She’s fucking ghosting me. That’s why I had a shit game. Because I’ve been trying to reach her for the last twenty-four hours, and she’s ignored every text and every call. I even went to her place last night at almost midnight and she either wasn’t home or wasn’t answering. And today when she breezed into the locker room, she purposely stood with her back to my locker and stormed out without so much as a sideways glance. So of course my game was off. We didn’t lose and I didn’t get pulled, but there are twelve-year-old goalies who could have played better than I did tonight. Luckily Levi, Jude and the boys were on fire, so I might have let in three goals, but they scored seven. Still, I’m seething about my performance.
When she marches into the locker room after the game and announces the media will be in shortly and they want to talk to Jude, Levi, Duncan and me, but she still has her back to me and won’t even glance in my direction, I lose it. I stand up. “I’m not doing press tonight.”
“What?” Levi says, confused.
“Yeah. What?” Dixie echoes and finally looks at me. Her face is a mask of nothing—no emotion of any kind, and that fuels this frustration burning like coals inside of me.
“I need to see a trainer about my calf,” I lie.
“You can do that after the media scrum.”
“Yeah, but I’m going to do it now.” I start to walk out of the room. “No press for me.”
I head down the hall toward the training rooms. It takes a second, but I hear her heels clicking away on the concrete behind me. Good, she’s following. She calls my name. I ignore it and keep walking. Her heels click faster. I slow down a little so she can catch me. As soon as I feel her arm on my bicep I turn and slip into an unattended medical room, pulling her in with me. I close the door behind us. The lights aren’t on, so it’s instantly dark.
“What the fuck are you doing?” she demands.
“What the fuck are you doing?” I counter. “You’ve been ignoring me. I fucking hate being ignored.”
“So you’re throwing a temper tantrum?” she says with a condescending look I’ve never seen before and hope to never see again.
“I had a shitty game, and I don’t feel like dealing with a million questions about it,” I tell her. I take a step toward her, turning on the light. “I didn’t have a shitty game last time we were in here. In fact I had my best game.”
She opens her perfectly glossed mouth to say something but freezes. Her blue eyes look startled and then they darken. Her hands move to her hips. “So, what? I should make out with you before every game? Make my lips part of some superstitious ritual?”
It’s more than her lips. It’s her. I want to explain that she’s like a grounding force, that she’s the only one who makes me feel normal since the accident, but I don’t, because then everything gets heavy, and I fucking hate heavy. This doesn’t need to be fucking ruined like everything else in my life. Frustration bubbles up and courses through my veins like adrenaline.
So instead I step closer. “Would that be so bad?”
“Are you going to pay me a salary with full medical coverage and a 401(k)?” she asks hotly. “Because that’s what I’ll lose, and I’m not willing to risk it anymore. I never should have to begin with.”
She starts to walk past me but pauses just short of reaching for the door. She turns back. “You need to see someone about your PTSD.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
“You don’t need me, you need a shrink, Eli,” she tells me firmly but with a gentle tone and softness in her eyes. “Traumatic events and near-death experiences like having your neck ripped open leave scars, and not just physical ones. I know you know this. Deep down. What I don’t know is why you aren’t doing something about it.”
“It’s not the fucking accident,” I growl, and the sound is so foreign even to me it makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up. “I am not some basket case who can’t take a goddamn hit. I’ve had a ton of accidents on the ice. I’ve had a concussion, I’ve had my lip split, my wrist broken, my—”
“You almost bled to death!” she says so loud it’s almost a scream, and it startles both of us. My eyes fly to the door. If anyone heard that outside we’re fucked. She must realize that too, because she takes a shuddering breath and lowers her voice. “Goddamn it, Elijah, you’re still a man if you stop acting like everything is a joke and admit that it was fucking terrifying. In fact, it would make you more of a man.”
“Well, at least I don’t want to kiss you anymore,” I snap. I can see the hurt splash across her face, but I storm for the door anyway.
“You do agree with me. You just won’t admit it, because you have some ridiculous sense of pride that is going to tank your career before it even begins,” she says tersely. “This is because of your parents.”
That freezes me in my tracks like someone poured quick-setting cement into my veins. “Excuse me?”
Slowly I turn to face her again, rage and indignation flushing my skin.
“They’re uptight. They’re cold,” she explains quietly, clearly hoping it softens the blow of reality. “They frown on emotions, and seeing a shrink would be like admitting you’re defective, but guess what? We’re all defective. No one is perfect. We’re all fucked up, and we all need help! Perfect is creepy. Do you want to be creepy, or do you want to be an amazing goalie again?”
“Fuck. Do you even know the meaning of the word ‘subtle’?” I bark and reach for the door handle. “It’s a good thing your sister is the nurse, because your bedside manner would fucking kill people.”
I storm out into the hall, but she’s right behind me, nowhere near ready to let this go. She comes around beside me and veers me toward the wall. I stop and glare at her. She looks hurt and maybe even a little intimidated and a lot tired. She glances around the hall, making sure no one is in earshot. “I’m sorry, Eli. I’m not trying to be cruel, but I’ve learned that sugarcoating things or ignoring problems doesn’t make them go away.”
“You’re not really a girl with a lot of problems,” I say flatly. “You just have to stop screwing me and your life is fine.”
Her face twists into pure disbelief and the hurt on her features slips into anger. “My father is slowly dying in front of me, little by little, every damn day, and there isn’t a damn thing I can do but watch. That’s a problem-free life to you?”
I am, officially, without a doubt, the biggest asshole on the planet. Such a big asshole I am at a complete loss for words, so I just stare at her with a stricken look.
“Yeah. I know you know about my dad’s ALS. You just forgot for a second. It’s fine. We haven’t talked about it. Because we don’t seem to talk about anything that matters,” she whispers, her eyes glancing down the hall again before landing on mine. “And that’s even more reason why this needs to stop. I shouldn’t get serious about someone who doesn’t take anything seriously. My career is serious. My life, the things I’m going to have to eventually face with my dad, are all serious. I can’t let myself fall any further.”
She takes a step back, straightens her shoulders and focuses those gorgeous blue eyes on something behind me.
“Okay! Let me take you in.” She steps away from me and I watch her walk toward the group of reporters making their way down the hall toward us. “Eli is out tonight, folks, but Jude and Levi are available for questions and you know Jude loves to talk about any game he wins—incessantly—so I’m sure he’ll give you an earful.”
I watch her walk away. As the press enters the locker room she glances back at me. She looks wounded, but I’m the one who feels like there’s a gaping hole in my chest suddenly.