Page 130 of Cross Ice

I leaned back against the couch. “Evan said he’s in love with me but he doesn’t know if it’s enough. And I told him I love him too, but I don’t know if that’s enough either. And then I got ejected from a game we’d already lost and now I’m suspended.”

Miguel let out a long breath. “Okay. That’s a lot.”

“Yeah.”

“What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking I’ve been avoiding the hard choices,” I said. “In both directions. Not fully showing up to hockey because I’m worried about Evan. Not fully showing up to Evan because I’m exhausted from hockey. And calling it love when some of it’s just… not deciding.”

Miguel was quiet for a moment. That was the thing about him—he didn’t fill silences just to fill them, he waited until he had something worth saying. “That sounds right,” he said finally. “And I think you already know what the hard choice is.”

“I need to stop managing and start deciding.”

“Yeah. What do you want, Nico? Not what you can have. Not what’s fair. What do you actually want?”

“I want to play hockey the way I know how to play it,” I said. “Without my personal life bleeding onto the ice. I want to be part of this team without feeling guilty about it.” I took a deep breath. “And I want Evan. I want the life I thought we were building. The version where being together in public isn’t a problem we have to solve every time. Where it’s just… normal.”

“Is that version available right now?”

“No.”

“So what version is available?”

“One where he’s trying to get there, and I’m trying to get there, and we’re both doing the actual work instead of just saying we are.”

“Is he doing the work?”

“I don’t know. I asked for space.”

“Maybe find out what he’s actually doing before you decide it isn’t enough.”

After we hung up, I sat there for a long time.

Then I checked my messages.

Twenty-three from Evan. Most of them variations of the same thing—I love you, I’m sorry, please talk to me, please don’t give up on us.

I read them all. Sat with them.

Then I put my phone down and didn’t respond. Not yet. I needed one more day to be sure I knew what I was going to say.

Tuesday evening, the team played Minnesota without me.

I watched from home. We were down 5–2 by the third.

I sat on my couch watching guys I’d played with for years, and the absence felt like a physical thing. Third minute of the second period, André set up a two-on-one that should have been a goal, a play we’d run a hundred times, the kind where I’d have been the second man. Fortin took the shot instead and missed wide. I knew exactly where I would have been standing.

My phone buzzed.

Evan

Watching the game. I’m sorry you’re not out there.

I looked at the message for a long time. It was the first one I’d answered in two days.

Nico

Me too.