“Ugh,” she groans, then talks to herself. Soft enough I can’t make out what she’s saying. Sutton groans again, dragging her hands over her face.
I add up the equation. “You like Zach?”
Her eyes flutter. Her hands pressed against her mouth and maroon cheeks.
“You didn’t see or hear anything.” I open my mouth to talk, but she continues, “Or do you want to tell everyone about this, too?”
“No.” I pause, exhale, and restart. “Dave, I came here to apologize to you. I’ll do the project. I don’t want to screw this up for you.”
Sutton takes a long inhale, shutting her eyes and reopening them. “You don’t get it, do you? Doing this for me isn’t going to get us anywhere. The only way this could work is if you want this for yourself.”
I blink and she’s moving into a checkout aisle, I know she doesn’t have half of the items she needs. Once again, I’m frozen in place. This time, because her words are shackles on my feet.
I think about it. Think about how it felt when Coach told me not to help, and I felt relieved even for a second, not to have to give away a minute of my day. I think about the pieces of me being pulled at, that I freely give, because if not, then who am I? Every time an article comes out comparing me to my dad and I feel the pressure to be more than I am.
How long am I going to let this go on before I let it consume me? Before there is nothing left but a shell of who I am? Before my love for the game runs out?
SIX
COOPER
The puck whirlsbehind the goal, unlike my thoughts of Sutton, I can’t pass them off to a teammate. I can’t restart the drill from the top.
Since classes started earlier this week, I’ve waited for her on the lawn, outside the psych building, and in the lobby of her apartment building. Trying to find a way to convince her to let me do this project with her. Sutton is right. I need to do this for me, but she’s also wrong. I can and want to do this for the both of us.
A couple of scouts are at practice today for two seniors hoping to be free agents. Skating back to the other offensive players to switch drills, I overhear them mumbling about me. My head swivels over them at the first drop of my name, but Coach puts a steadying hand on my shoulder.Pay attention, ignore them.
Ignoring them is easy. Ignoring the corner of my brain that their presence and words scratch? Decapitating.
I speed off the ice when practice is called. My safe place, my haven, is the one place I don’t want to be right now.
My teammates can’t see me spiral out.
My ribcage feels like a prison. Each beat of my heart or thought that floats by is like being slammed into the boards.
No one follows me into the locker room.
Swiftly, my skates are unlaced and I’m changed. I bypass a shower, grabbing my bag, and heading out.
Jaxon’s voice echoes in the hallway to the lobby of the hockey arena “Cooper,” he calls out again. It’s muffled by my speed, the distance, the low buzz between my head.
The fresh air outside hits me like a tidal wave. I suck it in. Try to fill the space in my lungs. Gasp, again.
I smack a hand to my chest. Pause for a moment when I catch a glimpse of her car.
Sutton looks out the driver’s window, our gazes locking.
My next breath is easier, smoother.
She parks, but I’m in my car now.
The time between getting into my Jeep and Jaxon opening my bedroom door without knocking is a blur. His phone is pressed to his ear as he jumps on my bed next to me.
“Is this new?” he asks, pulling the phone back and picking up my comforter.
“You ask that every time you come in here.”
He shrugs his forgetfulness off. “Do you want to go over to Elliot and Sutton’s tonight?”
