Page 77 of Off Sides

Food is probably a good idea and it gets me out of here for a while. Away from the memories of Joey and the plans we made for the week.

The dining hall is quiet enough that I have an entire table to myself. Not really what I wanted but probably for the best. I was hoping for some social interaction, something to distract me.

I’m shoving some French toast into my mouth when my phone lights up with a notification. An email from Expedia? What the hell? I’m about to delete it when the subject line catches my attention. Your flight confirmation DEN – SEA.

Clicking on the email, I sigh when I see my name and flight information. Brent bought me a fucking ticket home and it leaves in…seven hours.

I shove the rest of my food in my face hole and clear my tray. I should probably take a shower and shove some clothes in a bag. Do I have clean clothes? Who knows. I can do a load at home if I need to…

As I head into the dorm building, Bryce stops me.

“You hear from Carp?” he asks.

“No.” I shake my head.

“I messaged his sister on the book of faces last night and she messaged me this morning saying he was home.”

Why the fuck didn’t I think of that? “Oh, thanks.” I’m a fucking moron. Since I don’t do social media—growing up with foster kids means no sharing of information online—it didn’t even cross my mind to see if Joey had one. Now I have to go stalk it.

I shove some shit into a duffle bag, take a quick shower, then pull up the website on my phone browser, and search his name.

A few people come up but I recognize my Joey when I see him, even if the picture is old. His profile picture is a selfie from a few years ago with a group of hockey players in their kits. All smiles and cheering, so I assume it was a big game they won. He looks happy, despite the bags under his eyes.

Flipping through the pictures he has, I don’t learn much. Hockey and his siblings are all he ever posted about and that was few and far between. His security is shit too. I can see places he’s checked into, family members, friends list, pictures, schools he went to.

A text pops up in my phone and I switch over to look at it.

BRENT:

Get on the damn plane and come home. I’ll pick you up at the airport.

NICK:

Who made you my keeper?

BRENT:

You did.

NICK:

That doesn’t sound right.

BRENT:

?? Get on the damn plane.

NICK:

Where’s my Uber?

BRENT:

????

Since it’s a Friday night and all of the universities around here are starting spring interterm, it takes a while to get through security, but the flight is short and Brent’s stupid face is waiting for me when I land in SeaTac.

Brent gives me a half smile and a tight hug. Fuck, I needed that. Brent has been my person for years, even from several states away, and I miss him.

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