“My famous friend,” I croak. “Alexsandra, the figure skater.”
His hard expression melts to shock, a painful expression like I’ve dumped ice water over his head.
“I told her before we were even really together!”
Christos looks down at his lap and I’m not sure if he can’t stand to look at me or if he’s hiding tears.
I don’t hide anything, my cheeks burning. “I completely forgot that you didn’t know.”
He chokes out, “You don’t—” then thinks better of whatever he was going to say, rubbing his face with his hands.
“I do forget things! Especially when I have to lie all the time! I can’t keep a spreadsheet of lies.”
His hand covers his mouth and his shoulder shake, turning his head away from me.
“Christos,please,” I say, thinking he’s crying.
Except the muffled sounds aren’t deep and heaving but… lighter and breathy.
“Are you laughing?”
He pauses, lets go of his muzzle, and rolls his shoulders back. “You would keep a very good lies spreadsheet.”
“Oh, fuck off.”
He bites his lip to hide an obvious smile. “I just want to know… how you’d color code it.”
“Red, yellow, and green by the severity of the lie. Obviously.”
Still chuckling, he hangs his head in his hands.
I inch closer to his face, examining him like a test I haven’t studied hard enough for. “I can’t tell if you’re still mad at me.”
“I’m mad,” he confirms. “And sad, and tired, and heartbroken. But it’s not because of you.”
Somehow that makes me feel worse. If I’m not the center of his pain then there is only so much I can do to fix it.
“The team means a lot to me, Roderick. I’ve played hockey most of my life. I owe a lot of who I am today to coaches, and I want to pay that forward. I did a shit job of that tonight.”
I want to tell him he’s wrong, assure him he’s living up to whatever standard he has in his mind. Except what he said in the kitchen was right. I have no idea what makes a good hockey coach. I have no idea what he said to the team when they were losing and if it was worse when they lost. I’m at a complete loss.
“Christos—”
“I’m not finished.” He waits, double checking I won’t interrupt. “I didn’t mean to dismiss you earlier. You know I respect you as an athlete, but sometimes it doesn’t feel mutual. Like you don’t see the Dingbats as a legitimate team.”
I wait to make sure he’s finished before assuring him. “I do. Sometimes it’s… weird, you know. The Dingbats have always been…” I decide there’s no word that won’t come off as insulting in this already sensitive setting. “Christos, you’re making them a better team. As players and I’m sure as people. You’re a wonderful person. It’s honestly baffling how you can be both this soft, gentle giant and also kind of an asshole.”
He lifts a brow.
“Hockey players are kinda assholes…”
“And figure skaters are kinda pretentious.”
There’s a sting to his insult, and I accept that my words must have been just as harsh.
I stand up, wondering if he’ll reach for me. Beg for me to stay, denying himself the space I think he really needs right now. I take a step towards the door when he asks, “Will we see each other before break?”
The realization makes me wince. I’ve got an exam tomorrow afternoon with plans to head to the rink right after and start my so-called vacation early. I’d change my plans for him if he’d ask.
