02

"I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU'RE NOT pressing charges," Lauren says, leaning her elbows on the kitchen bar. Her dark green eyes peer at me as her bead necklaces dangle over her neck, and she clasps a mug of tea, the steam momentarily hazing her. "Seriously, Elly, you know it wasn't an accident."

I sigh and lean back on the bar stool in my apartment. Morning light pours in through the glass windows, and beyond that, an insane view of Godfrey City—the skyline's like crooked teeth under clear blue skies. We're twenty stories in the air, and I love it 'cause everything spreads before me like a map—the neighbourhood I grew up to the east, then to the west end of town. I bought this apartment to have a homebase during the off-seasons and still see my family, but I've been here a lot longer than I intended.

It's not like being in Godfrey is easy for me. Memories burn like gasoline when I think of this place, but Lauren's been taking care of me. We've basically been trialling living together. Lauren still has her place, but she's here a lot. I've never lived with a girl before—I mean, not on my own, anyway—so it's an experiment for me too. I'd say it's going pretty good. We don't fight. And she's always there when I need her.

When I realize I didn't answer her, I snap back to attention, then pop a grape in my mouth. Healthy food, even though all I want is bacon. Can't be eating like shit while I'm off, or I'll come back from my injury sluggish and weak, and I don't wanna be that guy.

"Things get intense on the ice," I say. "Whitney apologized personally, and he got their team disqualified from the game, so it's really not a big deal anymore. I'm over it."

Lauren lifts a brow, then nods at my crutches, leaned up against the bar. "Not a big deal?"

Okay, it is a big deal. I've been off my foot for two months now. No hockey. Barely any working out.

Yeah, it sucks ass.

But I blame myself too. I mean, if I'd been faster or keener or more agile, I could've avoided Whitney flanking me, then I never would've crashed into the wall or slipped and broke my shin then smashed my head off the ice and got a minor concussion. Lauren doesn't get it—there are risks when it comes to sports, and we're not on the peewee team. The NHL is life or death, and I'm lucky I've gone this long without a serious injury.

"Trust me, it could've been worse," I mutter. "Some guys can get put out for months or a year or even more. I'll be playing next season, no biggie."

Lauren sighs and turns to the kitchen, dropping her mug on the counter. "You're too good, Elliot."

I'm not too good, I'm just trying not to dwell on things. Years of therapy will put that in your head. I try my best not to live in the past, to always be thinking about tomorrow, not yesterday—'cause yesterday's already happened, and tomorrow could be the best day of my life, or whatever my therapist said once. It's a mantra that helps keep me looking to the light at the end of the tunnel, not the pitch black darkness behind it.

And I've come a long way. I'm medicated, I still go to therapy, my career took off, and after years of feeling like I just "wasn't ready to move on," I finally have a girlfriend.

Move on from Lucy, I mean.

She wasn't exactly easy to forget.

It took me three years to even kiss another girl. When Lucy left me, I spent a year in recovery, training for hockey and graduating high school. I thought of her the whole time.

When I got drafted into the NHL, my dreams had come true, and I was happy. Healthy. I was doing it, the thing I'd dreamed of my whole life. I still thought of her.

My life became training for the most intense games of my life. The extreme highs of winning; the extreme lows of losing. But I was being treated, and my mental health was in check. Still, I thought of her every day.

Don't get me wrong—I knew it was over, and I wasn't like, stalking her or anything. I just hoped she was okay. I've been donating anonymously to her charity, which had followed me on Instagram, the only lifeline I ever had to Lucy—a lifeline I never reached out to. I don't think I was supposed to, y'know? Our relationship had ended, and as much as that hurt, it was right in the end, and I know that. I'm not totally stupid.

But I really did love Lucy. Once things with the NHL calmed, and I was able to have a bit of a social life again, I started hanging out with some of the guys on my team, going to parties, meeting models. I went out on a few dates with some, had some one-night stands, but nothing ever felt right. It never felt like it did with Lucy—like I was with someone who truly mattered to me.

And yeah, I know things with her got super unhealthy, especially at the end. I felt like I couldn't live or breathe without her, and that's fucked up, but I'd be lying if I said I haven't been looking for someone who can make me feel even an ounce of the way she made me feel. Like, the healthy parts. The parts when we were together and we were okay.

Closest I've gotten is with Lauren. She's solid, stable, and I respect the hell out of her. Her life is so put together. Everything with Lauren is on a schedule. She's never late for anything, and sometimes when we kiss, I do feel a spark inside me.

