10. Connor #2
I don’t know what to say, so I just stand there like an idiot .
Damien doesn’t seem phased in the slightest. He’s still smiling at me, still standing there.
“May I ask what your plans are next season? I heard you were taking a break from Harvard, but I didn’t realize it was to coach.
Were you planning to try out somewhere in the ECHL?
The right agent might even be able to put you in the run-in with an AHL team?—”
My heart races, but I ignore it. “I’m not playing hockey anymore.”
That wipes the confident smile off his face. “Why not?”
I swallow, square my shoulders, remind myself of the plan. “When my draft team dropped me, I focused on my plan B instead.”
Damien looks behind me at the shabby rink, the discarded bag of pucks at center ice. “Coaching juniors?”
“This is just a favor to Coach Garvin, for the summer.”
“Ah.”
“I actually have a job in Palo Alto, in sales, working for a tech company.”
Damien’s frown deepens as he studies me.
“If you don’t mind me asking, why aren’t you pursuing hockey?
You know a lot of people start out as free agents.
And you were just unlucky you were drafted by the team who least needed fresh blood right now.
You weren’t passed over because you’re not good, it’s just how things work. ”
I speak without thinking, heat rising to my face. “They could have traded me. They could have sent me to the ECHL for development, but they just dropped me. If that’s not being passed over, then I don’t know what is.”
Damien’s eyes droop in sympathy. Fuck, I didn’t mean for that to come out. He puts a hand on my shoulder. I force myself to hold his gaze.
“Connor, you’re a talented player. Your hockey career doesn’t have to be over. Give me a call when you’re finished here and we’ll set up a meeting.”
He takes his hand off my shoulder to get a business card from his pocket. “And get a damn agent,” he calls over his shoulder as he leaves.
Coach calls me into his office as I’m heading out.
“Who was that?” he asks.
I keep my face turned away while I mess with the zipper on my duffel bag. If I tell him I was scouted by a minor league team, he’ll be excited for me. He’ll probably tell people. My parents will find out. Then there’ll be no backing out.
“Nobody,” I say.
ELLIOT
When we get back from the record store, Connor’s in the kitchen in a Harvard Hockey t-shirt and dark track pants with no socks.
He lifts his head and smiles when he sees me.
It’s not his usual, easygoing, confident smile.
There’s a hint of uncertainty in it and it knocks me for six.
Seeing him in this setting again after he kissed me like his life depended on it is like stepping into an episode of The Twilight Zone.
The Connor that exists right now—Harvard hockey player who could floor me with a yawn or a friendly smile, the one whose hoodies I sniffed when no one was looking—couldn’t be more unattainable.
During dinner, I avert my eyes until I give myself a headache. I try to block out Connor’s voice as he tells his parents about the progress of the summer camp kids. I especially try to block out the sound of his voice when he laughs at a joke Scout makes.
He gets a phone call and leaves the room to take it, and for the first time since I walked into the room, I feel like I can properly breathe.
His face is grim when he returns. I watch as he slides the mask into place before he takes his seat.
“Everything okay?” Richard asks.
“Yeah, just work, checking in.”
A hush falls around the table. Scout’s cutting into her meat so aggressively she’ll probably take the pattern off the plate. I don’t even think she’s listening until she raises her head and asks, “When are you going back to Harvard?”
Connor swallows and blinks rapidly. All the while, he’s trying to keep that tight smile on his face.
“I’m not.”
She frowns, looking confused. “Seriously? Why not?”
He shrugs. “I’ve got a job. A good job.”
“Why is it a good job?” Scout asks.
“It pays well. It allows me to travel, to?—”
“Do you love it?”
I keep expecting Naomi or Richard to step in and tell Scout to stop hassling her brother, but they don’t. In fact, they’re watching the interaction eagerly, not even pretending to be aloof. It’s the question we all want to ask. A question everyone else seems too scared to broach.
“Sure,” Connor says.
“Really?” Scout asks. “Because I thought your life’s ambition was to be a hockey player. I thought that’s why we had to listen to you go on about it for the past twenty years.”
“I couldn’t even talk for some of those.” Connor jokes, the color in his face has reddened.
“You know what I mean. Don’t be obtuse.”
“I don’t know what that means.”
“Yeah, you do. Stop pretending to be dumb. You’re not dumb. Annoying and cocky and full of yourself, sure. But not dumb.”
“Scout,” Naomi says, but her voice lacks conviction.
“I can’t believe you got into Harvard and you didn’t even bother to graduate.
I could respect you at least when you were a dedicated hockey bro.
