“You saw her again, didn’t you?” Tyler asked, pulling on his black undershirt. We’d hardly seen each other since the game on Saturday. He had been practically living on campus, working overtime on a group project for one of his accounting classes. Unlike me, his dedication to high performance on the ice also extended to his grades.
“Who?” I fought a yawn. Breakfast skates were brutal. Six a.m. was too early to be awake, let alone on the ice.
“The girl from XS. James’s sister.”
“How do you know that?”
“I saw you go up to her after the game, dumbass. Is that why you bailed on our place? And on meeting us at O’Connor’s?”
Avoiding his probing gaze, I grabbed my stick from the rack. It was trashed from the game on Saturday. I scraped it across the black rubber flooring near the doorway, removing any leftover tape residue from the bottom edge of the blade.
“Kind of.” I secured the black cloth tape to the heel of the blade and methodically wound it around, working over to the toe end. “It’s a long story.”
It really wasn’t. By the time I dropped Bailey off at home, it wasn’t even ten, and my friends were expecting me to meet them. But I wasn’t in the mood to get shit-faced at a pub while yelling to be heard over loud music. Maybe I was too sober to see the appeal. I got halfway there and made a detour for home instead, which marked the first time I’d stayed in on a Saturday in my entire college career. It wasn’t that bad, actually. And for once, I was in great shape for Sunday’s dryland training.
He smirked. “I bet.”
“Nah, not like that.” I ripped the tape off from the roll and rubbed the end down with my thumb so it laid flat against the blade.
“Why not? Couldn’t close?”
I shook my head, carefully smoothing the tape. “That wasn’t the point. We were hanging out as friends.”
“You. Friends with a chick.” He laughed, sliding a foot into one of his skates. “Right.”
“Why not?”
“Do you want the reasons in alphabetical or chronological order?”
“Hilarious.” I placed my stick back on the rack by the door. Sitting down on the bench, I grabbed my skates from my equipment bag and loosened the laces. “How was O’Connor’s, anyway?”
“Fine. Same old.” He reached over, attaching his skates to his red and white leg pads. “But speaking of female ‘friends,’ Kristen was pissed you didn’t come.”
I tightened my skates, glancing back up at him. “Why? I didn’t have plans with her.”
“She seemed to think otherwise.”
“I haven’t even talked to her since spring.” It had been well over four months, almost five. We weren’t a thing. Never had been. This was why repeat hookups were a bad idea.
And after what Kristen had done, she’d guaranteed there would be no encore.
Ty shrugged. “I never said chicks made sense. Just letting you know.”
I made a mental note to avoid her. Or to continue to, anyway.
“By the way…” He angled closer, lowering his voice. “Word has it there will be a couple scouts at the game on Saturday.”
I glanced around to see if anyone else was listening. They were too engrossed in some story that Justin, a sophomore defenseman, was telling. It involved a raw steak and male nudity. I didn’t want to know any more than that.
“How’d you hear about that?” I asked.
“I have eyes and ears everywhere.”
It was true. Ty was freakishly in tune with the goings-on of NCAA hockey; injuries, scouts, who was signing with whom. “I’m giving you a heads-up in case the intel is correct. I’m not telling everyone, though, so keep it between us and Ward.”
“Roger that.” We were playing New England U this weekend. They were having a hot start to the season so far, but maybe that was a positive; I generally played better against strong competition.
“Make sure you don’t choke.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” I said, standing up. “You’re a peach.”
“Anytime.”
After class, I headed to Starbucks downtown to meet my mom for coffee. She’d been called into the city last minute on a work emergency. Funny how she managed to come in for that but rarely ever to see me. I should have been used to it by now, but the sting never fully went away.
I walked up to the corner where she’d taken a table and two chairs next to a fireplace. She’d already ordered us both coffees. “Hey, Mom.”
She stood and wrapped me in a big embrace infused with her familiar floral perfume. “How are you, honey?” She held me out at arm’s length, inspecting me for a moment before releasing me.
“Good. How about you?” I pulled out the small metal chair and sat. My knees pressed up against the underside of the tabletop. The whole set, made for average-sized people at most, was about two sizes too small for me.
“Oh, keeping busy,” she said. “Work has been hectic, and Rick got a big promotion last month.”
“That’s great.” I tried, and failed, to sound like I meant it. My stepfather, Rick, and I weren’t exactly poker buddies. We had never gotten along. I was sure he would have greatly preferred if I didn’t exist. But he made my mom happy—mostly, at least—which was what ultimately mattered to me.
“How’s school?”
I avoided her eyes, pretending to be suddenly fascinated by the label of my drink. “It’s going.”
“How’s hockey?”
“Good.” She would know more if she ever came to my games. They lived roughly an hour away and hadn’t made it to one of my games since my freshman year. I wasn’t asking for every weekend, but once or twice a season would be nice. Sometimes our away games were even closer—but still, nothing.
Maybe it reminded her too much of my father.
“You know, it’ll be ten years in April,” she said, like she was reading my mind.
My throat tightened. “I know.” Well aware that my dad has been dead for a decade, Mom. Did she think I’d forget?
There was a weighty pause.
“Would you like to do something to commemorate the date? I could fly Sera down for the weekend…” She trailed off.
Would I? Honestly, not really. Did that make me a bad person? I wasn’t sure.
I always remembered April twenty-first—I just did it in my own way, which started with getting obliterated the night before. The timing worked out well because exams were usually wrapping up and everyone else was looking for an excuse to party. It was a win-win: numb the pain for the evening and feel too sick the following day to function, let alone have feelings.
My coping skills were top-notch.
“We could do a small memorial service for him,” she added. “Plant a tree in his memory.”
This tree suggestion was so left field for her. Although she was making an effort, which was a nice change of pace. But we weren’t a touchy-feely family by any stretch; we barely celebrated birthdays. Maybe she was back in counseling—the idea had therapist written all over it.
“I’m good with whatever you two decide. It would be nice to see Sera if she can get away.” Though I strongly doubted my sister would want to fly in from Arizona to stick a twig in the dirt.