Second Shot K.O.K (The Brooklyn Bears: Season 1)

7. The In-Between

SEVEN

THE IN-BETWEEN

Koa

O ur season came to an end, as expected. We sucked. And as word got around that the ice hockey program was shutting down, we sucked even worse. What did not suck was having Nalani in the stands at damn near every game, wearing my number, and cheering for The Cock.

And it also didn’t suck when we both came back to Maui, and she spent a hell of a lot of time with her grandmother, who lives in my village. We surfed, we flocked, we ate, we laughed, we listened to stories about our culture, stories that I, of course, had heard, but it was like hearing them again for the first time because that brown-eyed girl showed all the emotions she held in her eyes.

We spent time with her family, as well, or should I say, at her home, which was never truly comfortable. Her parents were polite, but they didn’t shut the fuck up about her ex-boyfriend—his parents were their best friends. This was something that happened after that fateful night when I introduced my friend to the girl I was head up my ass in love with. They golfed together weekly, and the king of Maui often golfed with them.

To be honest, I have no concern about her ever wanting to be with him—she’s as lost in me as I am in her. My concern is that her parents don’t even notice how uncomfortable it makes her when they bring him up when I’m around, which is some bullshit.

The first couple times we hung out at her place, she would apologize profusely. I told her straight up how I felt. “It’s harder for you than me. No more apologizing for something you have no control over.”

You would have thought I just handed her some sort of award, except her acceptance speech wasn’t fake or planned like you see on stages or on the screen. Nalani was just so grateful I wasn’t upset. So, we spent a hell of a lot more time with her grandmother and my parents than hers.

We had a few run-ins with “our ex,” as we called him, but it was nothing we couldn’t handle. So, when my time came to head to Lincoln University three weeks before her, I left with zero worry, and she smiled and waved at me through the security gates, standing beside my parents, and with that, she was telling me the same.

When it comes to Division I sports, there are rules that NCAA colleges must adhere to. Offseason practice is in that book of rules. And it is not one to overlook. That rule is the reason Lincoln University was able to get rid of their women’s ice hockey coach and bring in Coach Tallman to replace theirs.

He’s a good coach. He’s the one who gave a six-foot-seven surfer from the Hawaiian islands a shot on the ice, and he taught me everything I know. I have mad respect for him, and I am happy he’s still part of my journey.

There are also unwritten rules, such as when you receive a letter from your coach that the athletes’ housing move-in date is three weeks ahead of the rest of the Lincoln University students, and that the facilities will be open for our use. I knew that meant it was time to lace up the skates.

Nalani and I agreed it would be hard as hell to be away from each other when we had spent at least five out of seven days together over the summer, so we would text once a day until she got here. So, to say that I am fucking floored when I switch my phone from airplane mode during my layover in Michigan is an understatement.

Nalani:

There is something I need to tell you and should have two weeks ago, but each time I thought I got enough courage to do so, I chose to wait. I chose to bask in the sun, in the ocean, in you, instead. I am not only selfish, but I’m a coward.

Nalani:

Koa, I am not coming to Lincoln University. I am not going back to Hayward, either. I’m going to be attending college here, in Maui.

I sit there, looking at the screen, feeling numb, confused, and then fucking pissed off.

Me:

I’m not understanding. You’re going to have to give me more than that, Nalani.

I watch as the bubbles bounce on the screen, telling me that she is replying. They stop and start over and over again for what feels like an eternity until, finally, a message comes through.

Nalani:

I spent so much time this summer with my tūtū Kaleia, I didn’t see my father’s mother once, and that guilt is eating me alive.

She feels guilty, and it redirects the anger, making me pissed at myself for consuming most of our time.

Me:

I get that. I miss my grandparents every day.

Nalani:

I knew you would understand. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.

I lean back in the hard plastic seat and try to make sense of it. She has three weeks to spend with her grandmother, and she was psyched about changing schools with me, so …

Me:

I do understand. I also think there’s more to this that you’re not ready to share. When you are, I’m all ears.

The bubbles torment me for another fifteen minutes—fifteen fucking minutes—and then they stop altogether. What kind of fuckery is that?

With another hour layover—the longest hour of my life—I don’t get another text. Anxiety is a bitch that I have never met, but when it rears its ugly head, I recognize it immediately.

Me:

I am worried about you. If I come back, there isn’t shit they can do about it because, technically, I don’t have to be back for another three weeks. My gut is telling me to head back home, so I’m going to exchange my ticket. You know where I’ll be. No pressure. Come to me when you’re ready.

I hit send then stand, throw my backpack over my shoulder, and head to the closest bathroom to take a piss before exchanging my ticket. I don’t even get three feet before my phone sounds off.

Nalani:

No! Absolutely not. This is part of why I didn’t tell you, Koa. This is your shot. You are phenomenal. If you come back here, I’m gonna be so upset with you.

I shove my phone in my pocket and walk to the nearest men’s room, anger surging through my entire fucking body. The fact that airports don’t have gyms never crossed my mind until right now. I need a place to run off some anger, to lift away frustrations, to beat the shit out of a bag until I calm down. And to be honest, I’m not even sure that’s going to help. I am never pissed—ever. Well, except that one time when Joey fucking Buchannan stole the girl.

Standing in the bathroom, shut behind the door of a stall, I pound out text message after text message after text message.

My first fight off the field, or off of the ice, is with the girl I love, the girl I have not said those words to, but I didn’t have to. I knew it. I was just waiting for one of those Hallmark fucking moments—she loves those stupid fucking movies. I had that shit planned. I would have picked the perfect day for leaf peeping. We would have taken a hike, and I would have told her like that.

I damn-near miss my flight, but there’s something telling me that after all the shit we have said, if I went back there, professed my love, I was gonna lose her forever.

When I get a text saying exactly that, I don’t reply. I put my phone on airplane mode and board the plane heading to Logan International Airport.

Worst flight of my fucking life.

We spent the rest of the next week apologizing, fighting, saying it just wasn’t our time. We decided to take a break.

A couple weeks later, she sent me a text.

Nalani:

My grandmother passed away.

I told her that I was going to come back for the funeral, to show my respect, but she told me that if it was her grandmother, Kaleia, she would understand. Since I had never met Mele, however, it was pointless.

I beat myself up over the fact I never asked to meet her, and then I overthought shit and got pissed because I was being a chump. If she had wanted me to meet her, she would have asked me to come.

The leaves changed, and I’d send pictures of them when I thought they were particularly stunning. She didn’t reply often, and when she did, it was with an emoji, but when she responded with words, it was:

Nalani:

I appreciate the pictures, but they make me miss it there.

I was happy when they fell because they reminded me of her and the fact, I was putting myself through hell and she missed it “there.”

I eventually saw pictures on The Gram of her at parties. Joey was there. I sent a few drunk texts that night.

Hungover and feeling like shit, I received a text from her.

Nalani:

We should stop contacting each other until we can talk over Christmas break.

I clung to that hope like a lifeline, but we were killing it on the ice. With invites to play in tournaments over the break, I could only make it home for one day.

That day was everything that Christmas should be, and it filled me full of hope. When I left Hawaii, I received another airport text, and I made up my mind; I was done being a chump.

We exchanged texts a few more times.

Nalani:

Happy birthday.

Me:

Happy Valentine’s Day.

Nalani:

I knew you were going to set the ice on fire. Congrats on #1.

Me:

I’ll see you this spring?

Nalani:

We’re going to Europe to spread Tūtū ’s ashes.

I wanted to ask if it took all damn summer to do that but, of course, I didn’t.

And then there was a global pandemic.