“I just don’t think it’s good to look like we are divided before this game. Especially with the Seaborn issue. What if he can’t keep up with Ktytor or doesn’t?”
“Do you really think he’d do that?” Wolfe considers it.
“We don’t know. What if Ktytor is in his head?”
“What if he’s in Ktytor’s head?” Wolfe counters.
“Do you really think that’s the way it’s going to go? Ktytor is a dick.”
“You’re right, he’s going to eat our sweet baby alive.” Wolfe takes a seat on one of the patient tables. “You’re going to have to take Ktytor if he can’t hack it.”
“It’s on me and you if he can’t handle it.” I didn’t want to think about it. We’d need to crash him every time he gets near the goal if Seaborn is off his game.
“He’s a great fucking shot. It will take all three of us to keep him shut down.” Wolfe looks at his hands, and I’m nervous. If he gets in his head, we’re really fucked. The soda water incident could already destroy his fragile state of mind.
“I know. How is Ridgeway?” I ask, knowing the entire team is in shambles.
“Depends on if Coach puts Forest in.” Wolfe tips his head back, rolling his neck. “This season is going to be a disaster unless we all get our heads out of our asses.” He’s right. But how do I agree without saying we might be half the problem.
“I know.”
“You changed rooms.”
“Talk about hitting me while I’m down.” I don’t look at him. I can’t.
“You? I had static panic this morning, and then my emotional support person fucking switched rooms on me.” His words stab my heart.
“That was yesterday.”
“It’s all game weekend so it counts.”
I’ve gone over and over in my head how to explain this to him since I asked Coach Hawke to switch us.
“I’m just trying to make this look less bad.” The words burst out before my brain catches up.
“What are you talking about? Why would anyone think we’re bad? Ktytor is fucking the enemy! At least we’re on the same team.”
“If it gets out to the rest of the team.” I keep going, but nothing comes out right. “I don’t want to be the reason we lose.”
He frowns and doesn’t speak right away. I stay quiet, letting him process. “What we do doesn’t have anything to do with them?!”
“You know how finicky those bitches are.” How the fuck does he not see that if this comes out, the team will blame every win or loss on how we are? We need at least a little separation.
“I don’t want every fucking thing put on me.”
“You of all people should know how superstitious the guys are. Can’t you see how they will take any micro act between us?—”
He cuts me off. “The entire team can shove it and put it on themselves.”
I don’t get a chance to say anything else because he throws open the door and stomps out.
This game is going to be a disaster.
The game isn’t going asbad as I expected it to. Seaborn is all over Ktytor, shutting him down almost entirely. Wolfe and I take care of the rest of their offense, and Boston is getting more frustrated by the minute. Being on defense has never been so satisfying. The only thing I’d like more would be if I could score on Mark. The stuff with Wolfe feels like his fault, and taking out my sister’s life-long shittiness to me on him probably isn’t healthy, but it feels good right now.
At least Wolfe’s mood seems to have improved. He’s wearing a massive smile under his mask. The closer we get to winning, the more physical Boston gets, but the team seems to be handling it well, keeping them shut down.
We sit in the locker room, and Wolfe strips to just a towel and heads to the showers, which isn’t good. He goes to the shower to fix his headspace, but not in a healthy way.
