Page 9 of Tiny Fractures

“As much as I’m going to miss playing,” Shane says, “I have to admit that I’m looking forward to all the extra time I’ll get to spend not at conditioning at the ass-crack of dawn.”

“Lucky you,” I chuckle.

“You’re gonna miss me, huh?” Shane says, nudging me with his elbow.

“No, not really,” I say dryly. “It’ll be nice not having you yell at me all the damn time.”

“Shut up. I never yelled at you!”

“Whatever you say,” I say with a shrug.

“Actually, you did yell at Ran,” Steve says, and Drew nods, taking a sip from his beer. “Remember when you were so pissed that we were losing to the Spartans and you kept yelling at Ran to just check everyone in sight?” Steve laughs. “Meanwhile Ran already had a black eye and had been in the penalty box like three times.”

“Fine, I admit that wasn’t my finest moment,” Shane admits. “But I was just living up to my responsibilities as team captain.”

“Speaking of which, I have a feeling you’ll make captain now that Shane’s gone,” Steve says to me.

I shrug. “Maybe. I have no clue. Jayce has been on the team as long as I have, and he started playing club a lot earlier than me, so I wouldn’t be surprised if he got picked instead of me.”

“Yea, but Jayce isn’t half as good as you are,” Shane says. “He’s third line and gets like two and a half minutes of ice time a game, dude. You’re the god damn center forward, and unless you’re hurt for some reason, you’re always first line.”

“I mean, I’ve been on the team just as long,” Drew chimes in. “Who’s to say I’m not going to make captain?” he adds with a shrug.

Shane chuckles. “Yeah. Nice try, man, but you’ve been slacking a bit lately. May I remind you of that embarrassing own goal you scored against the Knights last season? And you’re the freaking goalie. You have no business scoring any goals at all, especially not against your own damn team.”

“Yeah, man, the only reason we ended up winning that game was because Shane and Ran scored two goals in the last seven damn seconds,” Steve adds with an approving nod.

“And you’ve missed a bunch of practice, too,” Shane doubles down.

A scowl has slowly carved itself into Drew’s face. “I had family stuff, man,” he says through gritted teeth before taking another drink from his bottle.

“And that’s fine, dude, I’m not knocking that. All I’m saying is that Ran is really fucking deserving of making captain,” Shane says, and turns his attention back to me. “Seriously, Ran, after me you had the most points scored last season.”

“You know I’m not the one you need to convince, right?” I laugh at Shane’s passionate recital of my hockey accolades. “And maybe I don’t even want to be captain.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Steve exclaims. “Of course, you want it.”

“I’m not so sure,” I say. “Maybe I should just quit now that you both are gone. I wouldn’t mind not having to get up at the ass-crack of dawn either.” I shrug, causing Shane’s mouth to drop open.

“You know both Coach Belmont and Coach Fox would die of a heart attack, right?” Steve chuckles.

“Plus, man, think about the scholarships you would be giving up,” Shane says. “You have a real shot at going a lot further with this.”

“Okay, you can drop it, Shane. I’m not going to quit playing.” I laugh at the disgruntled look on his face, enjoying the banter. After these last few days, it feels amazing to just hang out at the beach, surrounded by my brother and closest friends.

Cat

“Holy crap, looks like Mrs. O’Connor has her own thing going on and invited all of Long Island,” Vada exclaims as we make our way up the stairs to Shane’s mom’s beach house, the sound of music and chatter wafting our way.

The house is incredible. It's modern and filled with light. The entire wall facing the deck and beach is made out of giant wall-to-ceiling glass panels that stack onto each other and open up the entire side. The floor is a light-gray wood tile that continues through the whole house, adorned here and there by large white area rugs. The furniture throughout the house is clean, white, and modern, and Shane’s mom always manages to have the most beautiful fresh flowers in her home. Today, the white side table next to the sofa holds a beautiful crystal vase filled with light-pink hydrangeas. And to top it all off, the house is also ideally situated overlooking a narrow stretch of the beach, its large wraparound deck furnished with several lounge chairs, a rattan outdoor sectional sofa that looks even more comfortable than the sofa at my house, an outdoor bar area, and a hot tub that, though steaming invitingly, remains unoccupied for now.

“Do you see Steve anywhere?” Vada asks while she scans our surroundings.

I let my eyes roam the deck and the spacious house as we enter the kitchen. “Nope. Is he even here yet?” I ask, unable to spot a familiar face in the crowd of what are obviously friends and acquaintances of Shane’s mom.

Vada pulls her phone out of her back pocket and types out a message to Steve. “Well, I guess we’ll find out soon,” she says, sliding her phone back into her pocket. “Hi Mrs. O’Connor!” Vada puts on her Sunday smile as Shane’s mom walks into the kitchen.

Mrs. O’Connor is a short but slender woman in her mid-forties with stunning blue eyes and wavy copper hair framing her face. She’s wearing a tight black cocktail dress and black Louboutin pumps that I’m certain would cause me to break both ankles at once were I to attempt walking in them.

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