Mickey
When I step out of the shower and into the locker room, I’m not expecting my buddies to be lined up on the benches waiting for me, but they’re all sitting around like they have nothing better to do, and like we don’t have perfectly good couches at home.
My first thought is that I’m late for a meeting, but that’s not it. We just had a meeting twenty minutes ago. There’s no way Coach Baylor called another one. The guy’s not much of a talker. He’s more of an action-guy, and I respect the hell out of that. It’s also why I know for damn sure that he didn’t schedule back-to-back meetings. I look around to see if Coach Van is in the room or if Coach Anderson is leaning in the doorway. Nope. It’s just us.
Absently, I run the fluffy white towel over my legs and torso, give my back a quick swipe, and then toss it into the nearest laundry bin. Immediately, I start cheering for myself and mimicking the sounds of adoring fans. I expect Ollie to jump in, or for Blue to ball up his own towel and dribble it down the room before sinking it into the wastebasket by the door.
Instead, Blue ‘s staring at his phone like it holds the secrets of the universe, and Ollie’s staring straight at the wall behind me.
“Holy shit, guys,” I say, “Did someone die?”
“Nah, that’s just the smell of Jenksy’s gym bag,” Dime says, laughing and then plugging his nose. ”Although, maybe we should check. It’s entirely possible something crawled in there and died.”
“Fuck you,” Jenksy fires back, hoisting his bag over his shoulder. “I don’t wash my socks after the first win. You guys know this. And I’ve scored in the last three games, so fuck. right. off.”
“You sure it’s just your socks?” Dime asks, still holding his nose between his finger and thumb. “Because that’s nasty.”
“You want me to open it so you can find out?” Jenksy says, stepping closer to Dime. “You said you wanted to inspect it, right? Maybe I’ll just dump it out right here and you can take a look.”
The horrified expression on Dime’s face has me cracking up. Leo’s moved down the bench about three feet, and I can’t blame him. Jenksy is notorious for his superstitions, and they’re foul as hell.
Thankfully, instead of pouring out the rancid contents of his hockey bag, he zips it up and heads for the door. “Later, haters,” he calls as he leaves.
I start to throw some clothes on, but when I turn around to check my hair in the mirror, I see that nobody has moved. It’s weird. And granted, I’m not the most normal guy out there. Plus, these are hockey players, and we’re known for our strange habits. It’s not unheard of to hang around the locker room shooting the shit. But the difference is that right now, nobody’s talking.
“Seriously, what the hell is going on?” I ask. It’s not unlike me to miss a social cue. I space out sometimes and by the time I’verejoined the conversation, I’m two steps behind. That happens a lot, and when it does, I always look to JT to bail me out. He’s good like that. He’ll clue me in without missing a beat. But JT’s not here. As soon as he’s done with practice, he’s back on dad duty. Or busy being a blissful husband or whatever. I admire the hell out of my best friend, and nobody is happier for him than I am, but I kind of wish he’d stuck around for a bit today so he could catch me up on whatever I missed.
“Is something wrong? Oh, fuck, nobody got hurt, did they?” I ask, taking a mental inventory of the guys in the room. “Where’s Leo?”
“He’s probably at the library by now. He booked it out of here to study for mid-terms,” Ollie says, and I’m glad Baby Santos is safe and sound in a study carrel, but I’m still a little on edge. There’s something these guys aren’t telling me, and I can’t figure out what it is.
“Is this about Wagner and Bridgette? Because if it is, you guys can relax. He talked to me about it?—”
“No, man, it’s not about that,” Blue says, cutting me off.
“Then why the hell are you all staring at me like I’m about to go batshit in the next five seconds?” I ask, realizing that I’m pacing. That probably isn’t helping the situation, although I can’t say for sure because nobody will tell me what the fuck is going on.
“Nothing is wrong,” Ollie says, patting the space on the bench beside him like I’m a good dog who’ll hop up and hang out.
But I am not a well-behaved dog. I’m not the kind you can take to the park for a stroll. I’m a good boy, for sure. Loyal as they come. But I’ll break my leash and run like hell if I see a stick fly through the air and I think I can catch it. Or a fly. Or a dust mote.
That’s probably why I’m still pacing. My body is in constant motion so that when I need to bolt, it’s ready to go.
“Dude, it’s nothing bad,” Blue assures me. “We’re just worried about you.”
The concerned look on my friend’s face has me feeling like absolute shit. Of course, they’re worried about me. I don’t know how they found out about the letter in my drawer and the fact that I fucked up my credits. Did Barb from Academic Affairs say something? Or did they have to tell Coach? Either way, if Blue knows, he’s gonna tell Wagner. And that means Bridgette will be in the loop ten seconds later. Will she tell our parents? We always protect each other, but this is big. It’s not the kind of thing that’s easy to lie about. Trust me, I know.
“Guys, I know what it looks like, but I’ve got it all under control,” I say, hating that I’m lying to them. I don’t have jack shit under control. I don’t even know how to start getting my motherfucking ducks in a row. Christ, I can’t even find all my ducks. And some of them might be geese. Or baby chicks. There’s probably a kitten or two in the mix, honestly.
“Do you have it all under control, though?” Blue asks. He’s not being a dick. He genuinely sounds concerned. And if I had my shit even a little bit together, this is the moment where I’d ask for help. This is where I’d laid it all out for my friends. Maybe we’d find a solution, although I don’t think there is one. But the idea of everybody knowing for a fact that I really am a fuck up? No, thanks. It’s one thing for us to joke about my many screwups. It’s one thing to laugh about the fire I set, or the house I helped demolish. It’s all fun and games when we reminisce about the time I shrunk everyone's laundry and turned their white t-shirts pink.
But to admit to my guys that I couldn’t even manage my fucking class schedule? That I just have a random pile of elective credits that put me farther away from a degree I don’t actually want?
Yeah, I’ll pass.
“I’m good, honest,” I say, tugging on my hoodie.
“Are you?” Ollie asks. “Because I love you like a brother, and it’s probably none of my fucking business, but we’re all thinking it, so I’m just gonna go ahead and say it. What the hell is going on with you and Viv?”
