Overtime: A Moo U Hockey Romance

by Kat Mizera

  Toli Petrov had given me his cell phone number and told me to call any time, for any reason, and with my future on the line, I did it.

  “Patrick!” He answered on the first ring, his voice as friendly and jovial as ever.

  “Hey, Toli. Do you have a few minutes?”

  “Of course. What’s going on?”

  I took a breath. “A lot. Too much.”

  “You had a rough couple of games, eh?”

  “You watched?” I nearly winced at the thought.

  “Of course. We’re all so excited to have you joining us this fall, we watch either the games or the highlights once we’re at the hotel for the night when we’re on the road.”

  “Man, my life is a shitshow right now,” I admitted. Then I told him everything, leaving out some of the more personal aspects of what was going on in Ellie’s life, though I did tell him about the baby.

  “That’s a lot,” he said when I was done. “No wonder you’re off your game.”

  “I’ve got so much on the line and it’s all blowing up in my face. I don’t know how to compartmentalize something this serious.”

  “If it was just a breakup, I’d tell you to knock it off and get your head back in the game, but this is different. The breakup, the baby, your grades, it’s all piling up and I don’t know many men who could handle it all without losing a step or two. My wife went into labor with our youngest while I was stuck in Chicago during a blizzard. I couldn’t get home no matter what, and it was hard. It made me realize there’s more to life than hockey, but at the same time, my wife doesn’t hold it against me.”

  “That’s just it—she didn’t hold it against me. I’m holding it against me. I’m the one who can’t stay focused, who’s about to lose everything I’ve worked for because my life is a goddamn hot mess.”

  “Listen, you get nothing by letting this consume you. I know you don’t want to hear that, but you have to. So here’s my advice: Make a deal with yourself. For the next week, until regionals are over, you focus on nothing but hockey. No Ellie, no baby, no nothing. And then, when it’s done, you’re allowed to wallow in self-pity, get shit-faced, whatever it is you need to do to get through it for a few days. But then you need to get back on track until you get past the Frozen Four, assuming you do what you have to do at regionals. You think about hockey and hockey alone, knowing that after the championships, you’ll have all the time you need to grieve and work out the things you’re feeling. That’s the only way to get through this.”

  I took a breath. “You think that’ll work?”

  “You make it work. And as an added incentive, you give yourself permission to try once more with Ellie. Whether it’s one last heart-to-heart conversation or a grand plan to win her back, whatever you need to do to satisfy yourself that you tried everything. But not until hockey season is completely over.”

  “You’re right,” I said, warming to that idea. “You’re absolutely right.”

  “Of course I am. Now get out there and kick some ass.”

  I didn’t know how I was going to do it, but I had to try.

  30

  Ellie

  My first few days back at school were quiet. It was the weekend and I used that time to catch up on studying even though I had zero interest in what I was working on. I was still sore and moving a lot slower than usual, but I had to pick up the pieces of my broken heart and find a way out of the darkness that had enveloped me. I was so damn depressed and as I walked to class on Monday, it felt like the weight of the world was on my shoulders.

  “Ellie!” Someone was calling to me and I nearly groaned as I turned to see Dr. Lancet hurrying in my direction.

  “Hello, Dr. Lancet.”

  “My dear, I heard you had emergency surgery. Are you okay?” There was nothing but genuine concern on his face and I managed a smile.

  “I’m getting there. Still sore, but I’ll be okay.”

  “Should you be carrying a backpack?”

  “I emptied out everything but my laptop, charger, and wallet. I’m being careful.”

  “Very good. How are you doing with your quest for a suitable graduate program?”

  I swallowed. “I, um, I guess I’m not. I applied to Harvard Medical School.”

  I saw the surprise that flickered in his eyes and it was quickly replaced with concern. “Is that what you want?”

  “I don’t know what I want,” I whispered. “I just know I have to have a plan and that was the only one that’s something of a sure thing. It’s late in the year to be applying to other doctoral programs so…” I let my voice trail off because I was struggling with it too.

