Grabbing a clean T-shirt, I toss the sweaty one into my hamper. I root around in my drawer for a clean pair of sweats and find a tiny pair Paige left behind. Fuck.
I know it’s only been thirty-six hours since I lost my shit and broke both our hearts, but every time I turn around, there’s a reminder of her. My phone is filled with pictures of us, my sheets still smell like her, and Westley is currently dining on the crickets she brought over for him the other day. Yes, my girlfriend, who hates the idea of feeding live crickets to my gecko, bought him a bag, carried it here, and gave it to him, because she’s the nicest person on the fucking planet. She’s also not my girlfriend anymore.
Every time I think about the things I said and the way I behaved, it makes me sick. She didn’t deserve any of it, obviously. I was a dick to blame her when all she did was treat me to a night away to relieve my stress. And how did I repay her? By blaming her for my mistakes and things beyond our control.
I tried apologizing this morning, but failed spectacularly. I was a total dick yesterday, so I can’t blame her for not wanting to have a conversation with me.
Still, I check my phone as I make my way down the stairs. Still no text from Paige, but what did I expect? I was clearly the asshole. Honestly, though, I’d welcome any text from her, even one that said:You are an asshole.
I fill my water bottle at the kitchen sink and head into the living room where a bunch of the guys are camped. I take a seat next to Noah. It’s the only seat besides the floor, but maybe I lucked out. Maybe some of his wisdom will rub off on me.
The Call of Duty tournament is in full swing and we’re all watching Jonesy get his ass kicked by Vonne. Doyle’s up next, and I play after that, so I’m just kinda chillin, trying to get out of my own head.
“You okay, Briggsy?” Noah asks.
“Nope. Pretty shitty, in fact.” My honesty startles me, and I laugh. “Crap. I did not mean to say that.”
“It’s cool. I wouldn’t have believed you if you’d have said you were fine, anyway.”
“Dude. I’ve fucked up so much in the last couple days, I don’t even know where to start.”
“That’s easy,” Noah says, like the answer is that simple. “You start at the bottom.”
“Come again?”
“What’s the worst of it? What is the very worst thing to come out of all your fuckery? You figure that out, start there, and work your way up. But if you take care of the biggest fuck-up first, you might find the other ones have settled down by the time you get to dealing with them.”
“All of it. All of it is the worst. It’s not a list—it’s a fucking cycle. If I don’t keep my focus solely on the team, I let the team down. And my dad loses his shit. But in order to keep my focus, I can’t have a relationship. Besides, Paige deserves a boyfriend who has time for her. It’s all interconnected.” Without realizing it, I’m threading my hands through my hair in frustration. I stop immediately, pissed at myself. “Goddammit. I’m redistributing oils back into my hair. Jesus. Since when do I care about that shit and how long will it be until the hole in my heart isn’t shaped like Paige anymore?”
Noah levels me with a look. “When you get your head out of your ass and apologize to her. And not just apologize, but redeem yourself. Because there’s your answer right there, Briggsy. It’s Paige. She’s the most important thing and your relationship is the thing you fucked the most.”
“But I missed a goddamn game. And I’m out for the first one after the break.”
“Yeah, you did. And yeah, a lot of the guys were pissed. Coach was disappointed. But look around you, Briggsy. Is anyone pissed now? No. You apologized. We trust you, and we move on. As for the NHL, dude. Your fuck-up did not make national headlines. I doubt the Blaze even know. Your dad is another story, but father-son relationships are not my expertise at the moment.”
“But the point is, I lost my focus. I—”
“You need to find your balance. You think NHL players don’t have a lot to juggle? You think it’s not a struggle to balance a high-pressure career, a partner, a family? But you figure out your balance. Will it be perfect every time? Hell, no. Will you let people down? Fuck yes. But what mitigates that is leaning on the people who support you. That’s not where your pressure comes from, Briggsy, that’s how you let it go.”
Shit. I really did pick the best place to sit.
“Anyone ever tell you that you remind them of Buddha? You know, if Buddha was like a cover model, or some shit.” Noah just laughs.
The idea that I’ve been looking at fucking everything backwards weighs heavily on me, but Doyle just got his ass handed to him, so it’s my turn to play.
Paige
My phone dings with a text, but I ignore it, letting it sit on the table and vibrate.
I realize my mistake too late when Jake grabs it. Damn it. I reach for it, nearly knocking over my latte, but he’s got the wingspan of a freaking condor, so it’s no use.
“Too slow, baby sister. Who’s been texting you all morning?”
We’re at the mall for a little holiday shopping, and watching Jake stress over buying the perfect gift for Trevor is pretty damn adorable. All that shopping has taken its toll on us, though, so we stopped at the coffee shop to refuel.
Jake looks at my phone screen and fakes a gasp. “What a shock. It’s Briggsy. What until I tell Trev. He’ll never believe me,” he deadpans. “Princess P, you gotta put this guy out of his misery. Look at this, he took a Christmas card photo with his damn gecko.”
He shoves the phone in front of my face, but just far enough out of my reach, and I look to see a picture of Spence and Westley wearing matching Santa hats with a caption that readsAll we want for Christmas is you.
