“Oh my god.”
“You’re blinded by hormones at the moment. You need to fuck him again.”
“Lettie.”
“I mean it, Jo. You need to try the goods again to see if it’s all worth it. Fuck him out of your system,” I advise her.
“Really?”
“Yes. It’s just pent-up sexual tension. You both need to expel it, and then you will have a clear mind. Then you work out if this is more.”
She’s quiet for a moment, thinking. And I realize the irony of my giving this advice when I can’t even take it myself. I’m telling my sister to lean into what she feels, while I’m the one whopushed away the man who loved me because I was too scared of what it would cost.
Fuck him out of your system. Maybe I should have taken my own advice.
24
FISH
Vegas is the worst place in the world to be heartbroken. Everything is loud, bright, and designed to make you forget, which sounds great until you realize that forgetting requires you to feel something first, and I don’t feel anything. I haven’t felt anything in eight days. Not since I stood in the bushes outside a hotel and told Collette St. Pierre I loved her and she told me she couldn’t.
The game helps, the ice is the one place where my brain shuts up, and my body takes over. I play hard tonight, maybe too hard. I’m hitting everything that moves, taking the body every chance I get, skating with an edge that Coach has noticed, but hasn’t commented on because we’re winning, and you don’t question what’s working. I pick up an assist in the first. Set up Bouch for a one-timer in the second. Emmett scores the fourth goal in the third, and we win four-nothing, and the locker room is electric.
I sit in my stall and let the noise wash over me. Nelly is blasting something Swedish, and Bouch is spraying water at anyone stupid enough to walk past him. Pierre is actually smiling, which means he’s in a good mood. The boys are happy. The team is rolling. Everything is working.Except you.
Evan drops onto the bench beside me. He doesn’t say anything for a minute. Just sits there, unlacing his skates, letting the silence do the work.
“Good game,” he says finally.
“Yeah.”
“You’re hitting hard,” he notes.
“Yep, that’s the point.”
“You’re hitting angry,” he corrects, not looking at me. “There’s a difference.”
I don’t respond because he’s right and I don’t want to have this conversation. Not here. Not now. Not ever.
“We’re going out tonight,” Sully announces from across the room. “Non-negotiable.”
The boys cheer. We’re in Vegas after a four-nothing win with two days off. It’s a recipe for chaos. I should stay in. I should order room service, watch a movie, and be a responsible adult who is processing his emotions in a healthy way.
“Fish, you in?” Bouch calls out.
“Obviously.” Because being responsible isn’t really my thing. Plus, I’m sick of being sad.
The club iseverything Vegas promises. Dark, loud, with a bass so heavy it vibrates in your sternum. The VIP section is roped off for the team and bottles of champagne are already on ice. It’s where everyone is beautiful, and nobody is real. The boys settle into the VIP booths. Pierre and Felix are at a table with Sully and Emmett. Bouch is already scanning the room. Nelly is doing his awkward European dance that somehow works on women. Evan is beside me at the bar, nursing a whiskey, watching everything the way Evan always does, while I’m ordering shots for the table.
“You’re going to do something stupid tonight?” he asks without looking at me.
“Probably.”
He sighs. “Try to keep it manageable.”
“No promises,” I tell him as I throw back my whiskey.
Then the bunnies arrive, they always do. They have a sixth sense for hockey players in VIP sections, appearing out of nowhere in tight dresses and glossy lips, smelling like perfume and bad decisions. Two of them zero in on me within minutes. A blonde in a silver dress slides into the booth beside me. A brunette positions herself on my other side. They’re beautiful. They’re available. They’re exactly the kind of distraction I used to welcome with open arms. The blonde puts her hand on my thigh. “You played amazingly tonight,” she purrs.