Chapter Five
Five
Kian
Everything is fucked.
My hangover. My plan to graduate. Hockey.
Completely and utterly fucked.
“Mr. Ishida, take a seat. I will let you know when Dean Hutchins is available.” The secretary lets out an exasperated breath, touching her temples like my pacing is making her dizzy.
Fifteen minutes ago, I received the kind of news that flattened my poor, battered heart. Dylan failed his drug test and is most definitely getting kicked off the team. Which means that for the first time in twelve years, we aren’t playing hockey together.
See? Completely fucked.
When Coach Kilner called I knew it couldn’t be good, and that became clear as I watched the color drain from Dylan’s face.
It drove me crazy that I had to stand there and listen to my best friend’s life falling apart and I couldn’t do anything about it.
Fortunately, I’m not one to take things sitting down. I immediately ran to the dean’s office, where I’ve been walking the waiting room carpet ever since.
I need to fix this.
Dylan didn’t take hard drugs, but for the NCAA, even a drop of uncertainty around a player has major repercussions.
Not to mention that the NHL will be on his ass if this gets reported.
The consequences are endless. Suspension.
Expulsion. Being released from his NHL contract. Where we’re supposed to play together.
All those options suck. But I’m determined none of those things will happen to Dylan because a few years back, Dalton’s quarterback also failed his drug test and was granted permission to continue playing if he agreed to weekly drug tests and community service.
My calendar app pings with the reminder to meet Scarlett in the library. There’s a lot I don’t remember from last night’s party, but she’s impossible to forget.
“Is he available now?” I ask the secretary for the third time.
Her eye twitches, and I back away slowly. I’m still pacing, thinking of what I’ll say to Dean Hutchins, when the waiting room door flies open.
Summer Preston blows through it like a storm front, tossing the secretary a polite wave before zeroing in on me with a look sharp enough to slice concrete.
Summer and I met in a psychology class freshman year. We became best friends since I was in most of her undergrad courses, and that was before she started dating our captain, Aiden Crawford. After that she basically lived with us for a whole semester before he left.
“Hey, Sunny. What’s up?”
She narrows her eyes. “What’s up? Are you seriously asking me that when you’re the one standing here about to get your best friend in even more shit?”
“You know about the test?” I mean, I did text the guys and tell them immediately after I found out, but that was an accident.
“Of course I know. And I also knew that when you found out, you would either be sulking at home or be here. So I had to stop you.”
“From what?”
“This! Kilner is the first to know about drug testing, which means the dean has no clue. How do you think it’ll go when he finds out, from you, that a senior athlete failed his drug test?”
“Not good?”
She yanks me toward the door and flashes the secretary a grin. “Thanks for your time! Poor guy thought this was the library. Athletes, am I right?”
The second we’re outside, I jerk my arm free of her grip. “Hey. I know where the library is now.”
“I’m sure you do, buddy.” She pats me on the arm, already steering me toward Aiden’s truck. Driver’s side.
“How was the study group yesterday?” she asks when I pull out of the parking lot.
A vision of red hair crosses my mind and then the requirements for the course, page after page. “I just went through the syllabus.”
“Still brutal? I heard Dr. Dunn is back and he’s worse than ever.”
I nod. “Taking Advanced Stats my last semester might be the dumbest thing I’ve ever done.”
“You’ve done worse things.” Summer taps her phone a few times until mine pings. “I sent you all the notes and assignments I have. You’ll do fine.”
Other than the guys, Summer’s the only one who knows why I’m hell-bent on getting that parchment. She wasn’t there to see who I became when my dad died, but she seems to understand why I want this just the same.
“You could just tutor me, you know.” I bat my eyelashes when I glance at her.
She scoffs. “I’d rather take a swim in the Eco Center Pond.”
Worth a try.
When we pull up to the hockey house, Summer drops me off because she has to study and I walk into a place that’s completely empty. Dylan’s probably still at the rink getting chewed out by Coach, and the rest of the guys are at the gym.
In my room, there’s already a vinyl playing “I’m Not In Love” by 10cc, but I swap it. Pulling a random one from the stacks I still haven’t sorted. I have a bit of a problem, like the guys always say.
“Give Me Novacaine” by Green Day echoes in my room, and the absence of bodies to absorb the sound gnaws at an ache in my chest I hadn’t known was there again.
I fall back onto my mattress. I barely register what I’m doing before my phone’s to my ear and my sister is answering after a few rings.
“Kian? Are you okay?” Kiyomi’s concerned voice is immediate.
It’s been four years, yet every conversation between us since has carried the same anxious weight. It was after my dad’s funeral, when I returned to Connecticut and didn’t understand how to go back to my life as if it hadn’t ended right there in that hospital room.
I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t do anything but dial Kiyomi. She heard my first panic attack, and now she picks up as if she’s bracing for that moment to happen again. Like some fucked-up version of Groundhog Day.
“I’m fine, Ki.” I chuckle to lighten the mood. “I just called to check on you and Mom.”
Her exhale is heavy. I can’t decide whether it’s from relief or from me adding to her already overflowing plate. “Everything’s good, pip. Nothing for you to worry about.”
Sometimes calling her feels like wearing my dad’s old sweater, only to find it doesn’t smell like him anymore.
“Mom too?”
“Yes, she’s fine.” Her response is curt, like she’s warning me. I can never tell of what.
Every year that goes by, I’m less satisfied by her synthetic responses. I’ve always been kept in the dark. No one told me my dad was sick until it was too late.
Apparently, he thought it was best that I stay focused on school rather than on the fact that he was dying of lung cancer. I should have known something was wrong. I could’ve helped.
After Dad died, Mom sank into a depression I didn’t know about until Kiyomi accidentally cc’d me on an email to a psychiatrist. It’s the only reason I know about Mom’s dementia too.
“How’s the semester treating you?” she asks.
“It’s okay. I signed up for a study group and I have a tutor. I’m on track to graduate.” I brace myself before I continue. “But I was thinking I could drive up to see you guys this weekend? Before everything gets hectic here.”
There’s a long pause and then that same sigh I’ve become so accustomed to. “This weekend isn’t great, Kian. I’m really busy with work, and it’s been hard getting all of Mom’s meds with her psychiatrist out of the office. I can’t take care of you too.”
I bite back the urge to argue because I know where it leads.
Last time I pushed, it ended with silence that stretched for too long and me calling the next day to apologize.
Ki laughed softly and said she could never be mad at me, that she was just tired.
Always tired. Always stressed. Always busy.
And no matter how many times I offer to help, she never lets me take any of the weight.
I’ve always been little Kian, the one with a fragile heart, too gentle.
It’s why I started to play hockey. It was the toughest sport I could think of.
And it turns out that I’m good at it. But I wanted to be someone people could rely on.
I could make a difference. I just don’t know how to show her that.
The backs of my eyes burn. “Yeah, I get it. Forget I asked.”
“Kian—” A beeping starts behind her. “I have to go. Love you. I’m sorry.”
The call disconnects before I can say it back.