"Thatwas some fancy skating tonight."His words slur together, confirming what I already knew."Your new linemate's got some moves."
My jaw clenches. I start pacing between the beds, three steps one way, three steps back.
"Yeah, he's good."My voice comes out steady,eventhough I'm anything but calm. Years of practice.
"Reminds me of Nicky."A glass clinks in the background. Ice cubes maybe. Or a bottle against the rim."The way he handles the puck. Natural talent, like your brother."
The comparison hits me right in the chest. I'd thought the same thing, but hearing it from my dad is different.
"Game wasn't good enough though, was it?"His tone shifts, turning sharper."Four unanswered goals. Nick wouldn't have letthathappen."
My free hand curls into a fist, the familiar burning shame rising in my throat.
"We'll do better next time."The words taste sour.
Jamie's stopped whatever he was doing in the bathroom. I walk to the window, keeping my back tothatside of the room.
"Better."Dad laughs bitterly."You always saythat. Always trying to be better. But you're not him, are you? Never will be."
"Dad, maybe we should--"
"He would've made it."The ice cubes rattle again."First overall round pick for sure. Everyone said so. If he hadn't..."His voice cracks.
Fuck. My legs areweak. I press my forehead against the cool window glass, trying to ground myself. The city lights blur below.
"Yeah, he would have."The same words I've said a thousand times. They never help.
"Would've been easier if it'd been you."
The whispered words hit me like a slapshot to the chest. I've heard them before, or at least versions of them. I know in my heart he doesn't mean what he says,thatit's the alcohol and the eighteen years of relentless pain talking. But all the air leaves my lungs anyway, my knees almost buckling.
"Dad--"
"I'm sorry."He's crying now. "I didn't meanthat, I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry. I didn't mean it. Christ, I'm sorry, Rylan."
Behind me, Jamie moves. A soft footstep. Concerned. I squeeze my eyes shut, willing myself to keep breathing. To keep standing.
"It's okay."My voice sounds far away, feels like it's coming from outside of myself."Get some sleep, Dad. I'll call you tomorrow."
"Rylan--"
I end the call before he can say anything else. The phone slips from my numb fingers onto the carpet.
I keep my forehead pressed to the window, hoping in vainthatthe cool smooth surface will ground me, but it's useless. I can'tevenfocus on the city lights anymore. My eyes are blurry with tears and the glass is foggy from my ragged breaths.
A gentle touch lands on my shoulder. I flinch, my muscles tensing.
"Hey."Jamie's voice is soft."What is it?"
I need to calm down. I can't let him see how badly I'm shaking. Can't let anyone see me like this.
"Fine."The word comes out rough. I clear my throat, trying to pull myself together."Justneed a minute."
His hand stays on my shoulder, warm and steady. Something inside me wants to lean into his touch. But I can't.
"Your dad..."Jamie hesitates."He didn't mean it. Whatever he said."
A harsh laugh escapes."You don't knowthat."
