Page 117 of Puck Fest
“Good.”He pauses again.“For what it's worth, Masterson, I told him a lot of things in that conversation. Most of them true. But there’s one thing I didn't tell him.” He glances at me. “That I'd rather have a son who fights for what he loves than a son who plays it safe. I should've led with that. I didn't.”
“Why are you telling me?”
“Because if you find him tomorrow, and he tries to tell you he's doing this for me and my career, you tell him I said that. Word for word.”
“Yeah. I will.”
He straightens and pats the boards twice with his palm.“Now get out of here before security finds you, kid. Side door's unlocked till four in the morning. Use it.”
He walks back up the tunnel without looking back.
I stand there at the boards, staring at the empty ice. I'm not thinking about what Coach said. I'm thinking about Noah.
Tomorrow morning.
Whatever it costs.
Coach is right. I’ve been so busy being angry, being hurt, being justified in my pain that I haven’t thought about whether I’m willing to actually do the work to fix this.
Whether I’m brave enough to reach out first.
Whether love is worth the risk.
I pull out my phone and look at Noah’s name in my contacts.
I’m still blocked from his end. But I could text from a different number. Or show up at his house. I could find a way.
I don’t know what I’d say or if he’d even listen.
I also don’t know if we can fix what’s broken.
I leave the arena, drive home, and spend the rest of the night figuring out what I want to say.
By morning, I have it.
Not perfect. Not polished. Just honest.
I grab my phone and open an email.
Noah, I know you don’t want to hear from me. I know I said things I shouldn’t have said. But I need to talk to you. Really talk. Not yell. Not fight. Just talk. If you’re willing, meet me tomorrow afternoon at two at the coffee shop where we met last time. If you don’t show up, I’ll understand. But I’m asking you to give me a chance to fix this. Please.
I hit send before I can second-guess myself.
Then I wait.
CHAPTER 29
NOAH
On Saturday morning,I sit at my kitchen table with coffee and Sam’s job offer, trying to convince myself that project-based work at a nonprofit is a step forward and not just settling for scraps. My laptop pings with notification of an incoming email. I swallow groan. Probably another rejection, more reason for me to accept the job at Play It Forward.
I see the email sitting in my inbox.
It’s from Danny.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I click to open it.
Noah, I know you don’t want to hear from me. I know I said things I shouldn’t have said. But I need to talk to you. Really talk. Not yell. Not fight. Just talk. If you’re willing, meet me tomorrow. 2 PM. The coffee shop where we first met for the Alex situation. If you don’t show up, I’ll understand. But I’m asking you to give me a chance to fix this. Please.
