“I’m all right,” I tell him. “I figured I’d get a quick workout in before the place shuts down for the night.
Coach Van nods thoughtfully. “You think you’ll be okay to play tomorrow?”
My head snaps up at his question. “Absolutely,” I answer without hesitation. I don’t care if I’ve got to go to the hospital and get an IV of fluids. If there’s a chance he’s willing to put me on the roster tomorrow, I’m taking it.
“Good to hear,” he says, tugging his long hair out of its ponytail just to smooth it out and tie it back up again. “Just a little advice, okay? Number one, get out on that ice and play each second like you always do, with your whole fucking self—body and mind. Number two, lay off the sauce. Alcohol doesn’t like you, bud. It’s past time you accept that fact.”
After dispensing those pearls of wisdom, he heads back into his office and shuts the door. That’s fine by me, though. I don’t have time to sit around and shoot the shit. I’ve got a game to prepare for.
I take a deep breath of cold air and let it fill my lungs. All around me, guys are warming up and fans are filling the seats. Our cheering section is huge, even though we’re down a fan tonight. Fallon, Ollie’s wife, is staying back with Hazel. She’s on Kitten Watch. Mickey has a whole schedule worked out. Honestly, the guy has stepped up, and I’m grateful because my brain has been a jumbled mess all week.
Right now, though, my focus is on the game we’re about to play against Sutliffe College. They’re damn good, but we’re better. And I need to keep my head on straight and get my job done. This game is a relief, really. While I’m out on the ice, Ican’t worry about my dad and the fact that I’ve been avoiding his calls, so a visit is imminent. I can’t obsess over losing Liza and how badly I messed up. She’s not working the bench tonight, anyway. If she was scheduled to, I can guarantee she switched with someone just to avoid me and I can’t blame her. But I also can’t think about her now. I just have to play my ass off, put my whole self into it, just like Van said. I’m living minute-to-minute these days because that’s how I get through.
When the ref blows the whistle and the puck hits the ice, my mind locks in, and nothing else matters.
The first period is a tug-of-war. We’re battling a team that’s not giving up the fight, and we’re pretty well matched. We’ve each scored a goal and now we’re tied, but no one’s giving an inch. Watkins, a winger for Sutliffe, starts getting chirpy when the second period starts, but nobody pays any attention to him, not even Mickey. My line partner is usually easy to bait, but he’s been a little calmer lately, and I’m not sure why. It could be due to a new lineup of meds, or maybe he’s just thrilled about the litter of kittens Hazel’s going to have any day now. Either way, I’m damn glad he’s keeping himself in check.
“Six,” Dutton calls out as he passes me. I doubt anyone else heard him, but that’s okay because his signal was for my ears only. I glide down the ice for another beat until I turn sharply on my blades and flick the puck away from Cordova’s stick. The guy nearly slams into me, not realizing I just stripped him of the precious black disc he was hogging. I’ve sent the biscuit in Mickey’s direction since I’ve got a target on my back now. While I take the heat, Mickey passes the puck to Dutton. He should have a clear shot on goal, but Miller is ready and waiting for him in the net. That doesn’t phase Dutton a bit. He fakes a shot, then passes it to Deano. The guys start playing a game of keep away and while that’s fun and all, I know the boys from Sutliffe are about to pounce, and I’m not taking any chances.
I circle around to the back of the net while most of the players are focused on the back-and-forth between my teammates. As I predicted, Cordova intercepts the puck when it glances off Deano's stick and is headed in Mickey’s direction. He sends it down the ice, where Dutton catches it and redirects it back toward the Sutliffe Spartans’ net.
One flick of my wrist is all it takes to get the puck back to Dutton. Their poor goalie doesn’t know where to look, and his split-second decision to cover the right side of the net proves futile when Dutton sends the disc right into the open space in the bottom left corner.
And just like that, we’re on top.
“You were on fucking fire tonight!” A nameless, faceless voice congratulates me and sets a beer down in front of me. We’re at Wolfie’s, our usual post-game hangout, but I’m just not feeling it. First of all, Coach Van was right. Alcohol is not my friend. I can’t keep doing the same thing and expecting different results, so I’m sticking with water.
But also, I’m just not in the mood to celebrate. I’m damn proud of our win and my three assists and one goal. I played a hell of a game, and so did my teammates. But we’ve been here for thirty minutes, and I’ve spent the entire time playing games on my phone. I want to go back to the house and check on Hazel, but Ollie said Liza was taking over Kitten Watch duties from Fallon, so the respectful thing to do is let her have her space. After I was such an ass, it’s the least I can do.
“Cheer up, dude,” Dime says, pulling a chair up beside me and setting a basket of wings down onto the table in front of us. “You fucking killed it out there tonight.”
“He’s right,” Ollie says, joining us and bringing more food. The rest of the guys join us because greasy food is a siren’s call, but Ollie’s not done dishing out praise. “You’re a grinder, man. I used to hate playing against you for that very reason. You give it all you’ve got, and you hold nothing back. You’re consistent every damn night.”
He holds up a chicken wing in a toast and I grab a stalk of celery. We clink our food together, Ollie acts like this is a totally normal thing to do, and I start filling my plate because I’m hungry. I’m halfway through a basket of sliders when it hits me. I know where I failed with Liza, and it wasn’t at that awful dinner at The Gatehouse. Well, it was, but that same thing could have happened anywhere. When it was just the two of us, I was all in. When we were snowed in on our roadtrip, I was the perfect boyfriend. Even here at the winter carnival, I gave her all of my attention. But at the first sign of adversity, when I knew my dad wanted me to play the role he's conditioned me for, I folded like a cheap beach chair. I’ve been living to please my dad for as long as I can remember, sacrificing what I want to make him happy and keep the peace. But this time, the price of that peace was my loyalty to Liza, and that’s not a fare I should have been willing to pay.
Fuck that. I’m done. I need to be true to myself, and playing the dutiful son isn’t cutting it for me.
Liza is braver than I’ve ever been. She knows who she is, and she doesn’t hide it from anyone. Yeah, she insisted on keeping our arrangement a secret at first, but that had nothing to do with other people’s judgment. It was practical. She was afraid of getting fired, losing her place to live, or them breaking up and leaving her uncomfortable at work and at home. And that makes me an asshole. Less than a week after I convinced her to trust me and go public with our relationship, I ruined everything.
All because I’ve been too scared to live life on my terms.
“In case you didn’t know, she’s just as miserable as you are,” Ollie says, stealing a slider and taking a bite. “She’s not as pathetic, obviously, because she’s Liza and she’s a badass, but she is every bit as unhappy as your sorry ass.”
“How do you know that?” I ask, not even bothering to play it cool or challenge his assessment of my pathetic nature. The guy’s right. I’m a hot freaking mess.
“She’s friends with Fallon. Plus, we live in the same house. I know you’ve been hiding in the basement like a troll, but trust me, Liza hasn’t been herself since you two split.”
“That doesn’t mean she wants me back,” I say, voicing my fear.
“Doesn’t mean she doesn’t,” Ollie reasons.
“Okay, but?—”
“But nothing,” Mickey interjects, reaching across the table and swiping the rest of my food. “You want to be with Liza, right?”
“Yeah,” I admit.
“And she misses you, too, right?”
