Lost Love

Chapter 19

Chapter 19

{Taylor}

It was awful.

Leaving Rexall that night, was a living Hell. The Flames fans were so fucking obnoxious, and the only thing that kept me calm was the feeling of the warm radiation coming from Logan’s hand.

The whole time my mind kept saying one thing to me: The Earth is a cold, dark place. 

The car ride home from the game was filled with constant, deep sighs from both Logan and I, and other than that, it was silent.

We kissed, long and hard, when he dropped me off. It felt amazing. It felt like that was the only thing giving me strength.

I then made my way up to my apartment, and laid down right on my bed, staring up at the ceiling.

“Wow.” I say, in shock.

To think that we were five seconds away from the Stanley Cup Finals... and now we aren’t.

The Earth is a cold, dark place, the Earth is a cold, dark place, the Earth is a cold, dark place.

I reluctantly change, and get ready for bed, and find myself lying in bed, still staring up at the ceiling.

I look over at the picture frame of Logan and I. I smile, and so strongly wish that I were back in Vancouver right now. This loss is bringing me down, and it’s seriously going to hurt the city.

All this playoff energy is suddenly going to die down.

It’s going to suck.

I turn off the light, but my mind still wanders.

The Earth is a cold, dark place.

I need to see Ryan. Not super soon, maybe in a few days. Not tomorrow, not even the day after that. He needs his space right now. But, I do have to see him.

I know that this loss is going to burden him, and I don’t want him to feel too down.

I think in a few days, I’m going to ask him to go for a run or something with me. 

I just feel so bad. I rejected him so many times in the past few months, and he doesn’t deserve that. What was I even thinking?

What has Ryan ever done to me that made me treat him the way I did?

Nothing.

I need to see him. I want to see him.

With that, I head to sleep.

{Ryan}

I roll over onto my back in bed.

It’s Wednesday, June 4, at about 9:30 in the morning.

The past four days, have been Hell. And I mean, Hell.

You try to ignore the constant talk about the Oilers losing in game seven of the Western Conference Finals, but you can’t. You try to ignore the endless buzz about how much the Oilers suck on every social media network, but you can’t. You try to ignore the newspapers, talking about just how close the Oilers were, but you simply can’t.

And the truth is: We were close. 

The Oilers were really fucking close to winning. Five seconds away, to be exact.