Into the Light

The day starts out unremarkable, just like any other day really. He would forever disagree after the fact.

The morning consists of the usual: a late wake-up, traffic on the way to the rink, barely making it on the ice before the whistle blows. He admittedly half-asses practice, jokes with the same guys as always, stays a few extra minutes on the ice to get a couple of more shots in. He’s frustrated by the fact that they all go off the pipe. Then it’s time to hit some light weights and the bike. He showers, dresses in some extra clothes he leaves in his locker in case he’s late and shows up in pajama pants (he almost always does). And then it’s time for breakfast with the guys.

They go to a diner close to the rink; they used to go almost every morning before, but by the end of last season, most of the guys began cracking down on their diets. As if a new eating routine would somehow break their funk. It didn’t. If anything, it only led to grouchier players.

He looks up involuntarily when the bell above the door rings, and for a moment he’s convinced that he’s hallucinating, or dreaming. He pinches himself and confirms his insanity, until he hears a particularly crass comment from Brooks about certain aspects of her anatomical features and has to face the fact that it’s real. She’s here and she’s real and he feels red and warm and itchy as his heart rate increases and his blood bubbles closer to the surface of his skin. She catches his eye, does a double-take and quick stare as he felt his pulse quickening. And then she very deliberately looked away and walked to the other side of the diner. His throat closed up in a sort of full-blown allergic reaction, except it’s her lack of attention that is the true cause of his condition.



It it the uncertainty that has him up at nights. Is she really here? Within his grasp once again? Or here for a short moment in time, fleeting like his memories of her?

He feels lost and found all at once. Unbalanced by the surprise, but redeemed by her presence. He scrolls through his phone and deletes the number of any girl from the past three years whom he’d been introduced to between the hours of midnight and five in the morning. He doesn’t know if she’s living here of just visiting or even visiting a man. He weighs the pros and cons of even allowing himself to feel anything, of getting his hopes up to such astronomical height, but he knows that if he’s to act, then it must be fast.

The only clear conclusion he comes to is that no matter the situation, she can’t leave. Not again. Not without him.



It’s his new off-day (well, game-day too) routine. He goes back to that diner every day after practice. Sometimes with some guys, but he mostly he prays to every possible celestial being that they’ll stay away. Almost as much as he prays that she won’t stay away.

It takes perseverance and the luck that they’re on a home-game stretch to allow for his plan to fall into place. He sits in a strategic location that allows for him to see the door to the front and the side door that leads to the parking area. It’s practically dinner time when she enters the front door.

Even with half her face covered by a scarf, her yellow and rose gold hair covered by a fitted winter hat, he knows it’s her just from her walk. She picks a seat at the counter and sheds her layers. He abandons his coffee and takes the seat next to her before the waitress even notices her.

“Kristina.”

Her eyes widen slightly before settling into a polite smile. It reminds him of the first time he asked her out, except now he knows that the butterflies in his stomach are well worth the experience.

“Mike. Hey. It’s been a while.”

He wants to snort and say, yeah, no shit, but knows that won’t get anything but her temper to flare. Instead he offers her his own polite smile before continuing.

“Have you ordered anything?” He knows she hasn’t. He made sure he got to her before the waitress. He almost expects her to lie about it anyway, but to his surprise she shakes her head.

“Great. Will you grab a bite with me?”

Even though they are already in a diner, he grabs her coat and helps her into it. She flashes him a small smile over her shoulder as she flicks her hair out of her coat. It’s much longer now. As they walk to her car there are many things that he notices about her that are different. While she had been a gorgeous girl when he was a boy, she is a beautiful woman now. Without growing at all, her legs seem longer and leaner, her face more defined, while her lips look fuller. She kept her hair color and has it in a style that is familiar to him, but it too seems different. Weight had never been an issue for her, but to his outdated memory, she is slimmer and healthier. Upgraded. He has to consciously stick his hands in his pockets as he leads her to his car to keep from reaching for her hand.

She doesn’t ask where they’re going as he weaves through traffic and she doesn’t seem surprised when they arrive at his two story town house. The car ride is spent discussing the basics: the weather, hockey, and her appearance in D.C.

“I go to medical school here. Third year.” She gives another small smile but this one seems sad, and he realizes it’s because she had just confessed to him that she has been avoiding him for three years. D.C. isn’t small, and he had never expected to just bump into her before last week, but he is both impressed and destroyed by her admission.

“Oh.” It’s his go-to word when he receives heart-breaking news.



