Page 61 of The Fall

Thirty-One

Days blur into weeks, ice time and road trips melding into one endless stretch of hockey.

Blair’s voice echoes inside me: if you want something breathtaking, you better be willing to burn for it.

I want to blaze.

We don’t lose for ten games.

The press call us a surge. Tampa was supposed to be go-nowhere team doing nothing this season, but we’re rewriting the standings. We’re a seventh-place stepchild turned into the unstoppable juggernaut no one wants to face. We’ve got the rhythm of the season rolling now, and we’re dismantling teams.

We steamroll through Ottawa on a Tuesday. Montreal never sees us coming. We take out Toronto by two, then overwhelm Winnipeg with four goals in the second.

We win, we recover, we condition, we repeat.

We beat Carolina in OT. We torch Chicago 5-0. We break Nashville’s dump-and-chase and walk all over them. I score in Detroit from my knees.

My shots stay low and mean; Blair throws me pucks that I tip in tight. We lay hits without apology.

We come off ice together.

Colorado is a nail-biter, but we fight through it, with Axel swallowing thirty-eight shots.

Simmer took a puck to the ribs and still made three clears in the final minute.

Blair sits next to me in the room after, his chest heaving, neck flushed, Gatorade resting at his knee.

A good win cracks him open, and I want to live in that warmth with him as the room goes soft around us.

He and I have become… something. We’re matching bruises, shared routines, patience and proximity.

The echo of our goals rings in my head every time I close my eyes.

He stays with me to do extra reps in the gym.

I bear the heat of his closeness when we’re shoulder to shoulder and he doesn’t move away.

He peels an orange after practice, the rind coming off in one long, perfect ribbon, and he offers me a slice first. I watch him rub his thumb over the ice-melt condensation on the side of his water glass at team meals.

His skates cut a hard stop next to mine at the bench, a clean sound that means well done .

His laugh is a low rumble I feel through the bench boards when our shoulders are pressed together.

After games, we sit next to each other on buses and planes, in lounges, and at team meals. A thousand tiny moments—shared looks, incidental contact, a private joke—stack up inside me. I’m braced for impact or for launch; I don’t know what I’m waiting for, only that I am.

Sometimes, it feels like Blair.

Hayes is blaring “All I Want for Christmas” from his Escalade even though it’s too early for holiday music. Today is American Thanksgiving, and there are rules about when Christmas music can play, but Christmas creep is real, and Hayes is its greatest victim.

We’re supposed to already be on the way to Blair’s, but Erin and Lily are still inside, and Hayes just set the foil-covered trays of food we’re bringing on the Escalade’s hood. It smells like a setup.

It is. He braces his elbows on the hood and squints at the sky before he opens his mouth and says, “I’ve known Blair a long time.”

My heart trips over itself. I keep my face neutral, but my heart isn’t getting the message. “What do you mean?”

Hayes drums his fingers against the metal, the rhythm uneven. “I mean I’ve been watching him since we were rookies together.” His gaze slides to me, then back to the sky. “I like to think I know him decently well.”

“Ems—”

“You two have this energy. On the ice, off the ice…”

“We’re linemates,” I say. “We work well together.”

“Sure,” Hayes says. “That’s what I meant.” The sarcasm in his voice is thick enough to spread on toast. “Except I’ve been his linemate. Simmer’s been his linemate. Half the team has played with him at some point. And none of us—” He stops, searching for words. “None of us have what you two have.”

The foil on one of the dishes crinkles in the breeze. “Why are you telling me this?”

Hayes rolls his head toward me, and his eyes pierce me with a stare so sharp, so pointed.

“Am I that obvious?”

He huffs out a tiny laugh. “Only to someone paying attention,” he says. “And I do. Pay attention, I mean.” The corners of his mouth lift. “I also don’t think you’re gold-medal great at hiding your feelings?”

A flush crawls up my neck. My hands want something to do, anything but to simply stand here and let myself be seen through so easily.

Hayes’ voice softens. “It’s not a bad thing.”

Maybe it isn’t for him, but for me, every sharp edge and secret angle inside me is under a spotlight. “Does the team know?” I don’t want the answer, not really.

“That you’ve got feelings for him?” Hayes shrugs. “Can’t say.”

“And Blair?”

“Blair is...” He hesitates. “He’s never dated anyone. And I’m not being dramatic when I say never. He’s been on a couple first dates and a second once or twice. And I… I don’t even know if he’s into guys. I can’t say that he’s not ‘cause I don’t know. I just?—”

“So what are you saying right now?” I ask, my voice sharper than I intend.