Truth is, when I look at Lauren, I don't necessarily feel fireworks, but I see a future that makes sense. Ever since we started dating, Lucy's slipped from the forefront of my mind more and more.

Till my injury, anyway.

I still don't know why I hallucinated like that after Whitney hit me. It was completely weird, and I'd be lying if I said it hasn't erased some of the progress I've made in, y'know, not thinking about her.

Here I am, thinking about her right now. I imagine punching myself in the gut—I'd deserve it for thinking about my ex-girlfriend, when my actual girlfriend is right here, with me

Lauren turns back to me and grabs a grape out of the bowl, leaning her elbows over the counter. "So, since you're mostly walking again, I kind of had an idea."

I sit up. "Oh?"

A smile quirks at her lips as she taps her fingers on her phone, then turns it to me.

It's an ad of some kind for a charity ball. A black poster with gold and diamond lettering on it. The time: seven p.m. Tonight. My stomach gets tight at the idea—that seems super public, and I'd kinda been wanting to stay in and watch movies tonight.

Lauren looks at me with a bright smile, her teeth braces level of perfect. "Well? This would be a great chance to get out there again!"

Lauren's great, but sometimes she thinks she's my publicist and not my girlfriend. That's how it seems anyway. It annoys me, but I don't wanna make her feel bad, so I keep my mouth shut.

"You don't think I'd draw in too much attention?" I ask. It's not like I'm so mega famous I'd get swarmed by some sort of miraculous paparazzi, but people in Godfrey know who I am. I get stopped for selfies sometimes when I hobble my ass to the grocery store on my crutches. And more than a few unflattering pictures of me looking like a bum with my injury have surfaced online.

"The attention could bring more eyes on the event!" Lauren exclaims. "Seriously, think about how good this'll look. It's important to keep you in the limelight in some way until you can start playing hockey again."

I rub the back of my neck. The motives feel wrong. "Isn't that kinda selfish? I mean, there's a reason I donate anonymously every year..." And so Lucy doesn't know I'm supporting her charity. "I don't do it so I look good."

Lauren gives me a look. She rounds the kitchen bar, then runs her hands along my shoulders. "I know that," she says and kisses the side of my head. "I know you're good, but you being there could do some good too."

I guess she's right on that. If I can bring more people in, or encourage people to donate, then that's a win, right? It's not all about me, or whatever image Lauren thinks I should be putting out.

But a charity ball here in Godfrey? Lucy's charity could be one of them, but from what I can tell, she doesn't make public appearances all that much. Lucy's not exactly a "public" person, at least, she wasn't when I knew her.

"Well?" Lauren presses, and it's then I realize her arm's still wrapped around my shoulder. Guilt strikes me again. Lauren doesn't know about Lucy. It's not that I don't trust her, but she is a journalist, and there are some things the world just doesn't need to know. What happened with me and Lucy was between us, and honestly, I like it that way. It's a part of my past just for me, and for her too, if she ever thinks of me at all.

"Random question," I say, 'cause I need to know, "but is there a charity called The Safe Way Home on the roster?"

Lauren swipes her phone up with a frown, then checks it. She scrolls for a moment before she says, "I mean, I don't see them. Why?"

Relief washes over me. Maybe a little disappointment too. Part of me has always hoped I'd sort of just, cross paths with Lucy again sometime, in a natural way, y'know? But that's the unhealthy part of me talking. The part of me that does, as much as I hate it, still live in the past.

It's a good thing Lucy won't be there. Chances are, I won't see her at this event or ever again, so it's all good. Getting out of the apartment, walking on my leg, socializing so I don't turn into a hermit—that would be good for me. I have a lot of off days, a lot of days I get filled with anxiety and wish I didn't even exist, let alone have a public persona, but again: therapy. It does wonders.

When I'm feeling anxious to socialize or put myself out there or exist in the world, that's when Dr. Finch says I should go out. 'Cause my mind makes up all kinds of doomsday scenarios—like what if people think I'm doing it for clout, or what if people think I look like shit after months off the ice?—but I remind myself it doesn't matter, 'cause I'm happy with myself. Content. I worked my ass off to get here.

Everything else is just noise.

"Okay," I say, "I'll go." 

* * *

A/N: Okkk intro stuff is out of the way now. Next chapter... we get to the juicy stuff!!! 

Hope you enjoyed it! I'd love to hear your thoughts. What are you hoping to see happen?

Thanks for reading!!