Heavy shame presses against my chest, making it hard to breathe and rendering me unable to speak.
“I’m not giving up on you, son.”
My gut twists. There’s that word again.Son.
Professor Davvies never used that term. Not with me. Not because he didn’t love me as much as he loved Atty and Sawyer,but because he was perceptive as hell and understood how that single word had been weaponized against me in the past.
On the surface, I want to hate the way Coach uses it. I want to snap back and lash out. Remind him that I’m not his son.
But the fire usually roaring inside me is barely smoldering right now. So much of my anger and resentment has gone missing. The untamable emotions have vanished.
It’s all been quelled, because none of the animosity that used to fuel me can compare to the enormity of my world crumbling around me.
It’s been superseded by the absence of her.
The realization slams into me like I’ve been rocked into the boards.
Where there used to be a frenetic energy, only calm remains. Where my rage used to live, there’s grief. Is it because she’s gone? Or is it because the last several weeks have changed me on a cellular level?
I had her. She let me hold her. She kissed me that night. She lay in my arms and chose me just hours ago.
She may be gone right now, but I refuse to believe she’s gone for good.
“You’re not bullshitting me any longer,” Coach says. “I need you to be honest about your injuries. And your recovery. As much as I want to trust you, Tremblay, I don’t. You’ll need to be cleared by Dr. McGrady as well as two independent doctors before you return to the ice.”
That sets my nerves on edge.
Coach holds up both hands, anticipating my opposition.
“It’s early in the season, son. You’ll get back out there. If the reps from the Galaxy come calling, I’ll deal with them. With any luck, you’ll be back in the game before our rematch against Great Lakes U in February. I’m still fucking pissed at Maxwell, by the way,” he adds, shaking his head.
“We’ll get them next time, Coach,” Atty assures him.
Wrong move.
Because now Coach is crossing his arms over his chest and homing in on him.
“As for you…” He points a beefy finger at Atty. “You’re either with me on this, or you’re against me. As his roommate and friend, I’m counting on you, Davvies.”
“Yes, sir,” Atty says without hesitation.
“All right, then.” Coach rubs his hands together and offers us a curt nod. “I’ve got to get back to campus and make sure the hooligans who insisted on coming with me actually make it to class. Keep me updated, you hear?”
We mutter our agreements as Coach exits the room.
The door shuts quietly behind him, and the room descends into a heavy silence.
Shifting closer, Atty smirks. “Why did that feel like we were fourteen again and Dad was yelling at us about leaving crusty tissues on the bathroom floor?”
I snort, then instantly regret it when pain lances through my abdomen.
“Fuck. Ty…”
The concern in my best friend’s tone makes my insides seize. I don’t want to get into this with him. I can’t. Everything hurts—my head and the incisions and the constant throb on my left side from my ribs to my groin—but it’s my heart that aches the most.
I lower my head and sigh, but it comes out a wrecked, shuddering breath. Emotion overwhelms me, heat gathering behind my eyes. With a sniffle, I fight back tears.
I’m such a fucking mess.
