52. Sydney
fifty-two
sydney
“It’s time.” Penn sits cross-legged on my bed, mirroring me. He holds out my phone. “You’ve got a thousand messages from people who care about you. I screened the asshole ones, of which there were only a small amount.”
Carter, true to his word, left almost before the sun was up. It was a quick trip for him, but he made it for me . He came because Penn told him to, and there was no hesitation on his part.
After letting me lie down for almost twenty minutes, Carter dragged me up and put me in the shower. He stayed in the bathroom with me, sitting on the floor outside the tub, while I slowly scrubbed myself clean.
When we came out, Penn had ordered room service.
So we ate, and they kept conversation superficial, discussing the teams they’re playing tomorrow and what classes they’re taking. They didn’t try to loop me into it too much, although Penn and I complained about the people in our Intro to Law class for a solid five minutes.
I can’t keep my head in the sand, so I take the phone.
The missed calls are overwhelming. I skim the names: Dad, Perri, Carter, Penn, Maddy, Brandon, Dylan. Even Oliver. Twice . And L. five times.
He called me five times?
A lump forms in my throat. I don’t even know him, and he realized my absence.
There are voicemails from most of them, too. Not L., although I would’ve been curious to hear what he had to say.
Text messages. Dad’s go from normal to worried over the span of a few days. Perri’s, too, finally concluding that they’re going to swing by my apartment to check on me.
L. wondering where I am.
Maddy asking if I’m okay, then asking where I am. If I’m sick or in the hospital.
Brandon…
I cover my mouth at his last text from yesterday evening.
Brandon
Dyl is counting on us to be at her first home v-ball game, Sydney. You can’t just up and vanish on us. All week, sure, whatever. But tonight? After you promised to be there for her? What the fuck?
Penn takes it and scans the message, then mutters something about not screening messages from my supposed friend .
The next thing I know, he’s calling Brandon on speaker phone.
“About time,” Brandon snaps. “Now that the game is over. They lost, by the way. Dylan was crushed.”
“As sweet as it is that you care so deeply for your bestie,” Penn drawls, “you might want to consider why Sydney went radio silent.”
Brandon pauses. “Who is this?”
“Penn Walker.”
“Where is she?”
“She’s sitting across from me, wondering why the fuck I’m calling you. This is the first time she’s had her phone on since Monday, by the way. What a swell fucking message to read when your supposed friend is not doing well.”
“What happened?” Brandon clears his throat. “Seriously.”
“I’m not telling a shitty friend like you anything,” he growls. He reaches over and snags my hand, squeezing tight. “Take it from me—there are more important things in life than sports.”
He jabs the end button and wrinkles his nose.
“Thanks,” I mutter.
“Nah, that jackass had it coming.” He smiles. “I’ve got to get to morning skate. You want to come along?”
Surprisingly… I do.
Sometime last night, he and Carter moved their bags into my room. He pulls on sweatpants and a sweatshirt and waits for me to get dressed, too.
I text Dad that I’m coming with Penn to practice.
He responds with a yellow heart emoji.
At the rink, Penn brings me down to the bench then heads to the locker room. Dad stands with papers on a clipboard, and he seems to be marking down notes. I sit beside him, leaning against the plexiglass at our backs. The team emerges from the locker room and takes to the ice, and Dad glances my way.
“Glad to see you out and about,” he comments. “With Penn…”
I smile.
“Uh-huh. I don’t like that look on your face.”
My eyes widen. “What?”
“Happiness.” He leans over and kisses the top of my head. “A goalie making you happy, sweetheart? We’ve got to work on your taste.”
I laugh.
When Oliver takes the ice, my heart skips. He glances our way, then does a fucking double take.
His practice, it’s almost needless to say, goes terribly.
“I don’t suppose I need to castrate my captain,” Dad says casually, sitting beside me.
I choke.
“Because it seemed like you were dating. And then you shut down. And now you’re smiling at Penn Walker.” He pats my back.
“Yeah.” I wave him off. “Well, I don’t know. No, don’t hurt Oliver. He didn’t… it’s fine.”
He sighs.
“Dad?”
He tips his head in my direction.
“Do you think Mom is selfish enough to never come back?”
That gets his attention. He puts his hand on my knee, shaking his head slowly. “I’ve considered that. I’ve contemplated a lot of reasons for her to leave you. But the main theory I’ve reached is that she realized you are an adult, fully capable of living the life you want without her. You mentioned you were sending money home to cover rent? It’s possible your responsibility scared her.”
“So it’s my fault,” I murmur.
“That’s not at all what I’m saying, Sydney. It’s her problem whether she can cope with realistic situations. Such as a twenty-year-old woman flourishing in her own space.”
My cheeks heat.
Our attention goes back to the players, and Dad stands up. He steps down and blows the whistle, calling them all to him. I tip my head back and close my eyes, wanting to absorb what he’s saying but not deal with the stares.
Or see Oliver trying to avoid my gaze.
Dad’s coaching voice is the same, even after all these years. It triggers memories of being on the ice with him as a kid. Those are the ones that often come back whenever I think about my childhood with him.
“Ruiz. A moment.”
My eyes snap open.
Oliver and Dad remain at the bench.
“Do you remember what I told you at my house?” Dad asks.
Oliver blanches. He clears his throat and says, “That I have my whole life ahead of me to date girls. But not this girl.”
“And yet…”
“And yet,” Oliver repeats. His expression blanks. “Are you going to kick me off the team, Coach?”
“No. I am going to make the whole fucking team skate until their legs fall off as soon as we get back to Framingham.” Dad smiles. “So you have that to look forward to. I’m sure your teammates will thank you. Now get back out there.”
He skates away.
I groan. “Jeez, thanks.”
“What?” Dad shakes his head. “I’m just protecting my baby girl.”