TWENTY-TWO | NATHAN
The past fourteendays have been the longest of my life.
For two weeks, I’ve sulked and moped around, desperately jealous of my teammates, pining after a girl who hates me.
In a nutshell, I’ve been a loser for two weeks.
I genuinely nearly cried with happiness when Robbie called to tell me to get my ass ready for practice because Shithead had been cleared to skate.
Not playing with the team has made me realize how much I love hockey. I know it sounds outrageous because you’d think I’d know, right? I thought I did. But having time away has given me a new focus and clarity.
My next thought was Anastasia and the fact her dreams were back in reach. Jesus, I want to see her so fucking bad.
My bathroom is full of bottles that smell good, just like she does. I’ve never liked the smell of honey and strawberry as much as I do now that I haven’t seen her.
But she doesn’t want me near her. I saw it in her face when she thought I’d lied to her again. I want to call her; I’ve thought about calling her dozens of times, but I’m scared I’ll make everything worse.
Mattie told me how sad she looked when he saw her in class, and I hate being the reason for it. She must care for me a little, even if she doesn’t realize it. When I felt like I was at death’s door with my migraine and I violently and very unattractively vomited multiple times, she was beside me, rubbing my back.
When I passed out on her bed, and she climbed on to check my temperature, I pushed my luck and buried my head in her lap. I wanted to hide from the light that was making my brain fry, but she stroked my hair for what felt like forever. I tried to stay awake to appreciate it, but I couldn’t.
Sabrina is sick of me asking how her best friend is. Every time I even mention Stassie, she tells me LAPD has tons of unsolved crimes I can confess to and to annoy them instead of her.
It’s wordy, so you’d think she’d shorten it after two weeks, but no, she’s very committed to her craft. As much as she likes giving me a hard time, I know she’s stuck in the middle and is super upset. Robbie told me Anastasia forbids Sabrina from even mentioning any of us, which only makes me feel worse.
I wanted to text her to say good luck for sectionals but chickened out when I thought it might stress her out. I want things to go back to normal more than I’ve ever wanted anything.
Getting away from Maple Hills and smashing UT Austin 8–3 was an excellent way to put my drama to the back of my mind.
I was worried I’d be rusty, but everything was perfect other than Joe and JJ living in the penalty box like they were paying rent. I’ll let Robbie deal with them because I’m in too good of a mood.
For now, anyway, it might not last long since I’m sneaking across the hotel lobby with two bags from the liquor store.
Technically, it’s not illegal because I’m twenty-one, but Faulkner won’t see it that way if he catches me passing around bottles of Jägermeister. I was picked to take the risk; the guys say I owe them because they had to take all the shit Robbie normally gives me when I wasn’t there.
Pressing my key card against the door, I push the handle down when the light flashes green. Most of the guys are already in the room I’m sharing with Robbie and Henry, putting their sweaty feet all over my bed.
It feels more like walking into a funeral than the room of a team who just won a game. “Who died?” They all turn to look at me, identical somber faces. “I was joking, but now I’m not sure. Why are you all looking at me like that?”
They look between each other, and Kris is the first to clear his throat. “Faulkner is looking for you, dude.”
“I haven’t even opened a bottle yet.” I laugh, putting the bag on the desk. “How can I be in trouble already?”
“It’s not that,” Robbie says, running a hand down his face. “Aaron can’t skate again, Nathan. You’re back on the bench.”
“What the fuck do you mean he can’t skate?” I yell. I’m going to get another fucking migraine. “Did they compete?” Silence. “Can someone please tell me what the hell is going on?”
“He dropped her,” Henry says flatly, walking over to the bags and pulling out a bottle. “His wrist gave out when they performed, and he dropped her.”
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