I huff out a bitter laugh at that. “It’s not like your brother and I have a standing date to exchange gossip.”
There’s a gleam in Nate’s eyes, gone so fast I’m sure I just imagined it.
“Promise me, Xan.”
“I promise,” I sigh, “but I still think you should talk to him, sooner rather than later.”
Nicko, January 20th
Istare at the phone in my hand, unable to process the information plastered across my screen. I blink once, twice, then tilt my head when none of it works. It’s still the same.
“Everything alright?”
I jump at the sound of the physio’s voice, realizing I froze in the middle of the room with my shorts around my ankles.
“Of course!” I assure her, and hurriedly step out of them so I can change into a pair of full-length compression pants. The tight material sticks to where Greta spread physio gel over my cramping calves, and I have to forcefully yank it up. Our game went into overtime yesterday, the soreness in my muscles a reminder of an extra period of hockey. So Greta spent the entire session prodding and kneading my body, leaving me loose like Jell-o. Aside from some stretches, we barely spend time on my knee anymore.
She reminds me every session that I’m basically wasting my money. However, I’m not ready to give up my private appointments yet, somehow stuck on the belief that the moment I stop seeing her, my body will quit functioning.
“St. Bernard’s just got their asses handed to them by UConn.” I hold out my phone to wave it at Greta.
Drying her hands on a towel, she cranes her neck to get a better look, then whistles through her teeth. “Damn, losing 5-2 at home? That stings.”
“Yeah,” I agree with a sigh, finally putting my phone away so I can pull the shorts up over my compression pants and get into my jacket.
“What’s with the gloomy face then? Isn’t that good for you?”
I nod. It’sverygood for the Badgers, considering the Bats sat at the top of our conference since the start of the season. They’ve suffered two home losses in a row, dropping down to third place. All it takes for us is winning tomorrow’s game, and we’ll advance past them.
There’s a soft flutter in my chest at that thought. We’ve had a couple of good games since Thanksgiving, but I’m still apprehensive. Our season looked phenomenal last year, and then everything went to shit for me, so I don’t trust this.
“It is. But my brother plays for St. Bernard’s,” I remind her.
And Xander. I press my lips together as that unwelcomed thought echoes through my mind. I should rejoice at his loss, but instead I picture his defeated face. From what I’ve come to know about Alexander Hart, he’s probably blaming himself.
“Oh, well. Sorry to hear that, hon, but I'm a Badgers fan, so you better take advantage of this tomorrow,” Greta laughs as she gently boxes against my upper arm.
***
I do take advantage of it.
On Sunday we send the Bulldogs home with their tails tucked. I’m happily buzzed when I return to the Nook after a shortbut intense locker room celebration, wearing the sweat of my teammates with pride.
I’m hit with a confetti bomb as soon as I open the door. Blinded by tiny paper pieces, I rub at my eyes as a party horn goes off right next to my ear.
“Fucking hell!” I laugh as the arms of my housemates wrap around me, just in time for Olli to complain that “Ew, Nicko, youstink!Don’t you have showers at the rink?”
“It’s the smell of sweet victory.” I grin as I disentangle myself from Linden and Marisol. Since Sasha is at an away game, they’ve all come to the rink today, sitting with Nate. Their self-made signs made it ridiculously easy to spot them from the ice.
“You could’ve dedicated at least one of your goals to us!” Marisol pouts as she accompanies me to the living room. I ordered pizza for us on the way home, and going by the open boxes, it seems like my roommates couldn’t wait.
“Sorry for wanting a hatty all to myself.” I laugh when I say it out loud, because it still feels crazy. My first hat trick of the season! A year ago, my biggest achievement consisted of hobbling to the toilet with my crutches.
“Nicko never dedicates his goals to anyone. Not even me,” Oliver sighs as he flops onto the couch with a piece of pizza in his hands.
“You say it like you would deserve it,” Linden snorts.
“Of course I would! I always believed in him,” he protests and winks at me across the living room.
