Only One Love (Only One 7)

Me: Hey, you okay?

I try to play it cool, but it’s not. She doesn’t answer me all day nor does she answer me the next day. I do the stupid thing by driving by her house and seeing that her car is there so I at least know that she’s okay. For two days, I’ve been on the edge. Two days, I’ve been holding my phone in my hand, waiting for her to throw me a bone. What the fuck was I thinking? I ask myself when I suit up for the game.

I sit on the bench, looking up at the stands and toward the lodges to see if she’s there. I shake my head, wanting to kick myself. When the coach calls my name, I fly over the bench, and all the frustration comes out of me. Their top defenseman takes the puck and starts up toward center ice, and I come in smashing him with a hit. The puck goes loose, and they skate to the puck when someone comes out and tries to push me down. "Pussy," I say to him as he holds his stick in both hands and pushes my chest. My gloves fly off as he grabs my shirt, and I fall to one knee for just one second before I grab his shoulders and pick myself up. I land a punch with my right hand, and he falls to the ground. I know I should let it go, but I don’t. I give him an uppercut, and he falls to the ice, and I land two more punches before the referees pull us apart.

"That’s going to cost you," the referee says to me, and all I can do is laugh because I don’t have nothing anyone wants anyway.

Chapter 25

Frances

I sit up on the couch as soon as I see the hit from Wilson. The throw blanket that I put on me falls to the side. I got home from work twenty minutes ago exhausted and decided to turn on the television. I was just going to see what was on, but my head knew that I would be changing it to the hockey game. The past two days have been what I would like to call the most hell I’ve been in, in all of my life. I have been on edge the whole time, not sleeping, not eating, and my phone feels like a grenade in my hand every single time I pick it up. My fingers go straight to his texts as I read them over and over again. The last three have gone unanswered, and every single time I read them, I want to answer him, but I don’t know what the proper thing to do is. Every single minute he’s on my mind. Every single time I close my eyes, all I do is see his face. Every single time I picked up my phone, I wanted to call him. Every single time I took a shower, I thought of him. He was in my every fucking thought, and I was so out of my comfort zone I had no idea what to do. I would climb out of bed in the morning, and the only thing I wanted was to wish him good morning, but instead, I pushed the thought from my head. This isn’t what I do. I usually just dip, but with him, I’ve spent two nights with him. Two straight nights of fucking bliss. When he dropped me off, I felt like I left a piece of me with him, which was stupid.

I turn the volume louder when I see the gloves being dropped. My heart goes to my throat as I watch him land three punches and the referee goes to him. I stand, my whole body filled with nerves as I walk closer to the television, thinking that if I get closer, I would be able to see more. "What the fuck?” I say when instead of taking him to the box, they take him straight to the bench. I’ve seen enough hockey games in my life to know that it’s not a good thing. I listen to the commentator talking as they replay the hit over and over again.

"It was definitely a late hit," one of the guys says, and as they replay it, I watch Wilson’s face. It’s filled with anger and rage. In all the time we’ve been together, I’ve never seen that face. Not even when he jumped out of his chair during the interview and walked out. My heart starts to pound in my chest as I watch it over and over again. I pace the living room floor as I try to listen to what is going on.

Grabbing my phone, I go online to see if the press is talking about it yet. I type his name in the search bar and press enter, and his picture comes up with his Wikipedia page. I look up when I hear horns and then see that Michael scored a goal, but I don’t even pay attention as I try to look at the bench and see if Wilson is there.