  “You always have options,” he said gently. “With your background, most schools are going to jump at the chance to have you. And I’ll write any recommendations you need. All you have to do is ask.”

  “Thank you.” I nodded. “I appreciate it, and I’ll take you up on it if the time comes. But I have to get to class. Thanks for checking up on me.”

  “Any time.”

  I continued toward my class, feeling even worse than I had before. The pain in my soul was far worse than that of my healing abdomen and I hadn’t been sleeping for shit since I’d been back at school. Coupling my emotional heartache with the indecision regarding my future, made everything that much worse, to the point I thought of little else. My brain was like a computer’s hard drive that never stopped spinning. I thought about Patrick, medical school, my current computer science program, and Patrick some more, on a loop.

  I’d been so sure I’d done the right thing in breaking up with him, but instead of relief, all I felt was indecision and an ache so strong it literally kept me awake at night. In the days since we’d broken up, I’d gone from desperation to depression to sheer misery. I couldn’t articulate how awful this was and while I knew, intellectually at least, that this was normal for a broken heart, my gut told me there was more to it. I might not have had a boyfriend before, but this wasn’t puppy love. What Patrick and I shared was intense, so much more than a college fling, and now it was gone.

  The worst part was that I’d watched the game Saturday night and Patrick didn’t look like himself at all. He’d been almost clumsy out on the ice, as if he hadn’t been focused on what he was doing, and I knew it was because of me. I knew him better than almost anyone, and I’d spent a lot of time watching him play hockey—both in person and in videos online—so I knew when something was off. And the Patrick Graham I’d seen the other night had been more than off.

  My phone rang and my mother’s name flashed on the screen. I grabbed it because she’d been checking in multiple times a day and I didn’t need her driving up here because she was worried.

  “I’m about to go to class, Mom,” I said by way of greeting.

  “I’m sorry, love, but guess what?” Her voice was laced with excitement.

  “What?”

  “I spoke to my friend at Harvard and she said you’re a shoo-in for medical school and that you’ll be getting a welcoming letter any day now. I pulled a few strings, obviously, but—”

  “Mom, I asked you not to,” I said quietly.

  “I know, but I was so excited for you. And anyway, time was of the essence. So now you’re all set for the fall and don’t have to worry anymore!”

  I wanted to cry but it wasn’t her fault. I’d agreed to apply, after all, and though she’d said I didn’t have to do it if I didn’t want to, it was hard to go back to arguing all the time now that we’d been getting along. It was the first time since I was little that we weren’t at each other’s throats and I desperately needed a mom right now.

  “Mom, I’m sorry, I’m going to be late, but I’ll call you later, okay?”

  “Okay, honey. And remember, don’t overdo it today!”

  “I won’t. Love you.” I disconnected and paused to lean against the wall of the building. Both to catch my breath because I was tired and to get hold of my emotions before walking into a classroom. I’d promised myself I was
done crying, but my heart seemed to have other ideas. Damn, this was hard. And I had no one to talk to. Chastity thought my mother was manipulating me, my dad just wanted us all to get along, and Patrick wasn’t in my life anymore.

  A stray tear leaked out anyway and I clenched my fist, trying to get my emotions under control. I absolutely couldn’t go to class like this.

  “Ellie?”

  The soft voice beside me made me jump and I quickly swiped at my eyes before turning.

  “Naomi, hi.”

  “Oh, sweetie.” She took one look at my face and opened her arms.

  I barely knew her but a hug sounded pretty good right about now.

  “I was going to ask how you were, but it’s written all over your face that things aren’t good.”

  “I’m hanging in there,” I said, pulling away and offering a lame smile.

  “You could pack a month’s worth of clothes in those bags under your eyes,” she said, “and it looks like you’ve lost weight, which you didn’t have to lose.”

