“I don’t know.” I shrug. “I just wasn’t feeling it tonight.”
Her eyes immediately fill with concern. “Is it your arm? How are you feeling?”
“My arm is fine,” I lie, still feeling the ache of it even now. “Coach didn’t even need to bench me.”
“He’s just trying to make sure you don’t hurt yourself further,” Dee reminds me.
“Yeah, yeah,” I say, waving her off. “I’ve heard the spiel.”
Dee glances back at Ian again. “I’m going to go get a pitcher for the table. Sound good?”
“Sure,” I tell her, watching her slide out of the booth, leaving me and Abby alone.
“I’m sorry he benched you,” she says when Dee is out of earshot.
I startle a little, looking at her from the side. “Oh, it’s…I mean, it’s no big deal.”
“We talked about this,” she says with a frown. “You don’t have to pretend.”
I feel my face fall as I heave out a sigh. “I just can’t stop thinking about how close we came to losing. How it would have been my fault.”
“It wouldn’t have been your fault,” she tells me. “You have an entire team out there playing the same game. It doesn’tallfall on you.”
“Sure, that sounds good in theory, but—”
“Fuck, it’s hot in here,” Ian says, suddenly plopping down into the booth. He looks between the two of us. “What are we talking about?”
“Your mom,” I say, just as Abby says, “Nothing.”
Ian rolls his eyes. “Leave my mom out of this.”
“Yeah.” Abby elbows me in the side. “Leave Christine out of it.”
“You two are no fun,” I say with a groan.
I notice Dee carefully carrying a pitcher back to the table then, and Ian jumps up to help her with it, fussing over her as he takes it altogether so he can carry it himself. It kind of makes me want to barf, how cute they are.
Dee sets out some mugs as Ian starts to pour a round for the table, but Abby holds her hand out in refusal. “None for me. I have homework.”
“You always have homework,” Ian points out. “Live a little, sis.”
I notice her cheeks flush at the endearment, but still she shakes her head. “It’s fine, really. I don’t even love beer all that much.”
“Do you want me to get you something else?” I hear myself asking. “Whatever you want.”
She looks surprised by the offer, but finally gives a small shake of her head. “No, really. I’m good.”
“Okay,” I tell her, reaching for my own mug. “If you’re sure.”
Ian holds out his mug, waiting for Dee and me to tap ours against it. “To victory.”
“Barely,” I mutter, clinking my mug and taking a gulp of my beer.
The cool liquid down my throat seems to ease some of the stress I’m feeling, and I chase after it with another one right after.
“Don’t be so glum,” Ian says. “A win is a win.”
“Yeah, but we lost two games in a row before this,” I point out. “We can’t keep squeaking by with these magic goals at the end of the third period. That’s how you end up out of the finals.”
