through a blanket.
“Just came from practice,” I tell Carter, with no clue what else to say. “Then Easton and I had lunch and talked about our power play.”
Carter’s eyes flicker open and he nods.
“Our coach gave us both a lecture,” I continue. “About communicating better on the ice. You were right about that. So we’re going to work on it. Playoffs start in a couple of weeks…” I keep talking and every once in a while I get a reaction, so I know he hears me.
After about an hour, I sit there silent for a moment. I can’t stay forever, but I can’t say goodbye. I’m so fucking choked up I can barely talk because I know this is…goodbye. Then Carter reaches over to the end table and picks up some cards. He hands them to me.
“He wants you to have those,” Laura says.
I take them and look down at a set of hockey cards…four of them…one with my dad, the others Uncle Jase, Uncle Logan, and Uncle Matt. My cheekbones hurt with the pressure that builds behind them, my eyes stinging.
I have to swallow hard a few times before I can speak. “Thanks, buddy,” I manage to say. “I love these. This means the world to me.”
I give his skinny body a hug and…his little arms hug me back.
I’m blind as I walk down their sidewalk. The tears in my eyes are blurring everything, and my chest aches so bad I can hardly breathe. I somehow unlock my car and get inside. Then I sit there. With my forehead on the steering wheel, I cry.
* * *
—
When I get home, I get a glass and the bottle of tequila and sit on my couch with my feet on the coffee table. But I don’t get drunk again. I just think a lot.
I think about Carter.
I think about Easton.
And I think about Sara.
I also think about myself and what everything means, and how can I be better. How can I live up to Carter’s admiration for me? I want to be like him—going through the worst hell possible and still being cheerful and positive. How can I be a man who deserves Easton’s friendship again? Can I ever be good enough to deserve Sara’s love?
I sip the glass of tequila as I consider these questions, and other questions, like, what if I’d never been traded to New York? What if the worst thing that could happen to me turned out to be the best thing? What does that mean for all the other things I don’t want to change? What if change makes things…better?
Sara told me how important honesty is to her. She lives her life so honestly. I need to do the same.
I remember her reading me that poem, “To a Mouse.” And what she’d said after, about reflecting on the past when things didn’t go as planned…which is what I’ve spent the last eight years doing. And anticipating the future…except I didn’t anticipate the future…I planned it, and hated it unless I knew exactly what was going to happen.
But we’re all vulnerable to forces beyond our control. Seeing Carter with his illness, something he sure as hell never expected, refusing to let it limit him…Sara dealing with depression and not letting it stop her from being who she wants to be…they faced things they couldn’t plan for.
I need to be a warrior.
Chapter 26
Sara
Hello darkness, my old friend.
I’ve been watching Dr. Pimple Popper videos and eating Jacques Torres bonbons since Sunday morning. It’s Tuesday now. I think.
I had the idea of going out to Ignite Cycle, but that seemed like too much trouble. I should be editing the video I made with Layla last week, where we talked about body positivity and the progress the fashion industry has made, but also how there’s still work to do. That also seems like too much trouble. I haven’t checked my emails or social media since Saturday, other than watching for a reply from Josh to the text I sent him.
I don’t get a reply.
My eyes are gritty from all the tears I’ve cried. My chest aches and my whole body feels weighed down.
I should have known that I would screw things up somehow. Most guys figure out how weird I am early on. It just took Josh longer. I also should have known better than to think he could love me. I’ve always known I’m so messed up no one will ever love me.
I’d been cruising along happily focused