  “I’m okay,” I reiterated, more for my own benefit than hers.

  “Liar. You’re as miserable as he is.” Her eyes gleamed with intensity.

  “Is he?” I whispered. “Miserable, I mean.”

  “He got so drunk Saturday night, Tate and Paxton had to carry him home… He was literally out cold.”

  I dipped my head, sad for both of us but unsure how to respond to that.

  “I have to get to class,” she said, “but give some thought to what you really want. From where I stand on the outside looking in, you’re both so much better together than apart. Oh, and he failed his stat test last Thursday. Just thought you’d want to know.” She turned and walked in the other direction, leaving me staring after her dejectedly.

  He’d failed his stat test after we’d worked so hard to stay on top of his grades. I was disappointed in him, but also felt a familiar twinge of guilt, because it was my fault too. I wasn’t going to get all righteous and take the stance that he was responsible for his own actions, his grades, and everything else. That was true in general, but there were extenuating circumstances, most of which were my fault. Not the pregnancy or resulting loss, but the breakup and me pushing him out of my life just before the Frozen Four tournament, which was the penultimate college hockey tournament.

  Was I a terrible human being or what?

  I sat through my classes trying desperately to concentrate but failing miserably. I needed a nap but I was already so behind. And I still had to call my mom back.

  Ugh.

  The thought of going to medical school turned my stomach but I didn’t know what to do. There were no other options at the moment and I’d always had a plan. Always. At twelve I’d known I would graduate high school by the time I was fifteen, finish my undergraduate degree by the time I turned eighteen, and move right into a doctoral program. And I’d done all that. Except I’d chosen a graduate program solely to spite my mother, I’d unexpectedly found my soul mate, and absolutely nothing was going according to plan.

  I’d just gotten to the dining hall for dinner when an unfamiliar number flashed on the screen of my phone. It said it was from Las Vegas and I frowned, wondering who it might be. I cautiously lifted it to my ear.

  “Hello?”

  “Ellie? This is Renee Wylde.”

  “Renee…hello.” I sank into a chair even though I didn’t have any food yet.

  “I heard you’ve had a rough couple of weeks.”

  “Yes.” I put my chin in my hand, resting my elbow on the table and holding the phone with my other hand. “H-how did you hear?” It was a little disconcerting to think the members of a professional hockey team were talking about me.

  “Toli spoke to Patrick and then told Tessa, who of course told me. She thought I might want to reach out.”

  “Patrick and I aren’t together anymore.” My voice caught; it was so hard to say those words aloud.

  “I know that, silly, but that doesn’t mean I can’t reach out to make sure you’re okay. Losing a baby is never easy, but especially not at your age and under those circumstances. How are you doing? Both physically and emotionally.”

  “I’m doing okay physically. Everything is healing and though I’m still a little sore, it’s better every day. Emotionally, well, I’m a wreck.”

  “Which part of it is the hardest for you?”

  “It’s not about the baby so much as…everything.” I got up and walked back outside. I couldn’t have this conversation in the dining hall where people might hear me.

  “I’m here if you need an unbiased shoulder to cry on. I promise not to say all the bad things about Patrick, which some of your friends and family are probably doing.”

  “Not really,” I said, sitting on a bench outside even though it was freezing. “Everyone’s been pretty respectful, especially since I was the one who broke up with him.”

  “Why did you do that, Ellie?” she asked gently. “Your eyes practically sparkled every time you mentioned his name, when you looked at him… There’s no doubt in my mind you love him.”

  “Oh, more than anything. It’s just… Fuck.” I blew out a breath. “I did something dumb with school, picking a major I don’t love just to annoy my mother, and now it’s too late to get in anywhere next year, plus my credits won’t transfer, and I applied to medical school but my mom did something to fast-track it so I’m kind of stuck doing something else I don’t want to do and now I’m even more miserable than before and I can’t think of any way to get out of it!” Once I’d started, I hadn’t dared to stop talking until I let it all out.

