Page 8 of Exes That Puck (The Honey Badger Puckers #4)

I watch her disappear through the doors of her dorm, shoulders hunched like she’s carrying the weight of the world.

Even from here, I can see the way her hand shakes as she swipes her key card.

The way she pauses before the door closes behind her, like she might turn around. But in the end, she doesn’t.

The lobby light illuminates her silhouette for just a moment before she’s gone, swallowed by the building that houses her life without me. A life I’m apparently not welcome in anymore.

I sit in my truck with the engine running, hands gripping the steering wheel until I let out a breath. This is worse than any of our other breakups. Worse than the screaming matches or the silent treatments or the nights she’d storm out and come back the next day ready to pretend nothing happened.

This time feels final. Permanent. Like she’s not just walking away from me. She’s walking away from the possibility of us ever existing again.

The worst part? I can’t even blame her.

I saw the look in her eyes after. The regret. The self-loathing. Like being with me was something she had to recover from instead of something that made her happy. How did I become that person? How did loving her turn into something that hurts her?

A couple of students walk past my truck, laughing about something on one of their phones. Normal college kids living normal lives. The kind of life Kara probably wants. The kind she deserves.

I pull out of the parking lot and drive home on autopilot, muscle memory guiding me through familiar streets while my brain replays every moment of tonight on an endless loop.

The way she kissed me back in the parking lot.

How perfectly she fit against me in my bed.

The devastating finality in her voice when she said goodbye.

The house is dark when I get home, but I can see light spilling from under Dylan’s door. I consider going straight to my room, avoiding any conversation that might require me to put words to what just happened. But when I close the front door, I hear movement in the kitchen.

Dylan emerges with a bowl of cereal, taking in my expression with one glance. “Rough night?”

I drop my keys on the counter, not meeting his eyes. “Something like that.”

“Kara was here?”

My head snaps up. “What?”

“Relax. I saw her shoes by the door when I got home from the gym. Wasn’t exactly a mystery.” He leans against the counter, studying my face. “But I’m guessing from your current mood that it didn’t go well.”

“Forget it, Dylan.”

“Look, man, I know you don’t want to hear this, but maybe you should be careful—”

“I said drop it.”

He holds up his hands. “Okay. But if you need to talk, I’m here.”

I stare at him for a long moment, this kid who’s somehow become the closest thing to a best friend I’ve had since high school. Dylan, who minds his own business and never judges, even when I’m being a complete disaster.

“Is there something wrong with me, man?” The words spill out before I can stop them. “Do I have a serious problem? Be brutally honest with me.”

Dylan sets down his spoon, expression shifting from casual to concerned. “Brutally honest?”

I nod. “Yeah. Brutally honest.”

He’s quiet for a moment, like he’s choosing his words carefully. Then he sighs.

“On the ice, you’re controlled. You expect everyone else to be that way too. You’ve got this vision of how plays should go, how the team should move, and when someone deviates from that, it pisses you off.”

“That’s called leadership.”

“Is it? Because sometimes it feels more like control.” He pauses. “And with Kara... man, you made her everything. Your whole world revolved around her. That’s not healthy.”

I don’t like to hear that, but I asked him to be honest. I clench my jaw, trying to think. “What do you mean?”

“I mean when’s the last time you hung out with the guys without bringing her up? When’s the last time you went to a party or grabbed dinner or did anything that didn’t somehow involve her or factor her into the equation?”

I open my mouth to argue, then close it. Because he’s right. Even when Kara wasn’t physically with me, she was there in every decision I made. Every plan revolved around her schedule, her mood, her needs.

“I don’t know how else it’s supposed to be,” I admit.

“The relationship is important, man. But it becomes unhealthy when everything else comes second. When you stop making time for friends, or she stops seeing her friends because you don’t like them.

When you guys fight on away games because you’re texting her every five minutes instead of focusing on hockey. ”

The memories flood back. All the times I skipped team dinners because Kara was upset about something.

The away games where I spent more time on my phone than in the moment with my teammates.

The night I almost missed Carter’s birthday because Kara and I were fighting, and I couldn’t leave things unresolved.

“Why can’t my brain remember how bad it was?” I ask. “Like, I know we fought all the time, but all I can think about is how good it felt when we were good.”

“Because the good parts were really good. But they don’t cancel out the bad parts, Zeke. They just make you forget them temporarily.”

I run my hands through my hair, feeling like an idiot. How did I not see this before? How did I convince myself that the intensity was romantic instead of recognizing it for what it was—obsession disguised as love.

“You’re not a bad dude,” Dylan says quietly. “You’ve just got your shit to work on. We all do.”

I grin, “You want me to return the favor?”

“Hit me,” Dylan says with no heat. He’s a cool dude.

I smile. “You’re lousy with the puck when you’re overthinking. And you’re a pushover. You’ll fight for everyone else, but you won’t fight for you.”

He looks like he’s considering this. “Yeah, okay. Fair enough.” He puts his dirty dishes in the sink and says, “See? We all have our shit.”

