Jaysen drops the sneer but keeps his eyes narrowed and focused on me.
Zero scoffs with disgust. “I can’t believe I have to share a line with a couple of children. Get off my ice.”
There’s a moment of disquieting silence, a lack of sound fully out of place in an arena this size. Jaysen keeps looking at me with a murderous intensity I do everything in my power to return with apathy. I get more satisfaction out of seeing him turn away first than I ever have from anything else.
He shrugs the arms off him and grabs for the broken halves of his stick. I let him get a few strides ahead of me before following, keeping my eyes down as we pass the coaches. They let us go without a word, apparently trusting Zero’s judgment. We keep our backs to each other as we strip off our gear in the locker room.
The sound of him losing that smooth, quiet cockiness and throwing his gear into his stall is the most soothing thing I’ve ever heard.
NOVA VINTER
Mickey: Have you ever hated someone so much you wanna suffocate them with your own tongue
Nova: Do you not remember eighth grade?
Mickey: Fair point
Nova: Who’s earned your hate lust this time
Mickey: You act like it’s a common thing
Nova: You hate everyone mj
So it’s an every time thing
Mickey: Whatever
Just promise not to laugh
Nova: Oh this is gonna be good
Mickey: I regret this already
Jaysen Caulfield
Nova: No way
Lmaoooooo
Mickey: I hate you.
Nova: I know
Do we need to talk about eighth grade again?
Never thought i’d see the day you fall for a hockey player
Mickey: I didn’t fall for him
He’s just hot
And infuriating
Nova: Right
Can i officiate the wedding?
Mickey: K bye talk to you n ever
FOUR
Even with headphones over my ears and my three oldest sisters talking over one another on the screen of my laptop, I still hear the thump of bass-heavy music coming from all directions. Across the room, Dorian has his own headphones on, head bobbing slightly along with whatever screaming mess he’s listening to while doing homework.
My oldest sisters are a lot older and we don’t get to talk much, but we’re still pretty close thanks to group chats and Snapchat. Mikayla’s the oldest at thirty, born when Mom and Dad were still teenagers, less than a year after they met in the hospital at the Olympics when Mom twisted her ankle in training and Dad took a puck to the face in a game against Finland. Now Mikayla’s a sports information director at a university in Arizona, engaged to Spencer Brimm of the Arizona Coyotes with a baby on the way. Her life is disgustingly put together.
Nicolette and Madison are twenty-eight, identical twins who I probably wouldn’t be able to tell apart if it weren’t for their haircuts, that’s how little I see them. Nicolette keeps hers long and braided, always looking like she’s ready to hit Olympic ice all over again. Madison has hers cut to her chin. She went to school for teaching and got a job right out of college and has coached her school’s varsity field hockey team to three state championships since.
I am constantly overwhelmed and astounded by how incredible all my sisters are in all the things they do. The list of their successes is never-ending. But nobody seems to care about them. Because they’re women. Because women kicking ass in their sports means less to them than an unproven seventeen-year-old boy with nothing to show for himself but a name.
Sometimes. A lot of the time. I really hate myself.
I pull my knees up to hide my frown from them. Now’s not the time to get into one of my moods. I have plans tonight, and I’m not about to let my brain ruin my fun.
On the screen of my laptop, Nicolette’s eating pizza and drinking wine in her apartment in Colorado Springs. Madison’s curled up in bed at Mom and Dad’s house with a blanket pulled up to her chin, and Mikayla’s in her office at the university.
“If you had a real job, you’d understand the struggle, Cole,” Mikayla murmurs. Her eyes are fixed on her work computer, fingers flying over the keyboard. Madison’s squeaky yawn sounds like an agreement. “This school’s top sport is volleyball, and I’m leaving my athletic department in the hands of a guy who doesn’t even know what a libero is. For six weeks! I’m seriously considering giving birth in my office.”
“And that is precisely why I will never have a real job.” Nicolette raises her wineglass in a toast with herself before swallowing a mouthful. She still has glitter on her eyelids from her day at the rink. “Look at this, what is it, nine on the east coast? And Mad’s half-asleep? It’s Friday night, dude, fuck a real job.”