Lost and found, p.8
Puck You, page 8
I willed both men out of my mind and started preparing for bed. After fifteen minutes of self-care, I was ready to slip under the covers and put an end to the night when my phone buzzed. The name Matt rolled across the screen, and just the sight of those four letters was enough to soothe my weary heart.
I answered the phone without a second thought. “Hello.”
At first, there was nothing but silence. Then my ex-boyfriend released a long breath.
“I didn’t think you’d pick up,” he said. It was soothing, hearing his voice. We hadn’t spoken over the phone in weeks. No, months.
“I’ve been avoiding you,” I admitted. “I’m sorry.”
The sound of his chuckle was like a sip of hot chocolate on the coldest day of the year.
“You’re an expert at avoiding. I know better than anyone.”
He was right. It had taken him almost a year of chasing after me for our relationship to move beyond friendship, and several more months before things were official. I needed to know I could trust him before opening up about my past. And now things were even more complicated because six months into our breakup, he was still holding on to the hope that we’d get back together. There was never any big fight or hurtful betrayal, but I knew that we weren’t right for each other.
“Tell me about your day,” I asked, eager for a distraction from my own life.
“Come on, Grace,” he said in exasperation. I must have sounded too eager. “You can talk to me. I know things have changed, but that doesn’t mean you can’t trust me anymore.”
How can I lean on him after breaking his heart? That was the question that kept me from texting him when my thoughts turned dark.
“I don’t want to talk about me.”
“Of course not. You’re always so focused on something or someone else so that you don’t have to face your own problems. We dated for two years, I know—”
“I didn’t answer the phone for a lecture,” I said. “Don’t make me regret picking up the call.” I told myself I was cruel to him because I had to be, but that was a damn lie. I was cruel because he was right, and I hated that.
“When you want to be honest with me, and honest with yourself, give me a call. You know, I really thought I could do the friendship thing, but I don’t know. It’s a lot harder than I expected.” His voice cracked at the admission. Though he said nothing else, I could tell there were unspoken words just fighting to free themselves from within him.
The line went dead a moment later, and I was seized with the need to throw something like a child mid-tantrum. I reached for the closest item—a round decorative pillow near the edge of my bed—and chucked it across the room. It flew into my open closet and collided with the top shelf. Through the darkness, I saw something teeter off the edge and fall to the floor with a thud.
Amazing.
After turning on my lamp, I crawled out of bed to see the damage. A familiar red shoebox had fallen on the floor, the lid several paces away, unopened letters scattered across the ground. What the hell is that doing here? It usually resided under my bed at home, and I hadn’t packed it when I left for school. How—Gabby, I realized. My little sister had probably snuck it into my room when she was here to help move me in at the beginning of the school year. For ages, she’d been pushing me to read the letters from our mother. We both received one on our birthday every year, but I never got around to opening mine. I had no interest in hearing what that woman had to say. When I knelt on the floor to collect the letters, a numbness set in. By the time I placed the shoebox back on the top shelf and slipped into bed, I could barely feel a thing.
Chapter 7
Sebastian
The ghost of Grace’s presence accompanied me the entire car ride home. More than just the scent of her cherry perfume lingered; it was the sound of her quiet breaths and the warmth of her shy glances across the skin of my knuckles. My eyes darted back and forth between the road and the passenger seat, desperate to find her beside me, that long stretch of exposed thigh peeking out from the slit in her dress. When I finally pulled into the driveway, I turned off the car and sat in silence, trying and failing miserably to ward my mind against her. What kind of voodoo witchy shit is this? Grace made me feel unstable, as if I couldn’t predict my own next move: like someone else was pulling the strings, and they were acting on instinct alone. I hated that she had so much power over me. The girl was practically a stranger, yet I could feel her presence in a room packed with a hundred other bodies.
The car grew cold and still as I sat there, wallowing in my pathetic feelings. When I could no longer stand the sound of my own thoughts, I abandoned the vehicle and went inside. The house was quiet and bathed in darkness, the only source of light coming from a dim yellow bulb above the kitchen stove. I walked on autopilot to my bedroom and stripped off my clothes, needing to rid myself of Grace’s scent if I had any hope of sleeping. I’d just pulled on a fresh pair of boxers when my bedroom door flew open and a furious-looking Kate stalked in.
Oh, shit.
“You left me there.” Her words were as cold as ice. “What the actual fuck, Sebastian.”
“I’m so sorry, Kate.” There was nothing else for me to say. It wasn’t like I could confess that I’d completely forgotten about everything and everyone else once Grace appeared on that stage. In that moment, the only thing that had mattered was speaking to her, understanding why she was so hell-bent on disrupting my carefully planned life. And when I’d found her walking home without a coat, half frozen, I’d intervened on instinct.
“That’s it?” Kate exclaimed. “Are you really going to give me a half-assed apology and zero explanation? Why didn’t you say anything? And why haven’t you answered your phone?”
