Chapter 5 #2
I shoot them a casual smile and slide back into podium position heading into the last lap–even if it’s only third place–hoping I don’t look as tired as I feel.
“I appreciate it, but I’m fine. Just some family stuff going on, and I’m trying to help out where I can.
” Which means that every Tuesday through Thursday from nine p.m. until two a.m., you can find yours truly manning the door at the rowdiest college bar in Radford–Mulligan’s Madness.
During the summer, I worked full-time as a security guard, since practices were technically optional–though I still made it to most–and I didn’t have classes.
With the season in full swing, I needed to find a job that I could do part-time and late in the evening.
And being built like a brick house doesn’t hurt for the vibe they’re looking for.
I’m just the guy to provide the right amount of encouragement to behave while students wait for their IDs to be checked.
Since my step-dad left, I make enough to help my mom with the rent on our two-bedroom apartment in South Warwick, which lands squarely in one of the best school districts in the state and where my brothers currently attend.
Living there was why I was able to go to a school with such an exceptional hockey program, and I know that my mom did it for me.
I went to school with kids whose families were millionaires dozens of times over, and it’s honestly a miracle that the Warwick School District still deigns to allow South Warwick to be a part of it.
My own neighborhood is run-down, mostly filled with apartment buildings instead of McMansions tended to by a staff of gardeners, maids, and security people.
I try not to let it all overwhelm me. The idea of my family losing its housing. What will happen if I flame out this season. How I just know that Wells is going to try and make my life hell for some unknown reason, when I’m already hanging on by a thread.
Even though Coop and Dutch are both great guys, I don’t want to be indebted to anyone.
Ever. I see what depending on someone got my mom.
And the only thing that her piece-of-shit husband, Rick, was good for was making my two half-brothers.
Along with generally paying his share of the bills when he was around.
But since he’s taken off, tired of playing dad to his sons–he was never even close to a father figure to me–we’re on our own.
And I’m hoping that if I can just get through this year and get signed, she’ll never have to date another man like that again.
I’m not holding my breath though. My mom loves us more than life itself, but she’s always had terrible taste in boyfriends, husbands, baby daddies, and everything in between. So, at the very least, I’ll make sure my brothers are taken care of.
We take the last turn on the track, the finish line coming into sight. I’ve been so lost in thought that I didn’t notice moving into second place. Coop’s standing now–staring the television down and trying to hold onto his first place position.
A second to go, and I throw the red shell that I’ve been holding.
I watch Toad spin out as Coop yells, and I cross the finish line in first place.
I don’t realize it until now, but I’m standing up, too.
Actually, we all are, lined up across the room just like we do on the ice, an invisible string pulling us into place.
Dutch shoots me a look before dropping his controller on the sofa and slapping me on the back good-naturedly. “Seems like you still have some gas in the tank, man. I’m happy to see it.”
I breathe again for what feels like the first time in minutes, maybe months.
It’s stupid to feel emotional about a video game, but winning makes my throat grow tighter.
And it shows me that I can do this. I can figure it all out.
I can balance everything, and it will all be okay.
Dutch and Coop have my back, and there’s an end in sight.
I just need to make it through to April, hopefully with a national championship under my belt for my senior year, and I’ll have a great chance to get signed once I graduate.
And even if I don’t, I can probably get picked up by an international league, though it’s definitely not my first choice given the distance from my mom and brothers.
It’s weird, then, how Wells’ face flashes through my mind, his green eyes already feeling so familiar, even after only having met him a few hours ago. He’s the one variable I can’t seem to control. And if today was any indication, I can’t imagine what he has in store for me.
When I finally pour myself into bed later in the night–I don’t get home from the bar until around three a.m.–for the first time in months, I don’t fall immediately into a dreamless sleep.
I’m still seeing Wells, sitting across from me in that cramped office earlier today, looking at me like he wanted his stare to melt me into a puddle that disappeared into the worn carpet.
I’m worried about my next session with him, and it makes me feel like someone’s put a boulder on my chest. I don’t have time to be stressed about this. I need to be spending my time focusing on my game and my family. Not on some pretty boy who’s already made up his mind about me.
Which means that love it or hate it, and I’m definitely on the hate it side, I need tutoring to go well. I need my sessions to be a place where I show up to and put work in, operating on auto-pilot.
I’m a likeable guy–literally. The campus did a poll last year.
I know he’s a bully, but maybe I can change my tack. This isn’t the playground. Or the ice. And I can already tell that fighting fire with fire won’t work on a man like him. We’d end up burning everything to the ground. I can’t afford that right now.
So I decide, as I finally start to feel a heaviness come over my limbs, my eyelids staying closed for longer between blinks, that come Thursday, if Wells wants to keep hating me, then he’s going to be the only one playing that game.