Chapter 8 - Reese #2
If there had been any hope left that my help and two days’ rest would fix everything, the first period reminded me how delusional I’d been.
Second period totally crushed it. Theo was white in the face, gritting through pain as best he could.
He held his defensive line well enough, which came from practice.
All he needed to do was convince McAvoy he was fine to avoid further scrutiny. For everything else… he had me.
The horn went, and players filed back into the tunnel. The Surge was 2-1 up, and it showed in the clamor of voices, the swagger as they moved. I grabbed my kit bag and followed. While everyone filed into the locker room, I sidestepped toward the Delta Center med bay with a nod at McAvoy.
Theo peeled off from the group and followed me in, shutting the door behind him with his elbow.
He tugged off his glove and flexed his fingers like nothing was wrong. “I’m feeling good out there. Surviving the checks. Did you see?”
I gestured to the exam stool. “Sit.”
“I’m beginning to like it when you get bossy,” he said with a smirk, then did what I said.
“That’s not a thing.” I reached for the anti-inflammatories. “Open.”
He did, no argument, swallowing the pill dry. The man could make a pharmacy shudder with how casually he took meds.
I checked the strap under his gear, pressing along the band across his bicep to test the tension. The unit held, but the muscle underneath felt tight in a way that told me the irritation wasn’t calming down. Just holding its line.
“How’s this feel?”
“Like a vacation,” he said through a stiff grunt. “Five stars. I’d tip the staff, but I left my wallet in my other pants.”
I didn’t give him the laugh he was looking for. Instead, I checked the edges of the strips to make sure they held. “You’re gonna need to ease off your reach. You’re extending more than you need.”
“So you were watching me.” His tone carried a smug lightness.
“It’s my job. I watch all of you.” My hand brushed past his ribcage when I cinched the strap again, and moved along before either of us could realize.
“And seriously. You have a shot to sail through this game without doing damage, so take it. Your shoulder will thank you at our next round of rehab.”
He gave a stiff nod. “I’ll rein it in. Promise.”
“Good,” I said, sliding my hand from under his shirt. “Because the next few weeks are gonna suck for your game if you end up tearing something. Meaning, there won’t be any game to speak of.”
He huffed a laugh. “This is less fun when you’re threatening me.”
“I’m not threatening you. This is just what responsible people sound like.”
“Then it’s a miracle you sound like that at all.” He ran a hand through his hair and, together with the stupid grin on his face, it made him look like he was enjoying this more than someone in his position should.
I shoved his helmet into his hands. “Get out before I medically disqualify you just for being insufferable.”
His grin widened. “You love it.”
I didn’t answer that. Instead, I pushed past him and opened the door to let the locker room noise back in.
Third period started.
Theo took my advice, and played a tighter game. Not slow exactly, just more calculated. Not that it stopped him from taking hits he didn’t need to take. He was built for contact, and it was useless expecting anything less.
Midway through the period, he took a hard knock against the boards. The puck spit back out to the neutral zone. He pushed off to chase the play, but his right arm seemed to lag a fraction behind everything else he was doing.
Fuck.
“Are you okay?” van der Berg asked. I’d been so focused on Theo, I hadn’t felt him sit down next to me. “You look like you’re about to pass out.”
Interesting choice of words. But it wasn’t me passing out I was afraid of.
“Mind your business,” I replied, hoping it would also be enough to curb whatever he was about to say at breakfast.
A slow smile did little to light up his usually austere features. “You should complain to the hotel manager about the pea under your mattress instead of taking it out on me.”
I shot him a look, but left it at that. Was happy to. We were up by one, and the game was almost over. Any further back and forth might tempt the get-what-you-asked-for gods.
Shawn made a break that picked up the pace of the game to the point where all thought was swallowed up.
A gripping one-two with Mason, who found Grayson wide open near the end zone face off spot.
Defense closed in, but our captain was just too fast and too fucking good.
He dodged them with a tight fake left, and buried the puck.
3–1. The bench erupted, sticks clattering against boards. Theo joined the others in celebrating on the ice, but hung back to wave his stick around instead of pile on Grayson. Even with adrenaline running hot through him, the right side of his body stayed guarded.