“I thought you’d head home with Macy.” It was a terrible excuse, and we both knew it.
“That’s bullshit! You disappeared from the fundraiser without a damn word. Who does that to their girlfriend?”
“I’m sorry,” I said, stepping toward Kate, but she stumbled back in an effort to keep some distance between us. “I was shaken up by Grace’s stunt. This season is really important to me, and we can’t risk losing ice time to the women’s team. I’m worried it could impact our training schedule.”
“Of course,” she scoffed. “How could this be about anything other than hockey?”
“It was wrong of me to leave without telling you. But you can’t blame everything on hockey because you hate that it dictates so much of my life.”
I knew immediately from the darkening of her eyes that it was the wrong thing to say.
“You’re right,” she said. “I’ve been misplacing my anger this whole time. I can’t blame hockey for your lack of consideration. That’s all on you.”
“It’s not a lack of consideration! It’s always going to be like this, Kate. You knew that when we started dating. And it worked—we worked. But ever since the injury . . .”
She shook her head in disappointment. “It always comes back to the injury, doesn’t it? You can say you don’t blame me, but it’s clear that you do.”
“Kate—”
“Have you ever considered that you’re the one who’s changed, not me? It’s not easy to love someone who—” She cut herself off and shook her head. “I need some space to think.”
Kate slipped out of the room before I could respond, closing the door with a gentle tug rather than slamming it closed in rage. I listened to the click of her shoes across the hardwood floor until only silence remained. Somewhere deep in my chest I could feel a pull, one that grew tighter the longer I remained alone in my bedroom. But after minutes of standing still, waiting to see if she would come back, the tension snapped. As the dust settled, I couldn’t determine which was worse: the feeling of instant relief or the pang of guilt left in its wake.
>> <<
“I was wondering if you were ever going to call me back.”
My mother’s voice was soft and teasing; the sound was an instant remedy for my lousy mood, especially after I’d missed her call last week.
“I was swamped with schoolwork,” I said, placing my phone on the kitchen counter and switching on the speaker function. None of my roommates were in, and I was desperate for something to eat.
“I’m glad you’re staying focused, honey. And I’m sorry I couldn’t make it to the fundraiser this year. I always love to hear the coach brag about you on stage. Your dad would be so proud.”
Memories of my dad flashed across my mind: our skating lessons on the frozen pond behind the house, me perched on his shoulders at the United Center, the proud look on his face at witnessing my first successful hockey stop. The day he left for an ice fishing trip and never came back. Nine years wasn’t enough time with your best friend.
My mom wasn’t one of those people who shut away their grief in a box. The only way she knew how to live her life was to honor his memory by keeping it alive. But thinking about him, knowing that he was somewhere watching me from afar, often felt like a weight pressing down on my chest. He was the reason I’d made it this far in my hockey career, he'd taught me everything he knew, and the thought of disappointing him was unimaginable.
“I streamed your exhibition game last night. You had some incredible assists,” my stepdad shouted in the background.
I could picture them both at the kitchen table, Bill reading some war hero’s biography and my mother journaling her daily affirmations. If she didn’t write things down, she was likely to forget them.
“You’re both coming for a home game this season, right?”
“Yes, of course,” Mom replied. “Bill spoke with Elijah last night to find a date that works. We’re going to come in February for the Penn State game.”
I propped open the refrigerator door to survey my options, eventually deciding to grab all the essentials for an egg sandwich. “Did Elijah mention anything about the fundraiser?”
She chuckled. “He mentioned something about a player from the women’s team stealing the show. From what Elijah said, she made some pretty good points.”
I wasn’t surprised to hear that he’d had nice things to say about Grace. I could tell he liked her from the moment she insulted me.
“Mom, I need your advice,” I said, eager to change the subject. “Kate and I got into a huge fight last night, and I have no idea where we stand.”
I walked my mom through the night, starting with the gala and ending with our argument back at the house, keeping Grace out of the conversation. By the time I was done explaining, my sandwich was made, and I’d taken a seat at the table to eat.
“I can’t believe you left her there,” she said, and I would have bet a million dollars that she was shaking her head.
Ravenous, I took a large bite, nearly halving the sandwich in one go. I spoke as I chewed, managing a somewhat intelligible response. “It was awful, I know. I wasn’t thinking straight.”
“Do you think anything she said is true?”
I’d stayed up all night thinking about her words, trying to understand her side of things. Have you ever considered that you’re the one who’s changed, not me? I supposed she wasn’t entirely off base. Before the injury, I’d had more time to spend with her outside of hockey. But my recovery was a full-time job, and I’d taken some of that with me into the new season. I had to if I wanted to get back to where I was before blowing out my knee.
“Maybe we’ve both changed.” I glanced down at the remainder of my breakfast, no longer feeling hungry.
“How do you feel about that?”
“Confused,” I admitted. “It was wrong to blame her, but I apologized, and that was more than a year ago. I thought we’d moved past it.”
