Faking It with the Forward: Wittmore U Hockey

“Did she ask about me?” I ask Nadia, swaying to the beat of the music. I have to admit the girl is beautiful and fun. I can see why she’s popular with the jocks. But she’s not the woman I want to be holding right now.

No, the girl of my dreams is across the dance floor with another guy. His hand is wrapped around her back, and he’s holding her close. She keeps smiling at him like he’s said the most hilarious things. I’ve had a tight, rage-inducing feeling in my chest since Logan walked up to the teal house. I’m not acutely familiar with the sensation, but I know what it is: jealousy.

“She asked me if I liked you.”

“Did she now.”  My eyebrow shoots up. “What did you say?”

“That you’re not my type.”

“Please,” I give her a grin, “I’m everyone’s type.”

She laughs, and not in a flattering way. “Seriously though, how do you fit a helmet over that massive ego?”

“Ah, well, it’s not a helmet. It’s a specially designed ‘ego containment unit.’ Comes with extra reinforced padding.” I spin her around. “League approved.”

“You’re ridiculous,” she says, rolling her eyes. “No wonder Twyler likes you.”

“Liked,” I say, emphasizing the word. “Throw me a bone; you know her better than anyone, how do I win her back?”

She’s silent for a moment, and I’m pretty sure she’s not going to answer me. Fair. Twyler’s said from the start that Nadia is fiercely loyal. Just when I decide to let it go and figure it out on my own, she says, “Losing men isn’t new to Twyler. She’s accustomed to having her heart broken. At this point it may feel more normal than having someone stick around.”

“You mean Ethan.”

“Partially.” She glances across the hardwoods to Twyler and Logan. It’s obvious they’re both uncomfortable dancing, but they seem determined to try. “She was devastated when she lost her dad. They were super close, and he was her rock when she was struggling. She tried again with Ethan, putting her trust in the wrong person. When that went badly, I think she learned it’s easier to either not try at all or to—’

“Run.”

She chuckles. “That’s my girl—she’s fast, right?”

“Crazy fast for someone with such short legs.”

“Yeah, well, I think she discovered it’s easier to find an excuse to walk away first. At least that way she’ll have control over her heartbreak.”

“I don’t know how to fix this,” I admit. “And it’s super fucking frustrating.”

She gives me a sympathetic smile. “She needs to know you’re not going anywhere.” She directs us across the dance floor. “Come on, let’s go cut in. If that skinny kid’s going to be her new boyfriend, I need to get to know him better.”

“Over my dead body,” I mutter.

She smirks. “That’s the attitude.”

We weave our way across the dance floor and as the song changes, Nadia releases me, walks up to Logan, and taps him on the shoulder. “Come on,” she says. “I’m here to prove I don’t give a shit that my booty call is here with another girl.”

Logan isn’t a fool. He sees me standing there, waiting for my chance. He looks at Twyler who gives him an apologetic, but resigned look. Before he can argue, Nadia grabs his hand and whisks him off.

“Dance with me?” I ask, holding out my hand.

“I’m not sure it’s a good idea,” her eyes dart around, searching to see if anyone is watching. I don’t give a fuck who’s watching, and wrap my arm around her body, pulling her to me.

Fuck, yes. Finally. This feels right.

“You’re oddly good at this,” she says, her limbs stiff as I maneuver us around the floor.

“When I was in middle school, my dad became obsessed with the skill and grace of figure skaters. Hockey players are known for their brawn, and twelve-year-old boys in particular are fighting against hormones and uneven growth spurts. He signed the whole team up for classes at a local dance studio hoping to build a little finesse.”

“I don’t know if it worked on the ice, but you definitely have surprising moves on the dance floor.” She’s still tense, eyes peeled like she’s waiting to get busted by Coach Green. I can sense she’s waiting for the right moment to make a break for it. “Reese, I really—’

I let her talk the other day when she ended it. Now it’s my turn and I cut her off.

“I want to make something clear,” I say, tightening my grip on her hand. “I invited Nadia with me tonight for the reasons I said before, but also because if you wouldn’t come with me, I wasn’t going to ask anyone else.”

“You should do what I’m doing, move on.”

