I head back to the bench, content to let the third line hold defense for the final minute. Unless we lay down and let them demolish us, the game is ours.
“You’re not normally this aggressive, Finnigan,” Coach mutters, watching me with assessing eyes, “but nice hat trick tonight.”
I take in the praise, feeling physically ill from everything I’m holding in. Really though, I’d rather be cutting off someone’s balls instead.
Much later, as I’m lying in bed hoping for the adrenaline to wear off, my phone buzzes beside me.
Tater Tots:
Speedy Spud strikes against the Strikers!
That’s not me saying it, btw. It’s what the newscaster said and I liked the way it sounded.
Me:
You watched?
Tater Tots:
Of course. Myfriendwas playing. Hedid well.
Me:
I know. He’s awesome.
Probably the best player the ice has ever seen
Tater Tots:
Andsohumble.
Me:
*sunglasses emoji*
Tater Tots:
Busy? Want to chat?
Dammit. Yeah, I want to chat. But I’m afraid the minute I hear her voice, I’ll either demand to know where her ex lives so I can pay him a visit or ask what she’s wearing so I can make her come without touching her.
Fuck, what am I doing? I don’t normally get this affected by anyone but the aggression I feel on behalf of Alia consumes me. Even if this level of emotional connection exists now, it won’t when she leaves for India.
The pinch in my chest at that reminder is sharp enough that I wince. Thumping my fist over my heart, I try to force the discomfort away. I’m growing too attached when what I need is to remember this is temporary, irrespective of whatever I said to Theo. He’s right about keeping a distance—but not just for the reasons he thinks.
I need to get my head on straight before I fall too deep.
I’ll be fine.
Totally fucking fine.
Me:
Kinda wiped after the game
Gonna crash now
Tater Tots: