Page 35 of In My Hockey Era (Must Love Hockey #1)

THE WEIGHT OF THE TRUTH

Bennett

T he knock on my door is softer than usual.

No playful pounding, no sarcastic Open up, Wilder! like she might do if we were okay. No, this knock is hesitant. Like she’s already one foot out the door.

And damn if that doesn’t gut me.

I scrub a hand down my face, steadying myself before I open the door.

Lucy stands there, arms wrapped around herself, her face unreadable. But it’s her eyes that kill me—dark and guarded, a sharp contrast to the last time she was here. That night… gosh. It was everything. And now? I don’t even know where we stand.

I step aside to let her in, swallowing the urge to reach for her, to touch her, to do anything that might shake this awful tension that’s settled between us.

The door clicks shut behind her.

She doesn’t move further into the apartment. She just stands there in the entryway, stiff and silent.

I clear my throat. “Thanks for coming.”

Lucy exhales slowly, her fingers flexing at her sides before she lifts her gaze to mine. “You said you wanted to talk in person.”

There’s no teasing in her voice. No warmth. Just quiet restraint. And I hate it. I hate this.

I nod, moving past her toward the kitchen, needing something to do with my hands. I grab two glasses from the cabinet, and fill them with water, because offering her anything else feels… wrong. Like I don’t deserve to act normal.

She takes the glass without a word, stepping further inside, her posture wary.

I rub the back of my neck, forcing myself to meet her eyes. “I should’ve told you sooner.”

Her lips press together. “Yeah.”

I blow out a breath, setting my glass down. “I don’t even know where to start.”

She huffs a quiet laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “Maybe with the part where you were married, Bennett.”

I flinch, the weight of it settling heavier between us.

“Or at least tell me the divorce is final.”

“Yes. Of course it’s final.”

Her arms tighten around herself, and that’s when I realize—she’s keeping distance between us on purpose.

I grip the edge of the counter, jaw clenched.

“Why didn’t you ever say anything?”

“I wanted to. Believe me.”

“But you didn’t.”

The truth is, I wanted to tell her a dozen times. I almost brought it up when I was telling her about Natalie’s divorce, but then I talked myself out of it.

I release a slow exhale. “Come sit down.”

I lead her over to the couch and she sits on one end—far from me. I hate it.

“How long did you know her? Holly, right?”

“Before we got married? Four years. We went to college together. Dated throughout most of undergrad.”

Lucy’s expression doesn’t change. “Okay so it wasn’t some drunken Vegas bet.”

I exhale hard, running a hand through my hair. “No. I thought it was real. I loved her.” I force myself to say it out loud, even though the words scrape against my throat like gravel.

Lucy doesn’t react. Just quiet, heavy understanding.

“When I proposed, we were young, but I thought we’d be together forever. It destroyed me when she left.”

A muscle tics in Lucy’s jaw.

I shake my head, glancing away before forcing my eyes back to hers. “The end of that relationship was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to go through.”

Lucy swallows, her grip on her glass tightening. “And you didn’t think I deserved to know?”

“Of course you do. I just…didn’t know how to tell you,” I admit, voice rough. “Things with you had been so good, so effortless, I didn’t want to mess that up.”

She lets out a slow breath, looking past me like she’s sorting through her thoughts. When she finally speaks, her voice is quieter. “I found out from a stranger, Bennett.”

I flinch again, because yeah—that part stings.

She shakes her head, her laugh brittle. “Do you know how humiliating that was?”

“I know,” I say quickly, desperate now. “I know, Lucy. I messed up.”

“What else did you lie about?”

My brows push together. I never actually lied . I wouldn’t do that. “Nothing. I swear to you.”

She stares at me for a long moment, like she’s weighing everything in her head, and I swear, the waiting is the worst part.

“So what happened? Between you and Holly.”

I hate the way she says her name—with so much pain and angst in her voice.

I lean forward, placing my hands on my knees.

“First, we were probably too young to make that kind of commitment. But, we did it anyway. I’d just been drafted to the league and the first thing we did was move to Canada together.

She didn’t know a soul. And I wasn’t around much.

