“We’re friends.”
“Judging by the way you growled at Beckford, I’d call bullshit.”
“I don’t have time for more than that.”
They can call bullshit all they want, but they know how busy we are, without adding my mom and Izzie. Half of them have used the same excuse to either break up with someone, or to keep things casual, but Sav is not casual.
“Friends with benefits, then?”
Colt already has his hands up as he takes a step back, like he poked the bear and knew I was going to growl again, like a fucking beast, no matter how badly I try not to.
“She’s not the casual type,” I say like it doesn’t affect me in the least.
Owen gives me a sad look, and I want to ask what he’s looking at, but I’m pretty sure he’s seeing right through me, and knows what I do, that if she’s still hanging around and she’s not into casual, it’s either because she has no interest in me and only wants to hang out with Izzie and learn about hockey, or she thinks she can change me. I usually feel bad for the delusional chicks who want to save wounded assholes, but I think I’m the biggest asshole, because I’ve given Savannah so many reasons to think she’s special, that unicorn who can change me, only to completely let her down. But she is special. And I want to change for her. But then Coach schedules a meeting, or Mom takes an extra shift, Tatum runs a fever, and I let Savannah down. The more balls you have in the air, the more likely it is you’ll drop one. And if you keep pushing it, trying to balance them all, it’s not one ball that falls, it’s all of them. And as much as I absolutely can’t hurt Savannah like that, I can’t be another person letting Izzie down either. She’s my priority. Then hockey, for both my sanity and my future. I need the scholarship to finish school and get a good job with benefits, and there’s the tiniest pipe dream of someday making it into the NHL so Mom doesn’t have to take last minute overnight shifts, she can get a new car that isn’t always breaking down, and I can breathe without the pressure of the world on my shoulders. Savannah deserves to be someone’s top priority, not just another ball they can’t juggle anymore.
“On the ice,” Coach ushers us.
* * *
I’m shaking as I skate out, not that I think anyone can tell under all the pads, but when your insides are a mess, you’re convinced the outsides match, right?
I skate to the plexiglass in front of my seats and look up. Izzie has her head down, so she doesn’t see me at first, but Savannah does. Even though I’ve been an asshole lately, and I don’t deserve it, she smiles at me, cautious but warm. I feel it right inside my chest. Like Mom’s hugs when I was little and thought they could keep all the bad stuff from reaching us.
After a subtle nudge, Izzie finally looks up, her smile bright as she jumps up and down, clearly screaming. I smile at her, at both of them, and wish I knew how to be what they both need.
Chapter Eighteen
Noah
Of Which I Am One
“I’m so glad you’re here,” Mom tells me for what feels like the hundredth time today, her hand pressed to my cheek and eyes filled with tears.
“I come every year,” I remind her. True, I only did lunch last year, then went to Friendsgiving with the team at Coach Benson’s, but Izzie asked me to be her buffer today, so I’m not going anywhere.
“It’s just really nice to all be here together, you know?”
“Heather, leave the poor boy alone.”
I know Doug, Tatum’s dad who seems to be back in the on stage with Mom, is trying to be helpful, but I have to hold myself back from asking him not to talk to her like that.
“Will you carve the turkey, baby?” she asks of me.
“Of course, Mom.” I hated the ‘baby’ nickname growing up because it made me feel like such a child, but I needed it after Dad died, when I checked on her in bed and she’d usher me under the covers and call me baby. I believed it was safe in there. When, a month after the funeral, Mom was still in bed and I was taking care of her, the house, and Izzie, I started to resent it. Because I had to be the damn adult while she was the one acting like a baby. But that’s not the kind of thing you say to someone who’s buried deep in depression and drowning in grief, so I hold my tongue, like I always do.
Doug brought his parents, as well as his sister, Abigail, who’s only a few years older than me. Doug is barely over thirty, which is probably a contributing factor to my disliking him. In addition to the way he strings Mom along and makes a fucking distinction between Tatum’s grandparents and Izzie’s. Which wouldn’t be a big deal if they were all present, but Grandpa and Granny Callahan died when I was Izzie’s age.
Supper isn’t bad. Doug’s parents go home after, but he and Abigail stay over. I’m a gentleman, so I leave her my room and sleep on the floor in Izzie’s, which turns into camping in her fort and probably the best Thanksgiving I’ve had in years.
On Friday, I have practice at four, but the prospect of brunch with my mom and Doug is enough to have me heading out early, though I have to wait for Abigail to come out of my room so I can go in and get my shit.
“Is that yours?” I ask of the book on my nightstand as she watches me pack up. The cover is a cartoon of two people on a skating rink, with the guy in a hockey jersey.
“Um…yeah. Sorry, I’ll make sure not to leave anything.”
“No, that’s not…I was just thinking that looks cute. Maybe I’ll get it for Izzie for Christmas, if it’s any good.” I take my phone out to snap a picture of the cover.
“Please don’t.” She jumps in front of me looking…embarrassed?
