You were a senior at Briar University, just outside Hastings, Massachusetts. Which was an hour from Boston. You were on the girls' hockey team. You have been seen freshman year. You loved hockey.

And so did your boyfriend. Garrett was a year ahead of you, he'd graduated last year. He was already in the Boston Bruins' team, and he absolutely adored it. Almost as much as you.

It happened during a pre season game. You were playing against St. Anthony's girls' team. Apparently Garrett hated the guys' team, but you honestly loved playing with the girls. It was fun, thrilling, and they were much better sports.

You skated across the ice, one of your closest friends, Emerson, on the other side of the ice. You glanced down at the puck against your hockey stick, about to pass it to her when you were tripped by someone else's hockey stick. You lost your balance and fell right to the ground, all the weight going to your right knee, and CRACK!!

Garrett was in the crowd when it happened, since he didn't have practice that day. He watched while your teammates helped you up off the ice, the tears you tried to hold back fall down your beautiful face. He rushed out of the bleachers and into the main hall, where you were being loaded onto a stretcher.

Now, two days later, you were on crutches. You had to have an ACL surgery, and you had to sit out for the whole season of your last year of college. And you weren't planning on going pro, but still. You loved hockey.

Garrett came home late, and he immediately went over to you on the couch, laying there, doing nothing. You felt useless. The team's star player, now unable to play for the whole stupid season... God, it was awful.

He sat down next to you, pulling your head into his lap. He kissed your forehead and sighed, running his fingers through your hair.

Grace told me what the doc said since you're too stubborn to yourself... I'm sorry, babe. I know how much hockey means to you too.