It was hard on her, and she started to resent me for it.

Still, I thought we’d be okay. We weren’t though, not at all.

And a year later, when I got traded, we moved to California, and were sorta hanging on by a thread. ”

Lucy knows the teams I played for before Dallas. She just never knew the personal history that went along with it.

“And then?” she asks softly.

“And then she met someone…her personal trainer. I still thought maybe we could work things out, go to counseling…”

“I’m sorry you went through all that,” she says.

“Thanks. It sucked.”

She nods. “I still wish you had told me.” Then she exhales. And I already know what she’s going to say before she even says it. “I think I need some time.”

My stomach clenches.

She shifts, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I just… I need some space to process all of this.”

I nod, even though every instinct in me wants to tell her no, to tell her we can figure this out now , together. But I won’t push. I don’t have the right to push.

She sets her untouched water glass on the table, and rises, heading for the door.

And just like that—she’s leaving.

I don’t stop her. I don’t say anything at all.

I just watch as she slips out of my apartment, her shoulders tense, her head down.

The door clicks shut behind her.

And I’ve never hated silence more.

· · ·

Everything is wrong.

It’s been three days since Lucy walked out of my apartment, and I haven’t heard from her since. Not a single text, no snarky quips on social media, not even a post about the Stampede’s last game.

She’s gone radio silent.

And I absolutely hate it.

I skate harder than I should at practice, pushing my body past the point of exhaustion like that will fix anything. Like if I make my legs burn enough, I’ll stop thinking about how wrecked she looked standing in my living room. How it physically hurt watching her shut down, shut me out.

I’ve never played a game with an injury, but I imagine this is what it feels like—pushing through something torn and aching, pretending it’s fine.

Spoiler alert: It’s not fine.

Regret claws at my chest, sharp and unrelenting. I knew I should have told her about Holly, I had a dozen chances to bring it up. But I never thought it would feel like this —like I betrayed her.

“Again,” I grit out, shoving my stick into the ice.

Chase, Ford, and a few other guys glance at me like I’ve lost my mind. Coach blows the whistle, calling the drill to an end, but I ignore it, scooping up a loose puck and taking off down the ice.

“Jeez, Wilder,” Chase mutters as I wind up for a slapshot. “Chill the hell out.”

I don’t chill.

Instead, I take the shot so hard, the sound of the puck smacking the glass echoes through the arena.

Ford snorts. “You aiming for a new exit?”

“Leave him,” Chase says, rolling his eyes. “Let the man work out his feelings.”

I snap my head toward them, scowling. “I don’t have feelings.”

Chase just looks at me. He doesn’t say anything, just lifts a brow like he’s waiting for me to admit what we both know.

I pull off my helmet and rake a hand through my hair, breathing hard.

Coach finally skates over, not looking thrilled. “Wilder, you’re done for today. Hit the showers.”

I bite my tongue. The last thing I need is to get benched because I’m acting like a lunatic. So I force my skates toward the bench, and yank off my gloves, still burning with frustration.

As I make my way toward the locker room, Chase falls into step beside me.

“You gonna tell me what’s up, or do I need to guess?”

I chuck my helmet at my locker, jaw tight. “Nothing’s up.”

“Right.” He scoffs. “That’s why you nearly took out the boards back there. Because nothing is wrong.”

I grit my teeth, refusing to engage.

Chase isn’t having it. “Look, man. I don’t know exactly what happened between you and Lucy, but I do know you’ve been an insufferable asshole ever since she stopped coming around.”

I shove my gloves into my locker. “Thanks for the insight, Dr. Phil.”

He just smirks. “She dumped your ass, huh?”

My jaw clenches. “She didn’t dump me. We weren’t—” I stop myself before I say something even more pathetic. “It’s complicated.”

“Is it?” Chase leans against the wall, crossing his arms. “Because from where I’m standing, it seems pretty freaking simple. You’re miserable without her.”

I say nothing.

Chase exhales. “Whatever happened, fix it. Or don’t. But stop taking it out on everyone else.”

He leaves before I can respond. Not that I would.

Because he’s right.

I’m miserable.

And the worst part? I don’t know how to fix it.