Page 113 of How We End

The time on my cell phone was three a.m.Julian’s side of the bed was empty.The warm glow of the bathroom light spilled out across the floor.I slipped on my robe and found him sitting on the edge of the tub, his head resting on the palm of his left hand.His breaths were uneven.

“Julian.”

He lifted his head.“Sorry, did I wake you?”

“No.”I stepped into the bathroom.He rested his forehead on my stomach.I could tell he was in pain.It always made his eyes a deep blue green.It was either his shoulder or hip.Both were getting worse as the season stretched into April.“Do you want an ice pack?”

He shook his head.These last few weeks had been hard on him.There were two weeks left in the regular season, and every team was out to knock the Coyotes out of first place and Julian off his throne.The team still wanted him to play nice, so he took the hard hits.Both physically and mentally.I rubbed the back of his neck, knowing it wouldn’t help his pain but to remind him I was still here.

“What if I fail?”he whispered.

I didn’t have an answer for him.Because I didn’t care about this stupid game.I didn’t care if he never skated another day in his life.If he never played hockey again.But what I thought didn’t matter.I could say all the things that sounded good, likeyou won’tandthis is a team sport.But those were empty words that did nothing but add to his stress.That was the most frustrating and hardest part of being with him.Hockey was the third person in this relationship.I knew that going in.I didn’t realize what a fucking greedy little bitch she could be.

“I can’t keep doing this.My body can’t.”His eyes were bright with pain.“I’m afraid this is my last chance.If we don’t win, this will all be for nothing.”

He rested his cheek on my stomach, his hands on the back of my knees rubbing small circles.Loving someone was hard.All I could do was stand there and watch.Pick up the pieces when the world told him he wasn’t good enough.

“No matter what happens, I’ll still be here.I’ll still love you.”For whatever that was worth to him.

“I don’t want this to be the end of me.I’m not ready to not play.”

We sat there in the bathroom.I hated this game.Hated how it broke the man I loved so much.I hated how no matter how much Julian gave, it was never enough.It wasn’t enough for his father, who called after each game not to say he was proud.But to let Julian know how disappointed he was in him.Or the podcast that complained about how Julian only had five shots on goal or that he had two turnovers or that he didn’t skate hard enough.They all loved to tell him how he wasn’t good enough.

And those voices were louder than me.Than Anders, than anyone.

I hated this game.But it didn’t matter how much I hated it.Because in a few hours, he’d do it all over again.He’d take the hits, the bruises, the stitches, the crowds screaming his name.

Because he loved the game.

Even if it took everything from him.

April 8

2:24 p.m.

Hannah:

Can you come over

Its about Julian

Wyatt:

Is he hurt

Hannah:

No but there is something you need to hear

Wyatt:

Youre scaring me

Hannah:

When can you be here

Wyatt: