I would never date your enemy, Jordan promises solemnly, like we’re living in some blood feud.
Seriously, Mats would never set up a teammate for discipline or expulsion. There’s no way, I insist.
Oh, so I’m a liar now? he asks.
Why won’t you tell me exactly what happened?
I just told you. He made up shit about names I called him in practice. You know me, you know what I’m like. There’s no way. Jordan’s voice cracks. You’re my sister, Clee.
Now my heart hurts. I know. And I love you. But things don’t line up here. Again, it’s so frustrating to be in the middle of the only two people who know what happened and neither will tell me.
I can hear Jordan’s laboured breathing, then he huffs. Fine. As long as you’re dating that asshole, I want nothing to do with you.
Click.
I drop my phone and stare up at the ceiling, which is barely visible in the darkness.
I run through everything I know. Jordan repeated what he’d said before, about Mats platooning him. But Mats would never lie about a teammate. He was selected for the Athletic Council in his freshman year, which is a big deal. I’ve never been asked, even though I’m captain. Maybe it’s because I suck at keeping secrets.
But now there’s something new: an incident with another team. Yet another thing I have no way of finding out about. I can’t ask Coach Norman. And Mats would never tell me.
Fuck. Why isn’t life like police shows? There would be a CCTV camera that recorded everything on the ice. And I’d get to see it.
Maybe the truth is more complicated; although there’s no way that Jordan and Mats can both be right. I’m so upset that it takes ages to fall back asleep.
Unsurprisingly, I’m exhausted the next day. Good thing it’s a Thursday and we don’t have a game. I drag myself through my classes and manage not to fall asleep.
I’m walking to practice with Becks when my phone rings again.
Jesus. Why do people keep calling me? Have they not heard of texts or DMs? I bitch as I pull out my cell. Oh, yay, it’s my dad. Maybe he’s going to come to my game this weekend. Every week I let him know who our opponents are and try to sell the game a little. This week’s match against St. Clare will be exciting.
Hey, Dad.
Clee. How’s my golden girl? His rich voice sounds like he’s right beside me. I smile, even if he can’t see me.
I’m good. Ready for Saturday’s game against the Saints. It’s going to be a great one, our last game went into penalty shots.
Incredible. And, if I remember correctly, you made yours, right?
Of course, I say. So, can you come?
I’m hoping to. I’ve got a site meeting, but I’ll push them to speed things up so I can get there.
I do a mental handspring. Oh, that’s great news. Should I arrange your ticket for you?
Nonsense, I can pay for my own ticket. Unless you’re selling out the place with your great play?
I chuckle. No, the women’s games aren’t a sell-out. Yet. Because we are getting bigger crowds lately.
So, I want to talk to you about this thing with your brother.
Shit. Well, Jordan always was a tattletale.
Look, Dad— I begin.
Sweetheart, listen to me. I don’t have much time, because I’m in the truck right now. But this Roy Matsumoto guy fucked over your brother, right? So, what are you up to? You’re not really dating him, are you?
I… uh… Only my dad has the ability to render me tongue-tied. But I buck up. I am, Dad. And he’s a really great guy. I feel like there’s more to the whole situation than what Jordan told us.