His mouth opens, closes, opens again. For someone who started this conversation with such confidence, he’s struggling now, and part of me wants to let him drown in it.

“I’m saying...” He runs a hand through his hair. “I’m saying Blair doesn’t let people close.” He pauses. “Except for you.”

What am I supposed to do with this information? Hope is dangerous, especially when it comes to Blair. “You’re reading too much into it.”

“Am I?”

“Yes. You are.” Anger flares. “What was your plan here? Corner me in your driveway and make me admit I have feelings for Blair? Then what? You said yourself, he doesn’t date. You don’t know if he’s interested in guys. So what is this?”

Hayes straightens. “I care about both of you.”

I breathe in through my nose, out through my mouth.

“Well, thanks for the concern, but I’ve got it under control.

” I don’t have anything under control. Not my feelings for Blair, not this conversation, not the way my heart races every time he looks at me.

“I already know nothing is ever going to happen. But, hey, I appreciate the heads up about how much I suck at keeping shit locked down.”

“Blair would never make you feel bad about how you feel?—”

“Please,” I beg him. “Stop.”

The front door opens behind us, and Erin’s voice calls out that they’re ready.

Hayes exhales and hangs his head between his shoulders. “I was trying… I don’t know, I didn’t want you to feel alone. I wish I could help. I wish I could tell you to go after it and lay a fat one on him, but—” He looks almost as devastated as I feel. “I wanted to help, man. I’m sorry.”

He means it, every word. He’s not trying to hurt me or warn me off. He’s being a friend. A real one.

“It’s Thanksgiving. Let’s have a good time, eh? We’ll eat too much turkey, watch football, and Erin will get tipsy with the other wives. And if you need to GTFO, then I understand. That’s what I’m saying. That’s what I mean. I’m here. I understand.”

I nod, not trusting my voice.

“We okay?”

“Yeah.” I clear my throat. “We’re good.” He’s right; it’s Thanksgiving. I can do this. I have been doing this. People manage unrequited feelings every day.

Lily bursts out of the front door, bundled in her coat. “Mommy says we’re gonna be late!”

Hayes slaps the top of the Escalade. “Let’s get moving, then! Time to be thankful, eat too much, and root for a bunch of men smashing into each other with a ball.”

He grabs the foil trays from the hood, passing one to me. Our eyes meet over the aluminum edges.

“Daddy!” Lily’s voice cuts through the moment.

“Coming, princess!”

We pile into the front seats as Erin buckles Lily into her car seat. He claps me once on the shoulder like punctuation before he starts the engine. I stare out the window as we back out of the driveway. The neighborhood blurs past, houses decorated with pumpkins and early Christmas lights.

Each turn brings us nearer to Blair’s house. I focus on my breathing. In through my nose, out through my mouth. I wonder if it will look like what I imagined.

Erin catches my eye from the backseat. “You okay, Torey?”

I nod; what else am I supposed to do? Tell her we’re driving to the one person who makes me both whole and hollow? That I’m about to sit across a table from someone who doesn’t know he owns pieces of me?

“Here we are,” Hayes finally says.

Blair’s house sits at the end of the street on a wide canal, exactly as I pictured it, but real now.

Cars already line the street. The whole team is coming over, and it looks like most of them are here.

Hayes parks behind a silver Audi. “We made it,” he announces, like we’ve completed some epic journey instead of a twenty-minute drive across town.

I unbuckle my seatbelt but don’t move. Hayes opens the back door for Lily, lifting her out while she chatters. Erin slides out on the other side, smoothing her dress, checking her phone.

“You coming?” Hayes’s eyebrows draw together.

I nod and push the door open.

I’ve never been here before. That’s what I tell myself.

But I know which plant on Blair’s porch has the spare key tucked under it.

The front door stands open, voices spilling out onto the porch. I hesitate.

I have walked this house a thousand times in my dreams, and if I take one more step inside, I’ll know for certain if what I dreamed is real. Not that that proves anything; I could have put together an idea of Blair’s house from pictures or interviews or a dozen other things online.

Blair appears, welcoming us in. He hugs Erin tight, then takes the dishes she’s carrying.

He’s wearing a dark-blue Henley with the sleeves pushed up to his elbows, showing off tan forearms roped with muscle.

His hair is mussed like he’s been running his hands through it.

There’s a smudge of flour on his cheek and a dish towel thrown over his shoulder.

“About time,” he says. “I was worried Ems would end up in Miami again.”