I don’t hearfrom Avery for a full 24 hours, and even resort to texting a few old UCLA friends to make sure he’s ok. What I find out, instead, is that they hardly ever see him anymore. On Tuesday night, I finally get a text.
Avery Lawson 11:32 PM
I think we need to talk.
As ominous as that sounds, I rush to agree, letting him set the time and place. He picks the next morning, at a place near the dorms where we used to go for a late coffee during exams.
Wednesday also happens to be the day of the All Star Game, and I’d already planned a full day of distractions, starting off with powering down my phone and putting it in a drawer. For the first time in weeks, I found myself thinking about something other than Ethan.
I walk into the coffee shop ten minutes early to find Avery already sitting there, two coffees in front of him.
“You still take yours with cream?” He asks, looking up at me, deep bags under his eyes.
I nod and take the seat across from him.
“How are you, Avery? Really?”
I hold his eyes for a long moment, hoping to communicate that I really want to know the answer.
“I’m…not good, Jamie. I haven’t played in half the games this season. And at first it was because of the knee, but now…now it’s just because I suck.”
My urge to defend my friend is too strong to resist.
“Youdon’tsuck.”
The anger is back on his face.
“Please don’t pretend like you’ve been watching.”
I reel back, stunned at the bitterness in his voice. I scramble for words.
“I mean, um, some of them have conflicted with our games.” I think they have, at least.
Shit. Is he right?
“So you’ve been checking my stats then, right? You know how many games I’ve been back on the ice for?”
This time, I don’t even try to find the words, knowing they aren’t going to be what he needs to hear. Instead, I silently shake my head.
Oddly,thisseems to calm him. He sits back in his chair, crossing his arms across his chest. Looking at me, he just nods, as though he’s finally confirmed some deep-seated suspicion.
“Look, Jamie. I know you’ve had a hell of a year. But the fact that you think you can just drop back into my life like nothing happened is fuckingbullshit. You don’t call, don’t text, don’t even come home for Christmas. And then you try to push your silence off onmeandmyreactions, as though I’m the only one fucking up this friendship.”
My throat feels thick with unshed tears, but I know that if I continue the silence now, this friendship will be over.
“You’re right. It’s not just you.” I know if there’s any way forward in this, I have to own my part.
He stays where he is, muscles tight and jaw set.
“Can I…check now?” I ask, gesturing at my phone.
He gives me a brief nod, and I pull up the UCLA Hockey website. Navigating to the current roster, I find Avery’s line, my eyes tracing across the numbers.
“You…you’ve only played in five games? I thought you got back on the ice in October.”
My eyes lift from the series of zeroes on the website to his face. His lips are pressed tightly together, the corners bending downward.
“It…it didn’t go well.” His voice is hoarse, and as much as his pain hurts me to hear, I’m so glad he’s willing to share with me.
