w 1 t n e s s

eleven

halle

We tried to stay friends. We really did. Or at least, I did. At first, our conversations were two-sided. We texted every day, talking about minuscule things. Then our communication started to fade. Everyday texts turned to every few days, then once a week. It was always me igniting the  conversation. Sometimes Tyler wouldn't respond for a few days after I'd sent something. Eventually, I gave up.

My love for the Blackhawks wasn't pushed away that easily. I followed the team despite my falling out with Tyler. Now, right before the playoffs, I was intent on watching Tyler score his 140th point in the next few games. That's right. 140 points. Somehow and someway, Tyler had kicked up the most insane point streak the NHL had ever seen. I liked to brag to Emily that I was the reason behind it. Maybe he'd been so upset by our half-assed breakup that he'd thrown every ounce of effort into playing. He averaged four points a game. The Blackhawks hadn't played a single game with under five goals since January. They hadn't lost a match since the previous year. And it was all, quite obviously, accredited to their top scoring forward and rookie.

I was watching a legend rise, there was no doubt about that. Hell, I even had a picture with him. I couldn't be mad at him for leaving me. After all, look what had come of it. Would he have this many points if we were still together? I didn't think so. Maybe us splitting was the best thing for both of us.

More for him than me. I'd been stuck on campus every day, studying and working. My only break in the load of classes was my spring break trip to Kiawah Island in March. Even that had flown by too quickly. The months went by in a blur of note filled pages and highlighter smudged fingertips.

My subscription of NHL TV had run out ages ago. Tyler hadn't kept paying for it. Instead, I was forced to watch good old cable at local restaurants. Luckily I'd found a decent sports bar and grill that was lenient with hockey games, as long as the Canes weren't playing. I'd claim a corner that had view of a TV, ask the waitress to put the NHL channel on, and enjoy some appetizers or dinner while I watched. My frequent visits had earned me the title "Chicago Girl" in the restaurant. They knew when I showed up in Tyler's jersey on a weekday that it was game time.

Tonight was no different. I'd sent a good luck text to Kirby awhile ago, but now I texted Tyler. Surprisingly, Kirby and I had been in contact more than my former flame had. Nothing more than talking about hockey, but it was still a nice thing to look forward to. Kirby didn't have to text me every game day. It was a kind gesture that I appreciated.

I pulled into the parking lot of Rookie's Sports, parking in the corner spot I always claimed. They should just put up a "Chicago Girl Spot, do not park here when the Blackhawks are playing" sign. The shiny white jersey was on full display as I made my way into the restaurant. My favorite waitress and fellow classmate, Jess, waved at me as I headed for my spot at the end of the room. The TV was already on the channel I was seeking. Perfect.

The one p.m. game was the only one on at the time. I was one of the only occupants of the restaurant, too. Perfect. I'd be able to hear and focus on the game.

As I took my seat, Jess brought a water over. I thanked her before turning my full attention to the screen. I was a couple minutes past the first face off, which I didn't mind. The second line was out, consisting of Jonathan, Brandon Saad, and Andrew Shaw as forwards. I watched them sail around the ice effortlessly, putting up a good fight against the New York Rangers. There was almost nothing to fear, knowing Tyler was coming up soon. I felt the familiar warmth in my chest as I saw him take the ice.