Recently though, I blew out my knee during a match, and I was told that I may never skate again.

I’m not really surprise they’re cutting me. Vityaz isn’t exactly the best team in the league and it’s been bleeding money for a few years now as attendance slowly falls. Foreigners are always first on the chopping block, especially injured ones.

“Please, take your time gathering things. We will pay out contract, yes, help you if we can.”

“Thanks, Sergei.”

He nods a little, frowning. “What will you do?”

“Go back home, I guess,” I say, although I’m dreading it. “Nothing left for me here.”

He nods and stands. “Good luck.” He come around the desk and helps me to my feet. We gets my crutches and he helps me out of his office.

I’ve had a good experience playing for Vitya and the KHL in general. Sergei in particular has been a good guy, as good as any manager I’ve had. We shake hands and I limp off back toward the locker room where one of my teammates, a Latvian guy named Juris, is waiting.

“Cut you, huh?”

I nod. “Cut me real good.”

“Bastards.” He grins at me. “Saw it coming, though.”

I sigh. “Still sucks. Now I have to go back to America.”

“What’s so bad about that?” He helps me start packing up my locker. “America’s a good place. Big and beautiful, beautiful women, beautiful parks. Not so bad?”

I shrug a little. “Got a lot of shit back home.”

“Ah,” he says. “There’s a woman.”

I flinch, the image of Addie coming to mind. I’ve barely spoken to her in two years, ever since we graduated. That night we spent together after the last hockey party has haunted me every day. I know I fucked up by not telling her what I wanted to say back then, but it’s too late now.

I remember trying to talk to her before I left for Russia. Eleanor just shook her head and told me that she wasn’t home. I stood outside her window and yelled, because I knew she was there, but the only thing I saw was her curtain ruffle slightly then go still. She never answered my calls.

So I left without saying goodbye. I had no other choice.

She ghosted me after that night. Well, not right after. Things went back to being okay. But a little over a month later, she disappeared from my life without a trace. My best friend, totally gone, and I still have no fucking clue why.

I blame myself, obviously. I’m such a piece of shit. I should’ve just told her back then. I should’ve just said that I wanted more than a friendship from her, but I was too fucking afraid.

Well, it doesn’t matter now. I’ve written her some emails over the years, tried calling some, but she never answers. Now I’m going back to Weston, back to the quaint Connecticut town we both grew up in, and maybe I’ll see her again.

“Definitely woman,” Jardis says, grinning at me. “The way you stare into space? You’re thinking of her. Fucked her once, I think.”

“Fuck you,” I say, and we both laugh together.

We finish packing and shake hands. “It was good playing with you,” I say to him. “Maybe we’ll get on the ice again together one day.”

He nods solemnly. “You take care of yourself.”

I take one last look at the team’s locker room before heading back to my little flat at the edge of town. It takes me maybe half a day to pack everything I own, another day to book my flight, and soon I’m speeding back toward America with no prospects and no future.

It feels weird to be in a country where I can actually read all the signs. I thought I might have some kind of deep feeling when I step back onto American soil for the first time in over a year, but I feel nothing, just hollow and aching from sitting for so damn long.

As soon as I’m in the back of a cab, my knee aching like hell and my crutches shoved into the set next to me, I get out my phone and power it on. There aren’t any messages, which isn’t surprising. My father knows I’m coming home to stay with him for a while, at least until I’m back on my feet.

The cabbie looks back at me as we pull into traffic. “Broke your knee?” he asks.

I shake my head. “Tore a ligament. It’s actually not that bad.”

He raises an eyebrow. “So what’s with the crutches and everything?”

I shrug. “Precaution, I guess. I can probably start walking on it pretty soon.”

“Precaution for what?”

“I was a professional hockey player before this.” I give him a pained smile. “Thought I might be able to get through it.”

He nods, turning back to the road. “Shit luck then.”

“Yeah, shit luck.”

I stare at my phone for a second before pulling at Addie’s number on a whim. I type her a quick text. “Hi Addie, long time no see. I’m coming back to Weston. It’d be cool to see you again. Let me know if you’re free.” I hesitate for a second before hitting send.

She doesn’t respond. I’m not surprised. She never responds. I watch as the city turns into country and soon we’re back in my home town, although it’s the last place I want to be right now.

I tip the cabbie after he helps me carry my bags up to the front step. I limp my way to the front door and ring the bell, feeling weird. I haven’t been back here in a long time, not since the summer before Sophomore year. My father and I aren’t exactly close right now, but I need a place to stay while I heal up. I have money, but not a lot, and I really need to save it if I’m going to get my shit together soon.

My dad answers a minute later. He’s tall and broad, with dark hair and dark eyes. “The prodigal son returns,” he says.

“Hi dad. Thanks for letting me stay with you.”

He shrugs. “No problem, sonny.” He grins and looks at my knee. “That’s the reason you’re here, huh?”

“Yep,” I say.

“Sucks. Told you hockey wouldn’t work out.” He turns and heads back into the house without another word.

Fucking asshole. My father is a salesman, or at least he used to be. He’s the owner of this sports supplement company that basically sells snake oil pills. He made a fortune doing it though, and that means he thinks he knows fucking everything.

I sigh and limp my way inside. I drag a bag behind me and leave it at the foot of the stairs. I go back and forth, bringing all my stuff inside, until I’m finally finished. I shut the door behind me and stare at the pile.

“Fuck it,” I say, and limp upstairs. It takes me a bit, and I just leave my crap down there for now. I find my old room and head inside, relieved that there’s still a bed in here at least.

I flop down onto the bed, feeling like a fucking kid again. I hate being back here, hate that my hockey career is over, and I feel like my whole life is crumbling around me. I pull out my phone, suddenly desperate for the only person in my entire life that could ever make me feel better. I call Eleanor this time, choosing her land line specifically, hoping to catch her before she realizes that it’s me.

Eleanor doesn’t answer, though. Instead, that old familiar voice picks up, and my heart skips a beat. “Hello?” Addie says.

“Addie.” I feel breathless. I can’t believe it’s her. I expect to catch Eleanor, maybe beg her to put me in touch with Addie. This is too good to be true.

Addie doesn’t say anything for a second. “Hi Will,” she says finally.

“Been a while.”

“Yeah.” She sounds tense, closed off. I recognize it from years ago.

“Look, I’m back in town. I sent you a message earlier.”

“I got it.”

I frown a little. “It’d be cool to see you,” I say.

“Yeah, maybe.” Another short pause. “I gotta go.”

She hangs up abruptly.

“What the hell,” I say softly to myself, letting my cell drop onto my comforter. Although that conversation went pretty horribly, and Addie is clearly trying to avoid me, it felt so good just to hear her voice.

And she’s in town. She’s at Eleanor’s place, which is actually really close to here. I haven’t been so close to Addie in a long time. Apparently she hates me now, but at least she’s nearby.

I take a deep breath and let it out. I smile despite myself.

“Hey, idiot!” My dad’s voice cuts in my short-lived good mood. “Come get your shit, don’t leave it down here.”

I sigh and slowly get out of bed. I’m not looking forward to being home. I’m not happy about my injury or about my ruined career.

But at least Addie’s home, too. At least I can go see her and figure out why the hell she seems to fucking hate me so much.

At least there’s one small thing to try and look forward to.