Simple Love, Simple Pain

Chapter Thirty-Nine

 "Come on, boys! Let's go!" Coach yells from behind me on the bench. We're tied 4-4 with six minutes left in the third. There are thousands of people in the stands cheering for us in our first pre-season game.

And all I can think about is Jules.

She should be here by now. I look back at the clock—five minutes left. Where is she? It was just supposed to be a short flight from Toronto, then a quick drive down to the arena. Don't be stupid. Her flight was probably delayed and L.A. traffic always takes forever.

But a sense of foreboding still turns my stomach. Something's not right. She's almost two and a half hours late. She should be here.

I scan the crowd one more time, straining my eyes so I might catch a glimpse of her golden hair in the section where the players' families sit—something to ease the dread that's slowly consuming me. But I don't see her and the realization that she may not be coming—that she might have changed her mind and decided she didn't want to move here with me—is almost too much to bear.

The clock is ticking down to the final two minutes. We're still tied. I'll be going out soon. The whistle blows and we call a timeout. The coach is going to pull the goalie now. I'll be put out as the sixth man to score.

"All right boys, here's what we're going to do. Trent's going to come off as soon as we get the puck down to their end. Everyone goes to the net, but don't ice the puck; we don't need face-offs in our end, got it?" We all nod. "Great, Dallas, I want you by the door—'' He's cut off mid-sentence by our manager. She's on the phone with someone and she looks on the verge of tears.

"Can I speak with you for a minute?" she whispers to the coach. I watch them take a few steps away and start speaking in rushed whispers. My sense of disquiet grows, causing my heart rate to spike.

The coach comes back with a stricken look on his face and pity in his eyes. "Dallas, I need to speak with you." The words. The pity. The absolute sorrow in his eyes tells me something is very wrong.

My breathing picks up and I start to feel lightheaded as I take a few shaky steps away from my teammates. "Is something wrong?" I ask. My voice is too high—too panicked. I clear my throat, take a deep breath and close my eyes before trying again. "Is everything okay?" Nope, still not right, but as good as it'll get with the vice grip on my windpipe.

"Dallas, there—uh...I don't know how—Fuck." I watch as tears well in his eyes and I know something is very wrong. "I hate to be the one who has to tell you this. You're a good kid and I know—I know how much you love her." He says this so low he might be talking to himself. I need him to tell me what's wrong.

"For God's sake just spit it out already!" I shout, too scared to wait for him to get himself together.

He takes a deep breath and looks me square in the eyes before grabbing my shoulders in both hands. I hear the sound of the whistle that signals our timeout is over. I hear the sound of my heartbeat in my ears and I hear the shouts of the crowd and the blaring music that plays before the puck is dropped.

"Dallas...it's your girl—she's got cancer." He takes a shuddering breath before continuing in a barely audible whisper. "She dying."

Not even the roar of the noise in the arena can block out his words because they're the bomb that blows my world to pieces; they leave a ringing in my ears and a hole in my chest.

My body starts shaking so bad I can hardly stand. I'm shaking my head furiously. "No. No! She would've told me! No!" I stumble back into someone.

"Whoa, Dallas. Calm down buddy," he says as he grabs me from behind.