Page 9 of The Shot You Missed
I have been for years. But now, we’re heading off to college, ready to start our lives as adults, and it finally feels like the right time to say it. And to ask her to be my girlfriend. I know it’s probably stupid. Long-distance relationships are never easy, but aren’t we already doing it? We spend a month and a half together during the summer, then spend the rest of the year calling, texting, and video chatting.
We can do this.
We’ll beat the odds, and once we graduate, I’ll ask her to marry me and pray she’s willing to go wherever hockey takes me. It’s a lot to ask, I know, but I can make her happy. I’m sure of it.
Myheart pounds in my chest as I wait at our spot on the beach. The place we first met four years ago when I saved her from a flock of dive-bombing seagulls. We meet here at noon every year when she gets in, grab lunch together, then spend the day in the ocean. I’m a little early, but I haven’t been able to sit still since I woke up this morning.
I can’t wait to see Indie’s face. To hug her. Kiss her for the first time.
Anticipation makes my stomach cramp, and I pace the sand, checking my phone every minute.
12:00
12:15
12:30
My stomach sours. Where is she? Is she hurt? Did something happen?
My fingers shake as I type out a text.
Me
Where are you? I’m at our spot.
I frown when our normally blue text bubbles show green. And when five minutes pass without a response, I tap on Indie’s contact to call her. The phone rings only once before an automated message plays through the speaker.
“We’re sorry. This number is not in service. Goodbye.”
My heart stutters, and I stare at my phone. “What the hell?”
I dial Indie’s number again and again, but the result is the same. She blocked me. She blocked me?
Why?
The game resumes,and I steal glances at her whenever I can while ensuring I don’t get distracted during gameplay. She whispers with the dark-haired girl when she’s not staring at me, fidgets in her seat, and keeps glancing at the exits.
I’ll have to send someone from the team to get to her after the game. Ask her to meet me in the friends and family room. Because after ten years of trying everything to find Indie Bloom, she’s here. In my barn. And I’ll be damned if I let her run again.
Time ticks down on the clock, and the noise in the arena rises to deafening levels when the buzzer goes off and the lights flash, celebrating another win at home. Another shutout for me.
I don’t give a shit about any of it. Not when I need to get to her.
I turn to find her in the stands again, but her seat is empty.
No.
Heart pounding, I scan the crowd and see the back of her head, pink curls bouncing as she walks away. Her friend calls out to her before looking back at me, a frown on her heart-shaped face.
“Wait,” I shout, skating toward the boards. “Please stop her.”
Her friend can’t hear what I’m saying, but she has to understand. Although she calls out for Indie again, Indie doesn’t stop. Her brow is creased when she looks back at me. I swear she mouthssorry, but then she’s rushing after Indie.
“No.” I make my way to the bench as fast as my stupid bulky gear will allow and call out to our equipment manager, Todd. “I need you to find someone. Pink hair, freckles. She’s wearing a dark purple peacoat, and she’s here with a woman with dark hair and blue eyes. Her seat was in the lower bowl. Corner section. This side.”
The equipment manager stares at me like I’ve grown a second head, and I growl in frustration, pulling my helmet off and shaking my sweat-soaked hair away from my face. “Please, Todd. It’s important.”
“I’ll try,” he says after scanning my face and no doubt seeing the desperation dripping from my pores.