I nod, feeling something like relief settle in my chest. Not because my problems are solved, but because at least now I can see them clearly. That’s got to be the first step toward fixing them.

“Thanks for the talk, man.”

“Anytime.”

Dylan disappears back to his room, leaving me alone in the kitchen with my thoughts. I grab my phone and scroll to my mom’s contact. It’s late, but she’s always been a night owl.

She answers on the second ring. “Zeke? Everything okay?”

“Mom, tell me what my problem is,” I plead, needing a second confirmation that I’m the piece of shit in this situation.

There’s a pause. “Well, hello to you too, sweetheart. Are you asking for a general assessment or something specific?”

Despite everything, I smile. My mom has always been able to make me feel lighter, even in my darkest moments. “General assessment.”

“Are you sitting down?” she says.

I almost laugh. “I’m listening.”

She sighs, and I can picture her settling into her favorite chair with a cup of tea. “You know I love you more than life itself, but you’ve got some things to work on.”

“Yeah? Like what?”

“Well, for starters, you don’t listen to anyone. Not really. You hear what people say, but you’ve already decided what you think before they finish talking.”

The observation stings because it’s accurate. “When did that start?”

“Honestly? When you were about fourteen and started hanging around with Michael and that crowd. You turned into someone I didn’t recognize for a while there.”

Michael. My friend from high school who thought the world owed him something. Who treated his girlfriend like property and called it love. I haven’t thought about him in years, but now I can see his influence in some of my worst moments with Kara.

“It’s okay to make mistakes, honey,” my mom continues. “But it’s important to learn from them instead of making the same ones over and over again.”

“I feel like that’s all I do. Make the same mistakes.”

“Because you don’t really listen when people try to tell you there’s a better way. You get defensive instead of curious.”

The truth of it settles in my stomach like a stone. How many times did Kara try to tell me what she needed? How many times did I dismiss her concerns or turn them back on her instead of actually hearing what she was saying?

“You’re like your father in that way,” my mom says gently. “Stubborn as hell. But you’ve got my heart, which means you can change if you want to.”

“How do I want to change when I don’t even know what I’m supposed to change into?”

“Start with listening. Really listening. Not just waiting for your turn to talk.”

I close my eyes, thinking about tonight. About all the times Kara tried to explain why we don’t work, and all the times I argued instead of actually considering what she was telling me.

“Mom?”

“Yeah?”

“Kara and I are broken up. Like, really broken up this time.”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I know you love her.”

“I don’t think love is enough anymore.”

“Sometimes it’s not. But that doesn’t mean it wasn’t real or that it didn’t matter.”

“It’s only been a couple weeks, but it feels like forever.”

“Heartbreak doesn’t go away that fast, honey. Give it time. In time, you’ll be okay.”

We talk for a few more minutes about nothing in particular. A brief update on her garden, my classes, Dylan’s boring life. Normal mom-and-son conversation that makes me feel grounded in a way I haven’t felt in weeks.

After we hang up, I sit in the dark kitchen for a long time, processing everything Dylan and my mom said. The common thread is clear that I’m the problem. Not Kara. Not our circumstances or bad timing or outside interference. Me.

The realization should be devastating, but instead it feels almost liberating. If I’m the problem, then I can be the solution. I can learn to listen. I can work on my control issues. I can become the kind of person who enhances someone’s life instead of consuming it.

I can become the man Kara deserves.

But first, I need to let her go. Really let her go. Not because I don’t love her, but because I do.

My phone feels heavy in my hands as I open our text thread. The blocked contact screen stares back at me, but I type out a message anyway…

I’m sorry for everything. I’m going to work on myself to become the man you deserve. I love you, Kara.

I stare at the words for a long time before hitting send.

The message fails to deliver.

Shit. She blocked my dumbass, remember?

I unsend the message, frustration burning in my chest. This is exactly what she was talking about. I can’t even respect her boundaries when I’m trying to apologize for not respecting her boundaries.

But maybe that’s the point. Maybe the most respectful thing I can do is leave her alone. Let her heal. Let her find someone who knows how to love her without drowning her.

I put my phone away and head to my room, but sleep doesn’t come. Instead, I lie in the dark thinking about all the ways I could have been better. All the moments I chose control over trust, possession over partnership.

In the dorms, Kara is probably lying awake too. Probably regretting tonight, wishing she’d been strong enough to walk away when she had the chance.

I wish I could tell her that she was right. That we’re wrong for each other the way we are now. That she deserves someone who makes her feel free instead of trapped.

But I can’t tell her that. Because telling her would be another way of making this about me instead of respecting what she needs.

So I lie in the dark and promise myself that I’ll do better. Not for her because she’s made it clear she doesn’t want anything from me. But for whoever comes next. For the person I’m going to become.

And if that person happens to be someone she could love without losing herself, well. Maybe in time, if we’re both brave enough to try again, we’ll find our way back to each other.

But right now, in this moment, the kindest thing I can do is let her go.