Bringing the phone to my ear, I hold my other hand over my other ear so I can hear over the loud bar. “Hello?”
I’m met with silence on the other end. This is giving me a sense of Deja Vu.
“Helloooo. This is McKenna. Did you get the wrong number?”
“No, I didn’t.”
My breath hitches when I hear Griffin’s deep tone.
“Happy birthday, Sunshine.”
Click.
That’s it? After almost two years of silence, that’s it?
But . . . he didn’t forget.
Why does he do this to me?
He called me as an unknown caller, meaning I couldn’t call him back or text him if I wanted to.
How dare he call me Sunshine and then just hang up.
It’s as if he could sense I was having fun with another guy for the first time since he shattered my heart.
With one short phone call, with just oneword, he’s thrown my heart from my chest and sent it free falling.
Fuck you, Griffin Turner.
21
September
The Mile High City has done wonders for my mental health. My heart broke in Boston, but I began to heal in the mountains of Colorado.
It’s the beginning of September, so I need to report to training camp in a few weeks. This will be the start of my second full season with the Colorado Summits.
Last season I was a rookie, but I made sure my spot on this team was undeniable. I put up record points and won The Calder Memorial Trophy, which is the Rookie of the Year award.
Nights spent beneath the stars have replaced nights I used to party and close down the bars. There’s a reason I had such an amazing year last year. I don’t drink alcohol during the season, and I haven’t touched any drugs since I began therapy almost two years ago.
Being outdoors has been so healing. I can’t ski or snowboard due to my contract, which sucks when you live in a place that’s known for being the best place in the country to go for that. Instead, I’ve rekindled my love of hiking, camping, fishing, and hunting. And there are truly not many places in the country better to do those things either.
This weekend is Labor Day weekend. It will mark the two-year anniversary of Katie’s death. It feels like it’s been an eternity since that day, while also feeling like it was just yesterday.
The grasp grief held on my life has loosened, but I still feel the squeeze of its presence at the most random times. Grief is a bitch that way—just when you think you’ve moved on to acceptance, the anger, anguish, and pleading rush back and bring you to your knees.
Dealing with the loss of my mother at such a young age was difficult. But losing Katie broke me in a way I hope to never feel again. I haven’t let many people into my life since I lost Katie. No matter how much my therapist and I discussed it, I couldn’t bear it when I lost my sister and pushed away the love of my life. It didn’t seem fair—I could never replace them.
My life in Colorado isn’t lonely, but I’m more of a loner. The guys on the team deemed me the recluse rookie last year. They’d give me shit for never going out at the beginning of the season, but they stopped once I proved myself out on the ice.
I’m currently on my way to the airport to pick up my dad. He stayed in Boston, where he’s still the Chief of Surgery at the hospital. I tried to get him to move to Colorado with me, but he said he didn’t want to leave his job after only a few months. It may have also had something to do with the woman he started seeing shortly after I left for Colorado. Her name is Bethany, and she’s also a cardiologist at the hospital he works at, though she specializes in pediatrics. I’m happy for him, but I miss the shit out of him.
This weekend is a hard one for both of us. Last year, we went on a camping and fishing trip together out here. This year, we decided to make a tradition out of it and honor Katie the only way we know how: by spending time together.
Even though Katie mostly read books in a hammock on our camping trips growing up, she always loved to be outdoors. She would’ve loved Colorado as much as I do.
Two years has allowed me the time my heart needed to heal. I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to think of Katie without a wave of sadness flooding me, but I’ve moved past the anger and despair I felt every time I heard her name or thought of the life that was stolen from her.
