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I quickly close the thread, as if that’ll stop him from messaging.

But not three seconds later, my cell buzzes.

I try to convince myself to ignore it.

But I can’t.

He flew here to be at the game. The least I can do is read his message.

G: Tonight was rough? Are you okay?

My hand trembles as I read those six words over and over.

Am I okay?

No. No, I’m fucking not okay.

I had what was probably my worst game of the season; my father had front-row seats, and I have to face him tomorrow to listen to his game analysis—aka, all the ways I fucked up—in person.

Before I can stop myself, my fingers begin flying across the screen.

Cooper: Where are you?

My heart rate increases as I watch him type out his response, and when the name of the hotel I’m in right now pops up on my screen, I’m pretty sure it full-on skips a beat.

Cooper: Room 804

My thumb hovers over the send button.

If I press it, then my night is either going to get even worse, or…

“Fuck it.”

I hit send. Whatever follows that ‘or’ has to be worth it. Right?

Minutes pass and I don’t get a response, but I also don’t get a knock at my door.

“Where are you?” I murmur, continuing to lie flat on my bed with an ice pack pressed to my cheek.

Convinced that he isn’t going to come, I haul myself up and drag my ass to the bathroom. I need to shower again; I can still smell the bitter scent of tonight’s loss clinging to my skin.

I turn the shower on, twisting the dial hotter before shedding my clothes and stepping under the spray.

The water burns, but I welcome it, letting the heat seep into my muscles.

After I get back tomorrow, we have another day without a game. It’s nowhere near long enough to recover from this road series, but it’s all we’ve got.

The last few games of the regular season lie ahead of us before we embark on our postseason campaign. We’ve still got weeks of hard work ahead of us. I need to get my shit in order so I can focus.

Tonight, I wasn’t a player worthy of lifting the Stanley Cup. If we’re going to make it, every single one of us needs to play our part.

I can’t be the weak link.

As I stand there under the spray, I vow to get it together. To be the kind of player my teammates can rely on.

A noise outside the bathroom catches my attention, and I freeze.

Was that…