Hughie doesn’t do that. Sam doesn’t do that either. And yet here we are.
“Um,” Terry hums finally, and I shoot him a look because that is not a sound you make in front of Coach when shit’s on fire. “Well… I don’t have an answer right now, Coach.”
Coach scoffs, eyes narrowing like he’s carving us both into a list of future problems. “Fix it.”
Then he pushes off and skates away like that single word somehow explains everything.
I glance at Terry, who looks like he’s actively buffering, shoulders slumped, jaw tight, doing his best impression of a human question mark. I roll my eyes because of course this is my fucking life.
“We should… follow them?” I offer, and even I can hear how weak it sounds.
Terry doesn’t answer right away. He just exhales long and slow, rubbing a hand over his face like he’s trying to process the fact that the two most level-headed guys on this team just detonated like emotional landmines in the middle of practice.
“Yeah,” he says finally, voice low and unsettled. “We should.”
Terry goes after Connelly,which leaves me with the real fun assignment of tracking down Hughie like he didn’t just Hulk out in front of the entire team. It takes for-fucking-ever. I check the locker room, the hallway by the trainer’s office, damn near every fucking bathroom in the facility, before I finally find him in the sauna.
He’s sitting on the bench with his elbows on his knees and his shoulders locked up tight. His jaw is clenched so hard I can see the muscle jumping. The whole vibe is do not engage or you will get bit. Naturally, I walk in anyway.
“Hey, man,” I say, keeping it casual like I didn’t just jog half the facility looking for his pissed-off ass.
He looks up and lets out this sharp huff through his nose. Something shifts in his face when he sees me, almost like he’s sad or resigned to my presence. Which is fucking weird coming from the same guy who used to go out for midnight slushies with me after marathon video game sessions freshman year.
“Wanna tell me what the hell that was about?” I ask. I’m talking about Connelly and we both know it.
He doesn’t even blink. Just pops his jaw with a loud click and mutters, “Nope.”
I scoff and drop onto the bench across from him, ignoring the fact that this place feels like Satan’s personal steam box. Sweat’s already rolling down my back.
“Alright,” I say, wiping my face with the back of my hand. “Let me rephrase. Tell me what the fuck that was about.”
Hughie exhales slowly like even breathing is annoying him, and when he finally talks it’s measured and tired. “No. It’sbetween me and Connelly, and I don’t want to fucking talk to you about it.”
That one hits harder than I expect. Right in the chest. I blink, caught off guard. “Why the fuck not?”
He turns fully then and looks at me. He gives me this look that has my chest literally clenching like I’m about to have a heart attack. It’s the look you give when you’re deciding whether someone still matters enough to explain shit to.
“We’re not fucking friends, Thatcher.”
It’s like getting slapped in the fucking face.
“Since when?” I shoot back. “We’ve been friends since freshman year.”
He laughs, but it’s ugly and bitter. It’s so unlike the guy that I know. “Yeah. Freshman year. And then we weren’t.”
I try to rewind my brain, searching for the moment everything supposedly went to shit, and I come up with nothing. I came in here looking for answers about a fight, and now I’m just standing in the middle of something way worse.
“What are you even talking about?” I ask, honestly confused.
He leans back against the wood and closes his eyes. “Friends hang out. Friends talk. We haven’t done either since you started living with those Fantastic Fuckboys you call roommates. You stopped showing up. So yeah, I don’t feel like dumping my personal shit on someone who ditched me three years ago.”
And fuck.
That lands.
Because once he says it, I can see it. The texts I didn’t answer. The invites I brushed off to go chase tail or get wasted. The times he walked into the house and I barely gave him more than a lazy ‘yo.’ I never meant to stop caring but I definitely stopped proving it. I let time do the damage and assumed everything would just stay the same.
So now I’m sitting in a sauna, drowning in sweat and regret, realizing the guy I used to call my best friend doesn’t even want to talk to me anymore.