“Maybe she hasn’t.”
It definitely seemed that way. “I owe her so much, and I don’t want to let go.”
“But?” she prompted.
I closed my eyes and leaned back, the old wooden chair groaning under my weight. “But I also felt relieved after she left. We’ve been fighting so much lately.”
“Kate is a wonderful person, Sebastian, and she chose to make sacrifices for your relationship. If you’re not willing to do the same, it might be time to let her go. Even if you don’t want to.”
A part of me didn’t want to accept that my mom was right.
“And what if it’s a mistake?”
“Sometimes mistakes are good,” she said. “They teach you important lessons.”
>> <<
Grace
My stomach was a mess of anxious flutters when I woke in the morning to find an email at the top of my inbox from Castillo’s assistant. Rather than a meeting time and location, it contained a brief explanation of why he no longer expected us to meet—something to do with an inflexible schedule. There was also an attached letter signed by the athletic director himself.
Ms. Gillman,
I apologize that we will not be able to discuss this matter in person. However, I have a gridlocked schedule for the next few weeks and consider the conversation we had at the fundraiser a sufficient verbal warning. Your actions last night were an embarrassment to this institution. The disruption of a school sanctioned event held to honor one of Dallard’s most generous supporters is unacceptable behavior, especially for a student athlete of your caliber. Fortunately, I was able to convince the hotel not to press trespassing charges. Please be advised that any additional disruptions that violate our student athlete policy will be met with appropriate disciplinary actions. If you would like to raise an official complaint regarding the school’s facilities, please do so through the proper channels as outlined on the student website.
Best,
Howard Castillo
Director of Athletics
Dallard University
I reread the letter several times, searching for any indication that I was being kicked off the team. After my fourth scan of the email, my heart rate slowed to a normal pace. How the hell had I gotten off with a verbal warning? Last night, Mr. Castillo had been furious.
Mind reeling, I slipped out of my bed and into the kitchen. My roommates were seated at the breakfast bar, sipping their coffee and murmuring to each other quietly. At my appearance, they fell silent. Glancing back down to my phone, I tried to string together an explanation, but words were hard to come by this early in the morning. Instead of reading them the letter, I walked over and placed my phone on the counter in front of them. Both girls hunched over to read the message.
“I can’t believe you’re getting off with a warning. That’s incredible,” Lydia said.
When Caroline finished reading, she pushed my phone back to me with an almost clinical calmness, like this was exactly the outcome she’d expected.
“Why do you not seem surprised?” I asked her.
“Well,” she replied, tucking a piece of her long blond hair behind an ear, “after you went to bed last night, I did some research. While you technically could be charged for trespassing, which would be a misdemeanor, our student policy only outlines the consequences and processes for felony charges. Honestly, I’m not surprised Castillo got the hotel to back off. They’re probably more worried about the truth getting out than they are about you crashing the gala. I read a few articles that exposed several universities for sexism and discrimination, and it seems like this could be a real media mess for the school. And none of the information you shared was untrue, meaning they can’t accuse you of slander.”
Had Caroline stayed up all night researching for me?
An overwhelming sense of relief and gratitude filled my body. “I—thank you, Caroline. That was really thoughtful of you.”
She shrugged. “I’m going to be a lawyer, Grace. This is just a warm-up for what I’ll be expected to do in law school.”
I nodded in understanding then asked, “Did Austin post last night? Are we on our way to causing a media storm for the school?”
“Not quite a storm,” Lydia interjected, looking down at her phone. “At least, not yet. But the post has over ten thousand views, and the comments are picking up. By next week, everyone on campus will have heard your speech. Especially with Sebastian’s successful return to the team. The guys are back under a microscope now that their star player is back.”
“I wonder if Castillo knows about the video,” I mused. He probably wouldn’t have let me off so easily if he knew there was a recording of the whole thing.
“Don’t worry about him, trust me.” Caroline said.
It was silent for a moment, then both girls exchanged a conspiratorial look.
“Grace, I know you’re probably exhausted after last night, but we could use your help,” Lydia said. “My girlfriend, Nina, agreed to make posters to put up around campus, but we need some eye-catching content. Any ideas?”
My mind flashed to an image of Sebastian’s smug grin as he told me to get out of his car, and I got the perfect idea to knock him down a peg. I couldn’t wait to see his face when he realized I was still here.
>> <<
St. Cloud didn’t stand a chance against us. Back in the offensive zone, our forward line functioned like a well-oiled machine, cycling the puck around the net and making quick passes to create a solid gap. There were only ten seconds left on the clock when one opened. Lydia’s wrister flew high, bounced off the goalie’s chest, and ricocheted straight for Big D. The left winger slapped the puck my way, and the pass connected at the perfect time. A sliver of space opened as one of the defenders shifted to cover Lydia. It gave me just enough room to sink the biscuit between the goalie’s legs.
