w 1 t n e s s

fourteen

halle

Tyler got the Calder. Of course he did. He also won the Art Ross Trophy, easily clinched with his staggering amount of points and his playoff feats. I was proud of Tyler. Such big accomplishments for such a young player. Sometimes I got overwhelmed by how good he was. Patrick Kane was one thing. Tyler Dewalt was a whole different level. He was fresh blood, already a big face for the Blackhawks and the league.

I wondered wryly if my parents and siblings would recognize him. I knew my brothers would recognize Connor McDavid if he showed up on my arm. What about the NHL's newest top rookie? I guess I wouldn't be able to find out for awhile. After work started, my weeks would be full. I had some time off in early September, but I figured Tyler would be crammed with early hockey season then. Who knew when I could introduce him to my family.

There were a few days before the first day of camp. Move in and welcoming day was Monday of the following week. Tuesday the thirtieth was orientation and tours around the camp. Then Wednesday was the actual day that activities started. I could hardly wait. Being a counselor was almost as much fun as being a kid at the camp. To get paid decently, work on the beach, and do something I'd loved all my life was amazing. I knew Tyler could understand how I felt. Didn't he do the same thing, essentially? He earned money playing the sport he loved with his friends. We were similar in that way.

My bed felt miserably empty without Tyler. I don't know how I survived any amount of time without him. These few days were hard enough. He was flying back to Chicago tonight. He promised he'd text me when he landed. I was disappointed that he would be back in Chicago so soon. I wished he was back with me.

I passed one of the last days of sweet freedom by the beach, just like I'd spent every single hour of the break. Emily and I relaxed in our chairs, letting the sea foam run over our toes. I stretched my legs out, sighing heavily. My friend glanced over at me, her mop of sun-lightened curls piled ridiculously onto of her head. I almost laughed at the sight. She pushed her sunglasses down her nose so she could look at me.

"You look terrible, girlfriend." I scoffed.

"Jeez, thanks Em." She swirled her can of White Claw, looking at me defensively.

"I didn't mean it in a bad way. You look heartsick. I guess we both know why." I sighed.

"I just miss him. But I guess I have to get used to this, right?" Emily studied at me with narrowed eyes.

"There's something else. I know you." I bit my lip, not wanting to admit the truth. Finally, I relented.

"I'm scared he's gonna pull away again like last time. What if he thinks I'm a distraction and it'd be better if we were apart? I'm not sure I could forgive him again."

"Did you tell him that?"

"Kinda."

"Good. You need to tell him you're not going to be bootycall whenever he gets off work. You need to tell him that you're a steady or he can consider himself dumped."

"But I don't want to dump him." I whined, digging my hands into the sand in an attempt at distracting myself.

"You won't need to if you set ground rules."

"I'm not good at that."

"Obviously. See, I've already told Kirby exactly what I expect and when. He's wrapped right around my little finger." For emphasis, my friend twisted her hand in the air. I shook my head. There was no doubt Emily ran her and Kirby's budding relationship. They were so different, but I guess that's what made them click.