Page 36 of Untouchable Player

I keep quiet, letting him tell me what he wants to, but my mind can’t help racing. Why The Hilton? Is Nate there? Is he in trouble? Did he go to The Hilton with someone? Did they hurt him? My hands ball into fists at my side.

“My mom’s there.”

“Oh.” My fists un-ball, but not completely. I like Jones’ mom, she always makes us pizza and lets us hang out in her pool, even though we must be annoying as shit.

“I guess she had a row with my dad.”

“Oh. Is she okay?”

“That’s what I’m going to find out.” I wait for theidiotordumbass,but it doesn’t come. I guess he’s too caught up in this stuff with his mom to call me names. “My dad can be kind of a dick sometimes.”

“I know the feeling.”

Jones sighs. “Fucking dads man.”

I never imagined Jones having a problem with his dad before. He’s the good-looking guy with a Rolex, who comes to all our important games in a Beemer with a beautiful wife on his arm. I can’t imagine him ever making his son feel guilty for having to re-mortgage the house so he could play hockey, though it was him who really wanted the son to play hockey in the first place.

Jones walks around like nothing’s ever touched him in his life. Like he’s always just got everything he wanted when he wanted it. But maybe I’m wrong about that. Maybe everyone has shit going on we can’t even see, no matter how perfect their lives seem.

“How did you know your mom was at The Hilton, did she text you?”

“No, Nate did. He heard them arguing last night.”

Poor Nate. I want to call him to make sure he’s okay, but he doesn’t need me doing that, he has his girlfriend/friend.

“Is Nate going to be there?”

“He said he’s staying with Katie.”

Katie, of course.“His girlfriend?”

Jones laughs, “Nate’s gay, she’s just his friend.”

“Oh.”

He side-eyes me. “Got a problem with that?”

“With what?”

He juts his chin and keeps driving, “my brother being gay.”

“No, obviously not.”

“Good.”

I imagine telling him about liking guys. It’s on the tip of my tongue. If his brother is gay, surely he can’t have a problem with his friend being… whatever I am? It’s right there, but when I open my mouth, it won’t come out.

It only takes five minutes to reach The Hilton. Jones parks outside and looks like he belongs everywhere, so when we walk up to the doors, the guard smiles at us and calls Jones “Sir.” He goes up to the desk and beams at the woman standing behind it.

“Could you send a message to my mom please?” he asks. His accent is super refined from all those private schools he went to and he screams money, so she doesn’t even hesitate before doing what he asks.

We take a seat in the lobby and wait to see if his mom will want to come down to see him. For the first time outside of hockey, I think I see Jones look nervous.

When she comes down, Jones’ mom looks as pretty and put-together as always, though a little tired maybe.

Jones hugs her and I think she’s going to cry, so I look away until she says my name.

I let her hug me, but I can see she wants to talk to Jones alone, so I ask her if there’s anything she needs.

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