15 - Michael #2
"One game," I said, pointing a finger at him. "And then we leave. Deal?"
"Deal," Gabe said, his grin widening.
The game was a disaster for my reputation. The entire Surge team lined up behind Gabe, whispering tips into his ear, helping him line up shots, and intentionally "accidentally" bumping my elbow when I went for the corner pocket.
"Left English, kid! Just a tap!" Landon whispered, guiding Gabe’s cue.
"You're dogging it, Landry! Where’s that playoff focus?" Cash teased.
Gabe laughed, enjoying their shenanigans. He sank the eight-ball with a flamboyant flourish that would have made Landon proud, and the bar erupted in cheers.
"He beat the old man!" Mason roared, hoisting Gabe’s arm in the air. "The kid’s a ringer!"
Gabe looked at me, flushed with victory. "Well? Rematch? You can’t go home on a loss like that, Michael. What will the papers say?"
"Gabe, we really should—"
"Come on, just one more. To salvage your honor," he said, and for a second, he sounded like a friend. Not a kid using me for a ride, but a kid who was actually having fun with me.
I looked at the clock. 1:45 AM. Then I looked at the way Landon and Tucker were actually talking to me about the game, about Gabe, about the next round.
The friend zone, the captain zone, the mentor zone.
.. it was all blurring into one warm, hazy glow of beer and wood-smoke and the feeling of finally belonging.
"Fine," I said, grabbing my cue. "One more. But I’m not going easy on you this time."
The night devolved from there. One more game turned into three.
The conversation turned from hockey to stories about the road, about old injuries and legendary parties.
I was having fun. I was one of the guys.
Gabe was holding court, telling the team about his idiot science project and how I’d saved it with senior citizen glue.
Nobody kept track of the time. Not Gabe, not the team, and worst of all, not me. I was so busy enjoying the rare, golden light of being in with both the team and the kid that I completely forgot about the woman waiting in the apartment above the Leaky Faucet.
The clock above the bar didn't just crawl; it jumped. One minute I was laughing at a story Landon was telling about a botched road trip in the minors, and the next, the numbers hit 2:45 AM. The realization physically nauseated me.
"Gabe. Drop the cue. We’re leaving. Now," I said, my voice cutting through the laughter with a sudden, abrasive edge that made the guys at the table go quiet.
Gabe didn't even flinch. He was mid-chalk, his eyes focused on the six-ball. "Relax, Michael. I’m on a streak. Landon says if I sink this, I’m officially the Surge’s shadow captain."
"I don't care if you're the King of Spain," I snapped, reaching out and physically taking the cue from his hand. "It’s nearly three in the morning. On a Tuesday. You have school in four hours, and I have a death warrant waiting for me at your place."
"Hey, take it easy," Tucker said, though he looked at his own watch and winced. "We got carried away. The kid’s fine."
"The kid is fifteen, Tucker. He’s not fine," I said, grabbing my jacket and hooking a thumb toward the door. "Gabe. Outside. If I have to carry you, the guys are going to have a lot more to laugh about than my pool game."
Gabe saw the shift in my eyes. The friend was gone, replaced by the man who had just played sixty minutes of playoff war.
He grumbled, shoving his hands into his pockets and kicking at a stray piece of chalk, but he moved.
He offered a quick, cool chin-flick to the guys, who were already starting to disperse, sensing the change in temperature.
The drive back was a silent, suffocating vacuum.
I gripped the steering wheel so hard my wrists ached, my mind playing a high-speed loop of every promise I’d made to Kayla.
One hour. I won't let anything happen. Trust me. I had traded her trust for a few hours of being the cool guy. I had used her son to buy my way into the locker room’s good graces, and I’d let Gabe use me to stay out past a deadline I knew was sacred.
"She’s gonna be fine," Gabe said, his voice small and defensive in the dark cab. "She stays up late anyway. She’s probably just watching Netflix."
"She’s working a double shift of worrying, Gabe. Shut up."
When I pulled up to the curb outside the Leaky Faucet, the street was deathly quiet. The bar lights were off, the neon signs dark. But the light in the apartment above the alley was burning a fierce, accusatory yellow.
Kayla wasn't watching Netflix.
She was standing at the base of the metal stairs in the alley, her arms crossed over her chest, a silhouette of pure, concentrated fury. She didn't wait for us to get out of the car. She met us halfway across the sidewalk, her eyes reflecting the glow of the streetlamp like a predator’s.
"Mom, look, it wasn't—"
"Inside. Now," Kayla said. Her voice was a razor blade.
Gabe didn't argue. He bypassed her, head down, and scrambled up the stairs without a backward glance. He didn't defend me. He didn't take the heat. He just vanished, leaving me alone on the sidewalk with the woman I’d spent weeks trying to convince I could be trusted.
"Kayla, I—"
"Don't," she whispered, and the word cut deeper than any amount of screaming ever could.
She stepped into my space, her face pale, her lips trembling with a mix of exhaustion and betrayal.
"I gave you one thing, Michael. I gave you the one piece of my life that actually matters.
I told you he was the only thing I had to protect. "
"We got caught up. The guys were—"
"The guys? You mean your teammates? The ones you wanted to impress?" She let out a laugh that sounded like breaking glass. "You didn't keep him out because he was having fun. You kept him out because you wanted to be the hero. You used my son to make yourself feel good. Admit it."
"That's not fair," I said, though the truth of it was already poisoning my lungs.
"What's not fair is that I sat here for hours thinking he was in a ditch.
What's not fair is that I actually believed you when you said I could trust you.
" She stepped back, shaking her head as if trying to clear a bad dream.
"I was right the first time. I can't have complications.
I can't have people who see my son as a way to bridge a gap in their own lives. "
"Kayla, please. Let me explain."
"There's nothing to explain. You’re a hockey player, Michael. You’re a guest in this city, and you’re a guest in my life.
And guests don't get to stay when they break the house rules.
" She looked up the stairs, then back at me, her gaze turning cold and final.
"This is over. The walking me home, the advice, the hanging out with Gabe. All of it. I’m the only person in this world I can trust with him, and I won't make the mistake of handing him over to a stranger again. "
She turned and climbed the stairs, the heavy metal door of the apartment slamming shut with a finality that felt like a tombstone dropping into place.