“Sure!” Nate answers from the hallway. I nod absentmindedly and pull one of his drawers open. With a sigh I rummage through sticky protein bar wrappers and crumpled notes. Grimacing, I close that drawer and open the next one.
I find Nate’s charger buried under a stack of pink flashcards and other papers. I push them to the side when one catches my attention.
Get Your Master’s Degree in Creative Writing, proclaims a pamphlet. Dumbfounded, I blink at it, then pick it up and flip it over. There’s only a QR code for an informational seminar along with some choice quotes praising the availability and efficiency of the online course.
“Did you find it?”
I turn to Nate, still holding the leaflet. He stops in front of our mirror, fussing with his hair before finally looking over, then down at my hands.
He winces.
“You’re thinking about doing your MA?” The prospect of Nate continuing on with college feels like a shard of ice slipping between my ribs.
“I…yeah?” Nate raises his shoulders, then drops them in a shrug.
“Okay…what about the Pioneers?”
“I’m a third-round draft pick,” Nate snorts. “I was never going to make it onto their roster just like that.”
“You don’t know that,” I say automatically, then duck my head, raising a hand before Nate can object. “Sorry, I…okay? So you’re just not going to play hockey? At all?”
“No, I want to! It’s just…when I watch you and Nicko, I don’t feel ready for the NHL. I don’t want to warm the bench all the time, or worse, have people say I got in because my father played two seasons for the Pioneers.”
I wince at his words, but Nate keeps going, his hands gesturing wildly, like he’s trying to paint an invisible picture for me.
“I talked to Dad. He helped me get in touch with their team management over the summer. I could start out on their farmteam. They want to experiment with me on new positions, see where I could fit in.”
“Wait,” I tell him, because my head is spinning with all this new information. I suddenly wish I hadn’t agreed to all those colorful drinks, so I could think about this with a clear head. “You already met up with them? Over thesummer?So not only weren’t there any scouts when you made Nicko swap places with you, but you already knew you wouldn’t play for the Pioneers?”
“I already told you why I did it, Xan. I knew I didn’t have anything to lose, but Nicko needed an…an intervention! And it paid off!” Nate throws his hands up, probably frustrated we’re having this argument again, while I grind my teeth.
“Don’t you think that’s something Nicko would have wanted– no,deservedto know?”
“No!” The force of Nate’s answer makes me take a step back. He’s shaking his head as he snatches the brochure from my hands to tuck it into his closed laptop, safely out of view.
“He wouldn’t get it, Xan.”
“What? Come on, Nate, he’s your brother! You two talk every day! I’m sure he’d–”
“No, Xan!” Nate takes a hold of my shoulder, shaking me like that will rearrange his words in my head until they make sense. I don’t fight him but hold on to his arm instead. The contact is comforting.
“Look, I know Nicko is the better player,” Nate talks quickly so I can’t interrupt to insist that he’s just as good. “Whatever you want to say, just don’t. Everyone knows Nicko is the better hockey player—there’s a reason he is a Top Ten draft pick! You don’t have to lie about it to spare my feelings,” he tells me with a sharp look that has my mouth snapping shut.
“He has this lifelong dream of us playing in the NHL together, and I want that too, but it’s just not going to happen so easily. I need the extra time, and Ineeda plan B if it doesn’t work out.”
I sigh as I free myself from Nate’s grip to take a seat in his desk chair. Closing my eyes for a moment, I massage my temple with one hand.
“Okay, I get that,” I tell him, despite the pang of disappointment in my chest. I’m surprised he didn’t tell his twin brother, sure, but I’m more hurt that he made all these plans without confiding in me. “I still think you should tell Nicko.”
“I will.” Nate sets his shoulders, brows drawn low over his eyes as he quietly nods to himself. Like he needs to convince himself first. “But not while the season is still going. He just found his footing again, and I don’t want him to play his last games with a bad conscience. I know Nicko didn’t make the best impression on you–”
I snort as I think about the various impressions Nicko left on me—with his hands and lips.
“–but he has a soft core. He already withdrew from St. Bernard’s because of me.”
I perk up at that information. “He what?” I ask, but Nate just waves me off, his green eyes fixed on me.
“Promise me you won’t tell him.”