  “Oh wow.” Renee let out a soft chuckle. “I’m not laughing at you, sweetie, but it sounded like you needed to get that off your chest.”

  “Yeah, kinda.” I giggled a little too.

  “So would you like some unsolicited advice?”

  “I would love any and all advice because I don’t want to disappoint my mother, but I miss Patrick and I’m so lost.”

  “Do you love Patrick? Like with all your heart, the kind of love that might last forever?”

  “Absolutely, but—”

  “No interrupting. Just yes or no.”

  “Okay, then yes.”

  “Have you given any thought to what it might be like to be married to him? Meaning, married to a professional athlete.”

  “Yes.”

  “Does it scare you?”

  “A little. So…yes?”

  “Believe it or not, that’s a good thing. It means you’re thinking beyond how it feels right now, with a freshly broken heart. It means you’re not looking for a quick fix to the current situation.”

  “Renee, there’s no fix. I don’t know where I’m going or what I’m doing…”

  “You’re nineteen—why on earth should you know the answers to all those questions? I’m a bestselling author and didn’t figure out what I really wanted to be when I grew up until my thirties. Considering that you already have not just one degree, but two, puts you way ahead of the game.”

  “But what do I do?” I whispered. “Like, literally. What do I do next?”

  “You breathe. Let your body heal. Give yourself a week or two to get your head together.”

  “And then?”

  “Then we’ll talk again. But there are no quick fixes to broken hearts, broken relationships, or recovery from surgery. Take some time to just be. Don’t think so much. Don’t stress over every little thing. Cry. Eat chocolate. Study a little, but don’t overdo it, and do not, under any circumstances, make any big decisions. Don’t agree to go to medical school, don’t apply to any more colleges, just let it all simmer.”

  “Okay.” I wasn’t sure I could do that, but I would try.

  “Trust me, you need time to heal. Inside and out. Once you’re on your way, you’ll have a clearer head and be able to make more thoughtful decisions.”

  “I’m going to give it a shot.”

  “And call me any time. Okay? Promise?”

>   “Yes. Promise.”

  “It’s going to be okay, Ellie. One way or another.”

  31

  Patrick

  The Frozen Four tournament was the culmination of everything we worked for in college hockey. We hadn’t won one since I’d been at Moo U and this was supposed to be our year. I’d taken everything Toli said to heart and put absolutely everything but hockey—and a modicum of studying—out of my mind. Regionals were this weekend in Detroit and I couldn’t afford to be distracted. Not even by the woman I loved more than anything.

  The tournament was composed of four groups of four teams in regional brackets: Northeast, West, East, and Midwest. The winner of each regional bracket would advance to the Frozen Four, which would be held in two weeks in Philadelphia. It was a huge deal, the tickets often going for more than two hundred dollars apiece, and arenas selling out. We’d lost during regionals last year, so this year I couldn’t afford to let myself think about anything else. Especially now that I’d made the decision to go pro.

  I’d spent the last few days studying statistics and working on my final paper for my global business class, so I’d been in a much better headspace until my dad showed up in Detroit. It was approximately an eleven-hour drive from where he lived outside Minneapolis, and he’d been sitting in the hotel lobby when we got there. My stomach automatically clenched and my chest tightened; he always did that to me. No matter how good I was playing, he’d tell me exactly what I had to do to be better. And sadly, he was usually wrong, completely at odds with what my coaches were telling me.

  “Patrick! Paxton!” He stood up, grinning broadly, holding out his arms as if hugging was something we did in our family. It was all a show because we were with the team, so I gave him a half-hearted hug just so there wouldn’t be a scene.

  “What are you doing here, Dad?” Paxton could ask questions like that because they didn’t fight the way Dad and I did. He typically treated Paxton like an afterthought, which was both good and bad, but he’d started paying more attention to him once Paxton announced he was going to Seattle in the fall.