At least you were dedicated to a cause. But this?
” She gestures vaguely. “This isn’t you.
Why are you throwing your dream away just because the best team in the NHL didn’t need you right now?
Are you really so full of yourself that you couldn’t handle going through a side door?
It had to be the red carpet or nothing for the great Connor Ryan. ”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about, Scout, so just drop it.”
“Drop it? No. Because it pisses me off that you got in and you didn’t even finish.”
“I tried,” he says, his voice low and his gaze trained carefully on his plate.
Scout snorts. “Sure, you tried. ”
“I did.” Connor sounds like he’s gritting his teeth.
“You just couldn’t be bothered, all you care about is praise and getting to show off to?—”
“I was failing!” Connor raises his voice and cuts his sister off. Everyone’s heads snap in his direction.
“What?” Naomi asks.
Connor’s balled his napkin up and is scrunching it in his hand. “I was put on academic probation and I couldn’t catch up. The classes were too hard and with hockey and everything … I wasn’t smart enough for Harvard, just like you thought, sis.”
He tosses his napkin into the center of the table before pushing his chair out with an awful scrape. Naomi tries to call him back, but he ignores her and storms out of the room.
Scout looks shellshocked. It takes a lot to stun Scout into silence.
“I’ll go and check on him,” Naomi says.
“No,” Richard gently wraps a hand around her wrist. “Leave him. I’m sure he wants to be alone right now.”
Naomi sits down and for the rest of dinner, they have a muted conversation about Connor’s failure at Harvard, asking themselves why he wouldn’t tell them.
I don’t get it, either. Naomi and Richard are kind, supportive parents.
Nothing Connor could ever do would make them love him any less. Doesn’t he know that?
“Do you think he quit his job, too?” Naomi asks her husband.
Richard lowers his head. “I don’t know. I think he’s in a bigger crisis than we initially thought.”
Naomi bites her lip.
The whole time, Scout remains silent, barely touching the rest of her food.
She doesn’t say a word until we’re alone in her room with Bowie playing quietly on her record player.
“What the fuck, Eli? Why didn’t Connor tell me he was struggling? I would have helped him. You could have helped him. You guys literally share a campus. Didn’t you ever see him around?”
“Sometimes.” I shrug. “But he always looked happy with his hockey bros. I never went over to talk to him. He’d say hi if he passed, but that was it.”
She slinks down on the bed. “Fuck. I feel like a total bitch now.”
Usually I’d make a joke and tell her she is a total bitch, but it doesn’t feel like the right time .
I take a seat beside her.
“Do you think he was scared to ask me for help? I know I always say I hate him, but he is my brother. I wouldn’t let him flunk out of school. I’m not a total psychopath.”
“I’m sure he knows that,” I say. I’m not entirely sure he does, but I want to comfort her. “Why don’t you talk to him?”
She shakes her head. “It’s late. Maybe he’s asleep.”
I doubt it.
“What can I even say? Hey, idiot, why didn’t you ask for help? It’s too late now.”
“Maybe it isn’t? He didn’t say he flunked out. He said he was put on academic probation.”
“And his job? Is he just an unemployed college drop out too scared to tell his family in case we judge him?”
I bite my lip. “I don’t know.”
She’s quiet as she slinks into bed and turns out the light. I wait for her snores to tell me she’s asleep.
I’m not sure how long I’ve been lying there, wide awake, when I hear footsteps out in the hallway, the creaky step on the staircase. I wait about five painful minutes before getting out of bed and going downstairs.
I find Connor on the couch. The TV isn’t even on. He’s sitting there in the dark.
“Connor,” I whisper.
He jumps, like I snapped him out of a daze.
“Hey,” he says when he sees me, offering me a weak smile.
“Can I?” I gesture to the couch.
“Yeah, ‘course.”
We’re quiet for a few seconds.
“You okay? ”
“Mm.” He nods, running a hand over his stubble. He didn’t shave before going to bed.
“Scout feels like shit about what she said.”
Connor looks at me. “She doesn’t need to. I should have told you guys what was going on.”
“So, you were put on academic probation?”
“Yup.”
“Connor, why didn’t you ask me for help?”
The sad smile is back. “I was embarrassed, I guess. I don’t know. We don’t talk much at school, or … we didn’t.”
I can’t help but scoff. Does Connor Ryan—hockey star and chiseled god—seriously think he couldn’t walk up to nerdy old me and strike up a conversation?
“What?”
“Sorry, nothing. It’s just … you know you can talk to anyone you want, right? You call the shots.”
“Pfft.”