They stand side by side in a quasi-comfortable silence in front of the stove as they put together a meal. His refrigerator is pathetically empty, but she is still able to find ingredients for a small dinner. He doubts he’ll be able to eat any of it anyway. He knows it’s impossible to reverse the effects of seven years in one night, but he’s determined to make it happen. He thinks of all the words he wants to say as he listens to her quietly hum while she works.

He sets the smaller table in the kitchen with plates on opposite sides. As strongly as his magnetic attraction to her is, he wants to be able to see her, really see her and have her look at him. Look at what he’s become. She’s already admitted that she’s followed his career in the car, and has even attended a few games. He feels disappointed that he couldn’t feel her in a crowd—he had been certain that there is some sort of alert system in your body when the love of your life enters a room, no matter how large or populated it is, no matter how long it’s been since you’ve seen her face.

She crosses the kitchen and scoops their dinner straight from a pan as he opens a bottle of wine. She gives him a look that hints at the fact that she knows what he’s doing, but he still pours her a glass. She takes a large drink despite her previous wordless warning. He sits down after she does, and their silverware clinks quietly as they search for the right things to say.

She tells him about her travels, how she was able to research different water-born illnesses during a summer program at her college, and another in Africa establishing a water resource system, building homes in different cities in America during her spring breaks. She speaks with true enthusiasm and that’s expected because he knows that’s who she is. As careless as she had been with him, he knows her as a helper. However, he also can’t help but feel that she mentions this as a sort of defense for her actions. That if he had been in the picture, she would have never had these opportunities. Mike spent a lot of time thinking about her choice and he realized that it wasn’t the fact that she left that crushed him. It’s that she didn’t even give him a chance to be a part of her new life.

However, he listens politely and sips his wine while considering to which degree he would have supported each of her adventures. He likes to think that he would have been 100% behind her in any one of her ventures, but in some cases he has to admit that that might not have been the case. Especially he learns that she has travelled to war-ridden areas such as Israel and Pakistan. He knows he should keep it to himself because she never asked for his opinion anyway. But then—fuck it, what else does he have to lose? She’s not his anymore anyway.

“Why didn’t you ever come back?”

She crosses her legs uneasily underneath the table and folds her hands in her lap. It’s a very formal position and then she spreads her hands wide, as if she already presented her facts.

“No. The real reason. Why haven’t I seen you in seven years?”

She gives a little sigh and slumps back in her seat again. “We’ve been busy. Not just me, you too. You’ve been all about hockey. I didn’t want to take your focus from that.”

He burned red, both for her presumption that she had that sort of power over him and the shame that she truly did. But he pressed on anyway. “You’ve been to my games. You’ve seen me. Fuck, at that fucking diner, you couldn’t have at least acknowledged me? Am I really—?” What he wants to ask is if he really means nothing to her anymore, when she was still everything to him, but he can’t even make himself say it so he chokes it down. But the damage is done and his pride and his heart are far beyond wounded.

She puts her glass down and gives him an even look. “It’s been seven years, Mike. What do you want me to say? That I’ve been thinking of you ever night? That I’ve been waiting for you?”

Coincidentally, that is exactly what he is hoping she’d say. She traces the lipstick-stained lip of the glass with her long fingers and even though she just pointed out exactly how long it’s been, and it’s the most inappropriate timing ever, he remembers the last time he noticed those fingers. He shifts uncomfortably in his seat before she continues.

She’s whispering now, low and meaningful. “It’s been so long. If we’re honest with each other, I think you’ll find that we don’t even know each other anymore. We were kids—“

“Don’t do that.” He clenches his fist on the counter. “Don’t try to reason this all away.” He rises abruptly and stalks toward her from around the table, towering over her as she sits. Her eyes blaze with their latent fervor, and he knows he’s taking a risk as he placed both his hands on her thighs and braces himself against them as he forces himself into her space, forces her to look him in the eyes as he holds her in place. “I know you. I know all the important parts to you. I know you’re the most infuriating person I’ve ever met. I’ve spent the last seven years trying to figure out if I love you or I hate you and I still can’t decide. You’re stubborn and quick to anger and yet so fucking rational that you won’t even let yourself feel anything if it doesn’t make sense.”

Their noses are almost touching. He expects her eyes to at least flicker to his lips but they stay resolutely fixed on his eyes. She opens her mouth to speak but he’s not done yet.

“I know what touches drive you crazy. I was the one to show you. I know what you look like underneath me and I know what sounds you make when you come. But most importantly, you’re the only woman I’ve ever imagined myself with in the future. Some things might change with time, but not the important parts.”