“Impossible, Sunshine.” I flatten my palm over the crisscross of straps on her lower back. “I need you to understand that I’m not finished with you. We’re not finished with one another, and when you’re ready to sit down and come up with a way to deal with the obstacles in front of us, I’m ready.”

“You’re wrong,” she says with a tremor in her voice, although her jaw is tight with determination. “There is no solution other than for us to go our separate ways. I need you to accept that.”

My fingers lift to her chin, then slowly stroke down the column of her neck. “We are abso-fucking-lutely not over,” I declare, meaning it one hundred percent, “and the sooner you meet me in the middle, the better.”

The song ends, and I release her before I do something incredibly stupid like kiss her in front of her date and boss and everyone else in the room. That urge to claim her is stronger than ever, but I won’t force her. All I can do is let her know my intentions.

If Nadia’s right, I need to show Twyler that I won’t be another man that abandons her; emotionally or physically. So even though it kills me, and goes against every fiber in my being, I allow her be the one to walk away.

It’s a beautiful late fall day. The kind where the sun shines through the yellow and red leaves, giving everything a colorful glow. Perfect for sitting outdoors with friends or doing homework before the cold weather pushes everyone indoors for the next six months.

I find Logan lounging on the amphitheater steps, engrossed in a paperback.

“Hey, man.” I drop next to him, taking my backpack off and setting it at my feet “Good book?”

“Hey.” He squints up at me, eyebrows furrowed, then down at the book. “I guess. Required reading for my lit class.”

I was already aware of that, and where to find him, thanks to one of the guys on the team.

“Listen, I’m not going to bullshit you,” I say, getting straight to the point. I’ve already wasted enough time. “I’m not giving up on Twyler.”

“Yeah, I gathered that the other night.” He closes the book. “I guess the big question is how does she feel about it?”

“I’ve made it clear how I feel.” I shift my gaze across campus, observing all the people milling around between classes. “And I’m willing to wait for her, even if that means she wants to date other guys for a while.”

He sighs, running his hand through his hair. “Well, if it’s any consolation, I don’t think I’m going to be one of those guys.”

I turn to him. “What? What happened? You two looked like you were having a good time at the fundraiser.” I narrow my eyes at him. “Did you fuck it up?”

“It was fun. More than I thought I’d have with a bunch of jocks.” He grins sheepishly. “No offense.”

“None taken.” I press on. “So what happened?”

“Nothing exactly, but I could tell she was preoccupied all night. I’m pretty sure you’re the reason behind that.”

I grimace. “Shit. That’s not what I want.”

“You just said you want her.”

“I don’t want her distracted by me—that’s the whole reason she won’t go out with me in the first place.” He chuckles at me. I narrow my eyes and demand, “What?”

“That sounds like a load of crap.”

“What do you mean?” This guy. I bench press his body weight and he’s sitting here laughing at my pain. “She specifically broke up with me because our relationship was distracting her from her job.”

“Dude,” he says, standing up, “I’m sure you’ve dated way more girls than I have. But what she told you is nonsense. She didn’t break up with you because she’s distracted. She broke up with you because she’s scared.”

“Shit,” I mutter. “That’s exactly what Nadia told me.”

He slings his backpack over his shoulder. “Well, good luck, man. She’s a great girl. I just want her to be happy and if you make her happy, I hope it works out.”

With my mind reeling, he walks away. “Hey,” I call, jumping up and following him. “You mean that about making Twyler happy?”

“Absolutely.”

I grin and clap him on the back. “Then I think there’s something you can help me with.”

“Want me to add five more?” Jeff asks.

“What?” I ask, dragging my eyes from the door. I see he has two five-pound weights in each hand, waiting to add them to the bar. “Oh, yeah, do it.”

We’ve been in the weight room for thirty minutes, but there’s no sign of Twyler. Coach Green is here and has been working with one of the rookies on the mat. It’s possible she’s in the back, but I resist the urge to go find her in the supply closet.

She and I have been orbiting each other since the fundraiser, both existing in the same space, but never colliding. I want to prove to her that I’m okay with her attention being on her job, the same way I’m focused on mine. Our first regular season game is this weekend and all I want is to cap off my senior year with a trip to the Frozen Four. That starts on Saturday.

