Shawn made a break that picked up the pace of the game to the point where all thought was swallowed up. A gripping one-two with Mason, who found Grayson wide open near the end zone face off spot. Defense closed in, but our captain was just too fast and too fucking good. He dodged them with a tight fake left, and buried the puck.
3–1. The bench erupted, sticks clattering against boards. Theo joined the others in celebrating on the ice, but hung back to wave his stick around instead of pile on Grayson. Even with adrenaline running hot through him, the right side of his body stayed guarded.
I sat there like someone waiting for the edge of a cliff to give out beneath me. An edge I’d danced toward of my own volition. There was nobody to blame for where I found myself. This was conscious thought and deliberate decision-making all the way.
When the final horn blared, and fans pounded the glass, it just became even more certain that the Surge would take round 1 with no upset.
But I barely registered any of it.
Theo skated past our bench with that quick tilt of his head that meant see you inside. His expression easy. His arm not so much.
The team may have been on a winning streak, but his shoulder sure as fuck wasn’t.
Back inside, the locker room celebration churned behind me. I packed my kit on autopilot and headed for the staff exit once I’d cleared my checks. I knew he’d probably come slinking in here after McAvoy had his say, but I wasn’t in the mood to see him or anyone else.
Besides, hanging around would give van der Berg more time to catch up with me and say that thing he’d been meaning to say. Call me old fashioned, but I preferred getting fired after I’d had more than 24-hrs to process the looming sense of doom approaching.
I stepped out behind the arena, the air crisp and bright with leftover daylight. The loading bay had a washed-out glow that reminded me of home, and the knot in my belly eased off as I walked toward my car.
“Reese,” van der Berg called.
I stopped, but didn’t turn. That knot immediately pulling tight again.
Of course it wasn’t gonna be that easy as me slinking off like a common thief.
“Reese, hold up.” His footsteps grew closer.
I took a breath. This was my fault. I had the audacity to dig this hole, so I should have enough of the same to face the consequences.
I turned. “If you’re going to fire me, just… get it over with. I don’t need a lecture. In fact, the reason I’m even in this job at all is because of scientific proof I’ve been failing at life.” A bitter laugh escaped me. “Solid five-twelve on the MCAT, but it’s a tanked Psych/Soc score that haunts me. I used to be mad about it but as it turns out, the test was totally right. I’m bad at reading people. Society confuses me. Or doesn’t get me. Or both at thesame time, and just leave Bouchard out of this. Say what you need to say and I’ll be on my way.”
He blinked. “What are you talking about?”
I blinked back. Everything in me stalled. “Uh, what… are you talking about?”
“You took the MCAT? I didn’t know that.”
Shit.
I hustled to get the runaway train of my thoughts back on track. “A few years ago, but I didn’t crack it. What were you saying?”
“What did you want me to leave Bouchard out of?” He shot back with a question of his own, eyes narrowed.
Double shit.
And I doubled down. “Forget it. I’m sleep-deprived and hangry, and I think I just got my period so can we hurry this up?”
There it was. The instant look of discomfort, inadequacy, and mild mental torment at the mere mention of the “p” word. Maybe I was just too good at human behavior, and Northwestern couldn’t risk unleashing the likes of me onto the wider population. Maybe that was the reason I didn’t get in. Because van der Berg folded like a freshly laundered t-shirt.
“I, uh, I wanted to let you know the independent evaluation committee is coming out in a few weeks,” he stammered, awkwardly shifting his weight. “Just routine. League-mandated. I figured you’d want lead time to prep the player records.”
My mouth went dry. “You…? That’s it?”
“That’s it.” He nodded, backing up a few paces with his hands shoved firmly in the pockets of his track pants. “Unless. If you’re not feeling up to it… I don’t mind taking—”
“It’s a period, van der Berg. I’m not dying,” I said with a wry smile, deliberately inserting the word again. “I’ll manage a little extra paperwork.”
The relief at not being found out didn’t last long, because as he stood there studying me apprehensively, I realized that all my lies were about to become the subject of scrutiny beyond the built-in trust of Surge walls. He nodded once, then walked off in the direction of the team bus, leaving me rooted to the spot with the strap of my kit bag digging into my shoulder.