I sat there like someone waiting for the edge of a cliff to give out beneath me. An edge I’d danced toward of my own volition. There was nobody to blame for where I found myself. This was conscious thought and deliberate decision-making all the way.
When the final horn blared, and fans pounded the glass, it just became even more certain that the Surge would take round 1 with no upset.
But I barely registered any of it.
Theo skated past our bench with that quick tilt of his head that meant see you inside. His expression easy. His arm not so much.
The team may have been on a winning streak, but his shoulder sure as fuck wasn’t.
Back inside, the locker room celebration churned behind me. I packed my kit on autopilot and headed for the staff exit once I’d cleared my checks. I knew he’d probably come slinking in here after McAvoy had his say, but I wasn’t in the mood to see him or anyone else.
Besides, hanging around would give van der Berg more time to catch up with me and say that thing he’d been meaning to say. Call me old fashioned, but I preferred getting fired after I’d had more than 24-hrs to process the looming sense of doom approaching.
I stepped out behind the arena, the air crisp and bright with leftover daylight. The loading bay had a washed-out glow that reminded me of home, and the knot in my belly eased off as I walked toward my car.
“Reese,” van der Berg called.
I stopped, but didn’t turn. That knot immediately pulling tight again.
Of course it wasn’t gonna be that easy as me slinking off like a common thief.
“Reese, hold up.” His footsteps grew closer.
I took a breath. This was my fault. I had the audacity to dig this hole, so I should have enough of the same to face the consequences.
I turned. “If you’re going to fire me, just…
get it over with. I don’t need a lecture.
In fact, the reason I’m even in this job at all is because of scientific proof I’ve been failing at life.
” A bitter laugh escaped me. “Solid five-twelve on the MCAT, but it’s a tanked Psych/Soc score that haunts me.
I used to be mad about it but as it turns out, the test was totally right.
I’m bad at reading people. Society confuses me.
Or doesn’t get me. Or both at the same time, and just leave Bouchard out of this.
Say what you need to say and I’ll be on my way. ”
He blinked. “What are you talking about?”
I blinked back. Everything in me stalled. “Uh, what… are you talking about?”
“You took the MCAT? I didn’t know that.”
Shit.
I hustled to get the runaway train of my thoughts back on track. “A few years ago, but I didn’t crack it. What were you saying?”
“What did you want me to leave Bouchard out of?” He shot back with a question of his own, eyes narrowed.
Double shit.
And I doubled down. “Forget it. I’m sleep-deprived and hangry, and I think I just got my period so can we hurry this up?”
There it was. The instant look of discomfort, inadequacy, and mild mental torment at the mere mention of the “p” word.
Maybe I was just too good at human behavior, and Northwestern couldn’t risk unleashing the likes of me onto the wider population.
Maybe that was the reason I didn’t get in.
Because van der Berg folded like a freshly laundered t-shirt.
“I, uh, I wanted to let you know the independent evaluation committee is coming out in a few weeks,” he stammered, awkwardly shifting his weight. “Just routine. League-mandated. I figured you’d want lead time to prep the player records.”
My mouth went dry. “You…? That’s it?”
“That’s it.” He nodded, backing up a few paces with his hands shoved firmly in the pockets of his track pants. “Unless. If you’re not feeling up to it… I don’t mind taking—”
“It’s a period, van der Berg. I’m not dying,” I said with a wry smile, deliberately inserting the word again. “I’ll manage a little extra paperwork.”
The relief at not being found out didn’t last long, because as he stood there studying me apprehensively, I realized that all my lies were about to become the subject of scrutiny beyond the built-in trust of Surge walls.
He nodded once, then walked off in the direction of the team bus, leaving me rooted to the spot with the strap of my kit bag digging into my shoulder.
My whole body hummed with the aftershock of an imaginary execution and now also a new, unprecedented threat.
And for the first time all day, the only thing louder than the arena behind me was the truth I’d been avoiding.
Theo wasn’t getting better.
And every lie I’d told had just locked me deeper into the problem.