“No. It got better around middle school.”
“But what changed?”
I can see the hesitation in him growing by the second. I thumb his bottom lip out of his mouth.
“Just adult life stressors made it worse.” He’s lying. I can always tell by the expression on his face when he looks away from me at the end of a sentence. The combination of scrunched brows and pinched lips to one side is his tell, and he doesn’t even know it. He doesn’t do it often—maybe a few times in our entire friendship—but it’s hard to miss.
“Well, I’ll be here waiting to help when you decide to tell me about those life stressors.”
His gaze drifts up and locks on me, and I gently stroke his head and nod. I hope he knows that whatever it is, it won’t matter to me the way he may think it will.
I can feel his heartbeat against me, see him contemplating, but then he falters.
“Let’s go make breakfast.” He jumps up without another word and starts his day like the conversation never happened. Whatever it is, he seems to be heavily guarding it. It’s no wonder I’ve never known what this is all about.
But why would he keep this from me?
Chapter Fourteen
Three weeks later
Bodie
“Fuck yes !” The team is loud and obnoxious as we leave the locker room. “We’re in the playoffs. How fucking cool is that?” The nineteen-year-old rookie is the loudest, but we’re all on a high tonight.
“It’ll be cooler when we win the playoffs, rook.” Teasing the newb is a rite of passage.
“Where are we headed to, boys?” Mickells questions.
More than half the guys start bowing out to go home to their partners and families. Seven of us are left, and we decide to head to a bar Davidson chose in South End. I hitch a ride with him, although I’m not sure it was a smart decision when I hop in his truck and find him frustrated and texting.
“Dude, you good?” He makes me nervous when he doesn’t respond. “Davidson.”
“Yeah, yeah. I’m good.” His phone lands on the floor in the back seat, and his truck roars to life. Davidson is a big ol’ country boy—he loves beer, big trucks, and noisy mufflers, but he’s built like a brick house and skates like a champ. I have no idea how he’s never been called up before.
The music blares from the speakers as he gets us there faster than the speed limit should’ve allowed. “Buddy, you sure you’re okay? We don’t have to go in there if you’re not up for it.”
“Oh, fuck no. I’m going in there.” The truck door slams behind him, and then I’m walking into the place, terrified of what this night has in store for me.
“Heeeyyy. It’s about time you slowpokes made it here.” Mickells greets us with a couple bottles. “This place is fucking crowded. There’re chicks everywhere.” He leans in to tell us like it’s a secret.
“You’re so perceptive, Mickells,” Davidson says as he scans the crowd. He does a double take, and I quickly look in that direction, but I don’t see anyone I know.
“Hey, I’m just trying to help my brothers out. What’s your weakness, Davidson? Blondes? Brunettes?”
“Redheads.” He downs his beer, still scanning the crowd.
“Oh, man. That’s a hard order to fill.”
“I don’t need your help, Mickells,” Davidson growls at him.
“Whoa. What crawled up your ass, Cap?” Mickells throws his hands in the air.
“Alright. Let’s go get some shots. Looks like someone needs to unwind a bit before he’s allowed to socialize.” I shove my friend toward the bar, while Mickells moves on to his next one-night stand who thinks he gives a shit about anything but hockey.
“What’s your poison tonight, Cap?”
“Water.”
