Meant For You

thirty-five.

Miles Dempsey

My main source of joy lately had been coming home, eating pasta, and immersing myself in hockey games. That was a usual day in my life, and while it had been my routine for a while, this time it felt different. Our season was surpassing all expectations compared to previous years. Victories were becoming the norm, and the team was cementing a strong foundation.

The Kings were finally gaining the recognition we deserved, and though I was thrilled, it was getting hard to show. An encounter with a young fan had shaken me two weeks prior, leaving my mind in turmoil. My thoughts were more chaotic than usual, and if I hadn't been swamped with games and practices, I would have been fucked.

Even in my free time, I seemed to have something to distract me. Or should I say someone? Nola Scott. She had been constantly presence since I had shared the story of my encounter with the young fan.

Honestly, I should've kept it to myself. It surprised me that I had opened up about it. I wasn't one to completely suppress my emotions, yet revealing them to others was a slow process for me. Only my family and Tate had been witnesses to my - occasional- raw emotions. Sharing my feelings with Nola wasn't part of the plan, but she was there when I was upset, and so I confided in her.

She made it easy for me to talk about it. I had always felt at ease around her, that was nothing new. Nevertheless, discussing my adoption wasn't something I casually did with anyone, not even with Tate or my parents. It was a topic I kept locked away, something I simply didn't discuss.

Sharing it with a stranger wasn't on my agenda, which is why I had deflected that conversation with the young kid. If I were to talk about it with anyone, it would be with myself, within the confines of my own mind. That's where I felt safe discussing it.

Obviously not, buddy.

Normally, I didn't mind Nola's presence. Her company was pleasant, and I never got tired of her. How could I?

At least, that's what I had thought until a few days ago. Now, it felt like my head was on the brink of exploding every time she spoke.

It was a little bit after six in the afternoon when a knock echoed at my front door. I didn't need to check to know it was Nola. Opening the door, she stood there with a smile, another bag of her healthy snacks in hand.

Without a word, we entered the living room where I was watching a replay of our game from the previous day. Nola wasn't the only one who had noticed my mood shift. The team  had caught on, though I could lie to them about the reasons. JT had been keeping his distance, likely because I had lent him my car to see his girlfriend. Well, the girl he claimed was just a friend, though we all knew better.

I was surprised that Nola managed to stay quiet for a whole ten minutes. "Hungry?" she eventually asked, interrupting the silence. I glanced at her and saw her holding out a bag of organic kettle chips. Shaking my head, I turned my attention back to the television. Over the next hour or so, she occasionally tired to make conversation. My responses were limited to one-word answers, nods, or shakes of my head. I wasn't in the mood for anyone's company, and this had been the case for days.

My days were usually centered around the team, with little time for isolation except on non-game days. But even then, I wasn't truly alone; I had a persistent blonde presence in my life—Nola Scott. "Want to go somewhere? Instead of being cooped up here?" she asked, testing my patience.

My irritation simmered beneath the surface, though I made an effort not to show it. "Not really. Got a game tomorrow. Just want to rest," I replied. Nola nodded, leaning back against the loveseat. "Who's the opponent tomorrow?" In my mind, I answered 'Rangers'. They were performing well this season, making the upcoming match a challenge for us. Honestly, I wasn't excited, but I hoped things would work in our favor.

"Rangers," I finally told her.

She nods again and I raise the volume on the tv. Should I tell her that I'm going to take a nap? Maybe then she'll leave. "Do you think you'll win tomorrow?" she probed. The question echoed in my mind like her previous ones, but I remained silent. After a few seconds, she pressed, "Did you hear me?" Yes. Heard you just fine. Though I chose not to verbalize it, maintaining my sealed lips. "Mil-"

"Yes, I heard you. I don't know, Nola. I really don't know," I replied, my annoyance evident, though I was suppressing my urge to lash out. She looked puzzled, brows furrowed. "What's bothering you?" she asked, a question that seemed somewhat obvious. I sighed deeply and shook my head. "Do you want me to leave?" she asked in a painfully soft voice. God, I'm such an asshole. "Please," I practically beg.

Her big blue eyes filled with a sadness that stabbed at my chest. Don't look at me like that. "O-okay. Sure," she mumbles and starts gathering her stuff. All I could do now was watch her. As much as I wanted her to stay, the idea of being alone seemed more appealing. Nola slung her purse over her shoulder, scanning the room for anything she might be forgetting.

When she finishes that, her sad gaze comes back to me. "You could have just told me you didn't want me to come over, you know. I would have understood," she says. I shake my head. "I just don't need your pity, alright? The only reason you're here is because I've been down these past two weeks." She makes a face like that's not true. But I know it is. I'm not a fucking idiot.

"I'm here because I enjoy hanging out with you, Mi-"

"Every single day?!" I laugh bitterly.

"Yes, every day! Sorry I wanted to keep you company."

"Again, I don't need your pity. I'm fine, I'll be fine."

"This isn't pity. This is me trying to be here for you because I understand what it's like to have rough days when you think you want to be alone, but you really don't. You were there for me when I had a panic attack and when I was questioning my future in figure skating. I was trying to return the favor, but I see you don't need my help." She shook her head. "Good luck tomorrow."

Without another word, she storms out of my house, and I watch her go. I don't stop her cause stopping her would mean I want her here. For the first time ever in a long time, I didn't want to be around Nola.

I didn't want to be around anyone.

***

My couch ended up being comfortable enough to sleep on. When my eyes flutter open it's almost ten pm according to the clock on the wall. The house was oddly quiet but when I shifted my head over to where Nola had been sitting, another blonde filled her space, causing me to flinch.

It's just JT.

"How long have you been sitting there?" I ask in a groggy voice. The TV now displays our game from two days ago, but it's muted. "Just a little less than ten minutes," he replies. He rests his ankle on his knee and studies me with an odd expression. "What?" I question, attempting to gather my scattered thoughts. Where the hell is my phone?

JT drops his leg and leans forward on his elbows. "Why were you a dick to Nola earlier?" he questions, brows raised. Great. He wasn't home at the time Nola was here so I'm assuming she got ahold of him and told him. "I wasn't," I lie. I was. I really was.

In that moment, all I wanted was to be alone so I didn't care how much of an asshole I sounded like. But now that she's gone, the guilt sets in. This is why I'm wary of letting people into the deeper parts of my life. I end up doing stupid things like this. My pain overshadows everything, and it drives people away. In the end, I'm always left alone.

"She's the only person who's willing to stick around you when you're like this and you're just pushing her away," JT says. His words hit a nerve. I know he didn't mean it maliciously, but it still stings. Partially because he's right. I rise from the couch, not even bothering to search for my missing phone. "Night, kid," I mutter as I head upstairs. As I'm walking up, I hear him sigh behind me.

He probably thinks I'm being stubborn, but I heard him. He's right. I'll admit to that. It doesn't mean it doesn't hurt to hear it, though.

When I enter my room, I shut the door and turn off the light. Our game isn't until seven tomorrow, but I want to be well-rested for what's likely to be a challenging match against the Rangers. As soon as my head hits the pillow, I'm out like a light.