She tries to reply again, but just like before, he won’t let her. Her lips part in contradiction and his mouth is there before she can make a sound. He swallows down her argument along with her resolve.



She’s most honest with him without her clothes on. He could get her to confess to murder with just his hand, especially right now. As he works over the expanse of her body, she’s whispering seven years-worth of secrets and promises into his ear and he groans at every single one; equal parts pleasure at having her now, and the pain of lost time.



He wakes with a smile without even remembering why. He keeps his eyes closed as the night before rolls back over him. And then his smile spreads into a grin. He rolls to the other side of the bed to collect her in his arms, but he ends up grasping at air. He opens one eye, then the other.

His bed is cold and silent. It could have all been a dream except for the wine glass stained red at the lip.



All he feels now is fury. He knows the spiraling depression will come in time, but for now he decides to use his anger wisely.

He makes a few phone calls and pulls some strings to get some records. He may not have been the best student at school but he’s not stupid, and when he wants something, really wants something, he’s gonna get it.

He knows he should be wondering if she’s worth it but he doesn’t. He can’t even make himself go down that path. But he sure can still feel that hatred, the one that’s so close to passion, slosh in his stomach when he thinks of her face.

He knocks a few guys around and tallies a point for the night before getting into his SUV and pointing it in a direction away from his home. Twenty minutes later he’s standing in front of an unfamiliar door.

He makes sure to pound as hard as he can, to let her know it’s not just a friend coming to see her. He doubts she knows anyone else who has the capacity to quite literally rip the door from its hinges. It takes about double the time that it should but soon enough he hears the subdued clicks of the lock being shifted.

She looks contrite when she opens the door; but doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t let her as he forces himself in, and then rounds on her and pushes her against the door as soon as she’s locked it again. He grips both her arms in his hands, not hard, just enough to really get her attention. He absent-mindedly notices that his hands easily encompass her biceps as she looks wide-eyed at him.

“Coward.”

That’s all he has to say to her. She crumples to the floor and he lets her, dropping her arms.



She’s motionless for a long span of time and he takes the opportunity to make himself at home. He raids the cupboard for some semblance of sustenance to strengthen him as he wait out the calm. If he knows her at all, then he knows she won’t go so easily. He then helps himself to her bedroom, inspecting every photo and memento, trying to piece an image of her life together in his head, and then taking the liberty to insert himself into the scenes. As if he was there all along.

When he comes back to her, she hasn’t moved from where she’s sitting against the door. Her mouth moves but she is silent. It seems like she’s saying the same words over and over again: I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m—

She’s a woman defeated. He’s never seen her this way.

Before he’s able to find a way to use this to his advantage, she sparks to life again. She finds her legs and springs up. She’s advancing on him now, stalking him back as she again takes the upper hand. He backtracks until the backs of calves hit a sofa and he tumbles into it. She’s in his face, sobbing and growling, cursing him, calling him every name in the book before she stops again. Still and silent. She straightens and explains.

“Don’t you know? Don’t you know why I’ve been staying so far away from you? You’re right, I was scared. I still am, but not of you; it’s me. I’m afraid of myself.”

She turns away and stares out the window of her apartment. She takes a few quiet moments to herself as she rubs her arms with her hands.

“I look at you and I see everything I’ve worked for disappear. I look in your eyes and I know that if I let myself, if I let my guard down for one second, I would do anything to have you. I’d follow you like a fucking puppy across this continent. But that’s not me, at least that’s not supposed to be me, and it’s not the me I know when you’re not around. Am I even making any sense?”

He sees her reflection in the window and she’s crying by now, big fat tears rolling down her red and swollen face. She’s not a pretty crier, and that fact isn’t lost on him.

“I’m not supposed to want to give it all up just for one person. Just for a guy.”

He processes this quietly before responding. “I didn’t want to change you. I didn’t ask you to change.”

She gives a humorless laugh while carefully wiping her face with the bottom of her sleeve. “I don’t think you get it.” Her voice breaks into a horse sort of whisper, as if she can’t help adding it. “You loved me and nothing’s ever been the same again.”

He sits there for another twenty minutes, watching her as she watches the city below. Neither says any more and the silence isn’t comfortable. He only feels relief when he stands and makes for the door. As he turns, he catches her eye in the window and realizes her eyes have been on him all along. He doesn’t hesitate in shutting the door behind him. Whenever he wants something, he goes for it. He’s never been much of a spectator.