“I said nothing happened.”
“Then why are you playing like you forgot where the floor is?”
“It’s ice.”
“Don’t be cute.”
“I’m not being cute. I’m being annoyed.”
“Great. Use that to answer the question.”
I leaned closer, keeping my voice down. “There is no question. You decided there’s a crisis because I had a shitty practice.”
“You don’t have shitty practices like this.”
“I’m allowed one.”
“Not when you look like you’re about to crawl out of your own skin.”
That was too accurate. Too intimate in the wrong direction. He knew me too well, and right then I couldn’t stand it.
“Stop doing that,” I snapped.
His expression flattened. “Doing what?”
“Acting like you’ve got some special pass into my head because you’ve known me the longest.”
“I don’t need a pass when you’re bleeding all over the hallway.”
“I’m not your problem.”
“No,” he said. “You’re my friend.”
The word should have slowed me down.
It didn’t.
“My friend would back off when I ask him to.”
Roman stared at me for a second, and the hurt landed this time. Not big. Not theatrical. Just enough to make me feel worse.
Then his face closed.
“Fine,” he said. “But don’t confuse me backing off with me not seeing it.”
He skated away before I could fix it.
I watched him go, my chest tight and buzzing, and I had no idea whether I wanted to apologize, throw up, scream, or skate until my legs stopped belonging to me.
My phone buzzed on the bench where I’d left it tucked under my water bottle.
I shouldn’t have checked it during practice. I knew that. The rule was practically carved into the walls. Phones stayed away until we were done unless someone was dying or having a baby, and nobody in my life was scheduled for either.
But my brain had already latched onto the vibration.
I grabbed it before I thought better of it.
Vanessa: Are you still coming tonight? Need to confirm seats.