But even with my focus on the game, she’s never far from the forefront of my mind. Especially today. I have something to ask her.

“Jonathan,” Coach Green calls out, and the equipment manager emerges from the locker room. “Can you grab me a bandage from the supply closet? They’re in the red drawer. Perkins marked everything.”

That blows that theory.

Maybe she had something for class. Or she’s sick?

“Dude!” Jefferson taps on the bar with this fist. My eyes draw up to my friend’s annoyed expression. “Are you lifting or staring into space all day?”

“I’m lifting,” I grumble, gripping the bar and lifting it over my head.

The next day I’m even more determined to see her. I show up early for morning skate, iced coffee in hand. The coffee shop doesn’t open until later, so I made a pot before bed and let it cool overnight. A literal ice breaker.

Using my keycard to get in, the building is quiet, but I know she likes to arrive before the team. Music comes from the training room and my heart thuds. I know that once we finally talk—once I make my gesture, this will be it. I reach around the door and knock.

“Morning, Sunsh—”

I stop short, the ice sloshing in the cup, when I see a guy sitting at the desk going through player files.

“You’re not Twyler.”

“I’m not.” He gives me a friendly smile.

“Who are you?” I take in his WU collared shirt and joggers.

“I’m Cameron,” he offers his hand. “And you’re Reese Cain, captain of the team, senior and forward. It’s an honor to be assigned to work with you and the team.”

I don’t shake his hand, mine are full, the cold drink sweating against my palm. “What do you mean ‘assigned?’”

“Temporarily—for now at least.” He shoves his hands in his pockets. “The person that had this internship told our advisor she needed some time off.”

“Time off? For how long?”

He shrugs. “I really don’t know. I’m a semester behind so I wasn’t eligible for an internship when they were assigned last spring. When this opportunity came up, my advisor had me fill in.”

I stop fully listening after his first sentence and turn back down the hall. I get out my phone and shoot off a message.

OneFive: Where are you? Everything okay?

There’s no response before I get on the ice or after.

Quickly, I change and head off campus, over to the teal house. Banging on the door with my fist, I’m disappointed when it’s Nadia that answers.

“Is Twy here?” I ask, peering around her.

“She’s probably at the arena,” Nadia replies, grabbing her backpack. Then her eyes widen. “Hold on, isn’t today an early practice day?”

“Yeah, and she didn’t show. Yesterday either.” I look past her, for what? No clue. “Some substitute intern was there saying he was filling in for a while.”

A deep line creases Nadia’s forehead. “That doesn’t make sense.”

“It sure as hell doesn’t. She’s not responding to my texts either.” Now I push past her, entering the house. Nothing looks out of place in the living room. I head to her bedroom. “Did she sleep here last night?”

“I don’t know. I stayed out.” She catches up to me and grabs my arm. “Reese, you can’t just barge in there.”

“She’ll get over it,” I say, eyes scanning the room. It looks just about the same as the last time I was here, but there’s one noticeable thing laying over the back of her desk chair: my hoodie. “What’s missing?”

She sighs and steps in and inspects the room. Opening the closet door, she points out, “Her duffle is usually on the floor.”

“She left?” I ask.

“You can’t jump to conclusions,” she counters, but a hint of concern colors her expression. This isn’t normal behavior for Twyler—skipping practice, bailing on her internship, packing a bag mid-week.

Something akin to fear builds in my chest. All the things she told me about spiraling after breaking up with Ethan. The depressive episodes in high school.

“Did you check her tracker?” She opens her phone. “Are you still connected?”

“Oh, genius!” Damn that tracker. It might actually be useful. My stomach sinks, however, when I realize the truth. “She turned it off or blocked me.”

“Me too,” she admits, “but not until yesterday afternoon.” She holds up the phone, revealing Twyler’s history. Her little dot blips an hour south, then vanishes.

“Where’s that?”

“It’s not where she’s been,” Nadia says, her fingers moving across the phone’s screen. “It’s where she’s heading.”

In an instant, everything clicks, and my decision is made.

I’m going to find her.