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The sharp, metallic tang of blood fills my mouth, a bitter reminder of the fight I just instigated on the ice. My knuckles sting, throbbing in time with the erratic beat of my heart. In the locker room, the air is thick with tension, the usual camaraderie replaced by a palpable sense of unease.

I’m a mess, a far cry from the focused athlete I once was. My reflection in the mirror is a stranger–bloodshot eyes, a bruised cheek, a spirit broken. I used to find solace in the rhythm of the game, the ice a canvas where I painted my future. Now, it’s just a frozen wasteland, void of the passion that once fueled me.

“You need to get your head in the game, man,” Jack, one of my teammates, says. His voice is laced with disappointment, a mirror of my own self-loathing.

I try to laugh it off, a hollow sound that echoes off the walls. “Even at my worst, my stats will still obliterate yours.”

“Excuse him, Jack,” Bass interjects, shaking his head. “He’s not himself ever since...”

He doesn’t need to finish the sentence. We both know what he’s referring to; ever since Violet walked out of the house and out of my life. The unspoken name hangs in the air like a ghost, a reminder of what I’ve lost.

The worst part is she’s gone.

Like, actually gone.

The winter break is nearly over, she’s still not back, and Kennedy won’t tell me where she’s gone. She’s either at her father’s house or back in Philadelphia. Or maybe she went to visit her ex, Elijah. Just the thought is making me sick to my fucking stomach. I pray that’s not where she is.

I made a spectacle of myself at the house in front of everyone when she left and I wanted to apologize, but I can’t find her. She hasn’t posted anything on social media and she won’t pick up the phone when I call. Instead of worrying, which I was doing at first, now I’m pissed.

This is just mean and Violet’s not usually a mean person.

I turn away, unable to meet Bass’s gaze. “I’m fine,” I lie, the words tasting like ash in my mouth.

But I’m not fine.

Far from it.

Every night, it’s the same routine – a glass of something strong, a futile attempt to drown the memories that haunt me. Violet’s laughter, her smile, the way her eyes lit up when she looked at me. It’s all gone, replaced by a void that I can’t seem to fill.

I thought I could do it. I thought I could protect my parents, chase my dream, and still have her. But what’s a dream without her? A hollow victory.

Coach walks in, his expression grave. “Neo, a word?”

I follow him into his office, and he gets right to the point. He doesn’t mince words. “Your performance is slipping. You’re suddenly drinking now and you’re fighting everyone who dares to call you on it... it’s not acceptable. This is not the behavior of a captain.”

“Maybe I shouldn’t be captain.”

“Is that what you want?” Coach challenges. “Because I can make that happen.”

“Maybe you should.”

Coach is right. I’ve become a liability, a shadow of the player I once was.

“You need to sort yourself out,” he continues. “Whether or not you take those pro offers, you can’t keep going down this path. You will self destruct and have nothing.”

I want to scream, to tell him it’s not that simple. That every time I close my eyes, I see her. That every beat of my heart is a reminder of the love I sabotaged with my silence. But I say nothing, the words trapped in my throat like prisoners.

Walking back to the locker room, the weight of my failures feels smothering. I sit down, staring at my hands, the hands that used to hold hers. I barely even notice when Shane approaches.

“Did I ever tell you happened at Christmas?” he casually asks as he sits down on the bench next to me.

“No.”

“My mom got engaged.”

“Oh, right, I think I heard that.”

“You know why I’m not angry about it?”

“Because you love your mom and you want her to be happy?”

“No, man, because it means that I’ll be forever connected to Kennedy. I’m free to terrorize her for the rest of our days.” He laughs.

“Terrorize?” I scoff. “I think you mean fuck.”

“Whoa, man, you need to chill out.”

“I mean it, Shane. Both of us have to stop all of this passive aggressive shit or we’re going to be alone for the rest of our lives. You’re not some ten-year-old boy who wants to terrorize his new baby sister. You are a grown ass man who is bat shit crazy for that girl. Just tell her.”

“You asshole. I’m not taking relationship advice from you. You’ve pushed away your teammates, alienated Coach, but most importantly, you’ve lost the one person who actually seemed to love your ass. What could you possibly have to teach me?”

His words hold a cruel sting as he leaves the locker room, the sound of his footsteps fading into silence. I’m alone with my thoughts, a dangerous place to be these days. The echoes of my past mistakes bounce off the walls, taunting me.

* * *

The next few practices are just as grueling as the last. I get in a few scuffles with some of my teammates and sulk most of the time. Later, Coach Mike approaches me with a serious look on his face. I’m sure he’s about to tell me that he’s stripping me of captain and giving it to Shane.

“You still haven’t straightened yourself out, I see.”

“I just have a lot on my mind, Coach.”

“Which is why I hate to bring this up, but President Harmon wants a meeting with you today.”

I’ve had very little interactions with the university’s charismatic president since I’ve been a student here. He tends to only show up to hockey games where there’s a press opportunity. The fact that he wants to see me, though, can only mean one thing. He wants to give his pitch for me staying at VCU and finishing my degree, which would also mean helping the team win a championship that he so desperately wants.

Championships mean more dollars to the university. Winning attracts money. It’s that simple. And I understand all of that, but I don’t want to get into it with him. I’ve already made my decision. A decision that cost me the one person I care about the most in this world. I’m leaving and there’s nothing he can say to change my mind. It would be a waste of time for the both of us.

“Do I have to go?” I ask Coach, already dreading the answer.

“It would be in your best interest to take the meeting, hear what he has to say, and then tell him what he wants to hear. Tell him you’ll give what he said some serious thought,” he advises.

“Right.”

“And then come to your own decision, like we discussed.”

“I can do that,” I say, knowing full well that the decision has been made.

“Let me know how it goes, son.”