Page 212 of The Charlie Method

Will changes the subject then, and I’m grateful for it.

The next few days pass without incident. No more heaviness. No deep talks. Just lots of great sex and hockey practices. I end up applying to a bunch of jobs, not expecting much to come from it, but to feel like I’m doing something productive.

With the environmental science degree I’ll soon have, I qualify for a bunch of interesting entry-level positions at various environmental nonprofits. Climate and conservation organizations. I follow Charlie’s lead with her grad school applications by casting a wide net when it comes to jobs, looking beyond the continental United States.

Then I put it out of my mind as our practices become more grueling and we gear up for the most important series of games of the whole season.

The locker room is buzzing. Excitement and dread. Adrenaline and nerves. It’s the second-to-last game of the season, and everyone knows what’s at stake. We win tonight, we’re going to the final tournament tomorrow. But even if we win, it’s all winding down soon. For the seniors, like me, Ryder, Shane…it’s the end of an era.

Things won’t be the same after this.

I sit on the bench, slowly taping my stick, trying not to think too much. Beside me, Ryder is shaking out his shoulders like he’s already preparing for the game. He’ll be headed down to Dallas with the wife this summer. Going pro. Winning a Stanley Cup or two.

“What?” he says when he catches me staring at him.

I smirk. “Just thinking how I’m gonna miss your grumpy ass after you move.”

His eyes soften a little. “It’s weird, isn’t it? Possibly the last game with the team. Last few weeks at Briar.”

“Yeah,” I say. I’m trying to shrug it off, but it’s hitting me harder than I thought it would. I’m feeling the weight of it. The inevitable goodbyes. Soon, this team, my teammates…it’ll be just a memory.

Before the melancholy can take root, Shane strolls over, tapping his stick against the floor in a lazy rhythm. He’s also NHL-bound, heading to Chicago. Far as I know, Diana’s going with him.

“Look at you two, getting all sappy,” he drawls. “It’s adorable. Do you want me to film you guys braiding each other’s hair for an online tutorial?”

“I hope Chicago is ready for your smart-ass remarks,” I say.

Ryder snorts. “Either that, or his new teammates sign a petition to get him traded.”

I glance at Will, who’s taping his stick, focused, in the zone.

He still hasn’t decided what he’s doing after graduation. Neither have I. The uncertainty feels like a dark cloud hanging over me. It’s like everyone’s moving on, and I don’t know where I fit anymore.

My attention is diverted when Coach Jensen stalks in, tailed by his assistant coaches. He stands at the head of the room, arms folded over his bulky chest, shaking his head like he’s dealing with a bunch of toddlers when nobody has even said a word.

“Colson,” he snaps. “If I see you miss any checks tonight like you did last weekend, I’ll check you myself. Kansas Kid, don’t sass the refs again, or I’ll sass your fucking face.”

“What does that mean?” Patrick asks in confusion.

But Coach has already moved on. “Dunne, I need you on their winger—that goddamn nuisance, number fifty-five—all goddamn night. Focus on keeping the puck away from his grubby hands, not on your pretty-boy looks.”

“I’m offended by that,” I call from my perch on the bench. “I don’t even own a mirror.”

He ignores me. “Ryder, watch out for Palicki. He’ll be breathing down your neck all night.”

With that, Jensen turns to speak to his assistants.

“Was that our championship tournament pep talk?” Shane says with a sigh.

“I feel like Coach needs to take classes on how to be a nice human,” remarks one of our freshmen.

“I’m still in the room, Abrams,” Jensen growls from the door.

“Hey, Coach Hollis,” Shane calls out. “Why don’t you give the pep talk?”

Our assistant coach turns toward our side of the room with a dark scowl. “Oh, now I’m worthy of you?”

I swallow a laugh. Here we go. I’dkillto spend five minutes in that man’s brain.

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