I didn’t like him talking about her, period, but his words hit hard. They rang true to how I’ve always felt about our breakup. I was blindsided by our ending, and I never had the closure I needed. I wanted to fight for us, but she just disappeared. And it’s true—when my calls and texts went unanswered, I gave up. I could’ve gone to her family home in Nantucket. I could’ve tried to reach her sister. I could’ve done so much more.
Knox walks into the locker room and drops onto thebench next to me, shoulder-checking me. “Okay, now you really have me worried. What the fuck is up with you, man? Your nose still attached?”
I grunt. “Barely.”
Silas moves from his stall, helmet dangling from one hand. “Martin’s got a chin like a brick wall. You tagged him good, though. I think he’s gonna need stitches above his eyebrow.”
“Fucking wuss,” Finn says, his face turning red with his outburst. “Who gets stitches above their eyebrow?”
We all stare at him in surprise because the dude never shit-talks, and it only makes him flush more.
“Got that fucking right,” Roman says, pounding Finn on the back. “Think I’d try to cover this up? Gives me character.” He points at the small scar on his forehead and grins.
They’re all trying to lighten the mood, the way we all do when someone’s off. It’s not working as well as I’d like, but I appreciate the effort.
Knox keeps going, grinning. “Seriously, though. What’d Martin say to set you off? He call your sister ugly? Because we all know that isn’t true. Or was it your taste in beer? He does have a point there. That IPA you drink is criminal.”
Silas cuts in, voice high and dramatic: “And then, in a shocking twist, Whitman drops the gloves and smashes Martin’s pretty face like we’ve all been dying to do! The crowd goes wild! The commentators lose their minds! Cue slow-mo replay and sad but triumphant violin music as Whitman shows everyone who’s boss!”
The room cracks up. I force a laugh, but it comes out rough. Finn impersonates Patrick’s bloody grin, and Knox pretends to be me throwing punches in slow motion—but it fades to background noise when our coach walks in.
The General barks his way through the guys: “Whitman,what the fuck was that? I expect that shit from these morons, but not you. Now get out there and show them how it’s done this time. If you’re gonna pull out your fists, at least beat the motherfuckers! Quit dickin’ around and play!”
He levels me with a glare and nods for me to say something.
“We’ve got this, guys. They beat us in the championships. We can’t let them win again tonight. Are we gonna show them we’ve got what it takes?” I yell.
A variety ofyeahsandfuck yeahsreverberate in the room, and we hustle out when it’s time.
When we come back in after the game, the mood is somber. The bench is kicked by more than one guy, and I avoid looking anyone in the eye until it’s to simply say, “I’m sorry, guys. I played like shit out there. I’ll do better next game.”
“You’re not the only one. It went downhill from the beginning,” Roman says.
“Yeah, because I set the tone, and I’m sorry.”
Some of the guys don’t look at me, and a few others nod or squeeze my shoulder as they walk out. Soon, only Roman and I are left.
“Okay, talk to me,” he says, sitting on the bench across from me. “Our loss isn’t just on you, but you were all over the place out there. What’s going on? I’m worried about you. We all are.”
I rub my swollen nose. “I know.”
He puts his elbows on his knees, his eyes meeting mine, as he waits for more.
“I’ve seen Lola again.” My voice sounds loud in the locker room.
His reaction is immediate surprise.
“Two different times,” I say, softer this time. “Once in Windy Harbor, and again in Nantucket. Neither time planned.”
“Fuck. No wonder you’re a mess.”
I met Roman right on the heels of my breakup with Lola. I was a mess, drinking a lot, and when I was drunk, all I wanted to talk about was Lola. It’s been years now, but he’s probably heard more about Lola than anyone, including my family.
Before I can respond, my phone buzzes—Goldie. Then Dad. Then the group chat takes off.
Dad
Son, are you okay? How bad are you hurt?
