Page 77 of Unlovable Player

There’s no way I can afford a cab back to campus and I don’t even know what way I should start walking. I catch a valet smoking a cigarette around the side of the house and when he first sees me, he straightens up and tosses the smoke, like he thinks I’m gonna ream him out about it. Then he seems to see me, really see me, the way Seb’s parents did. I’m not one of them, never will be.

He relaxes.

“Hey man, what’s up?”

“Do you know the way to a bus stop or something?”

“You didn’t bring a car?”

“I’ve been drinking.”And it’s not my car, but he doesn’t have to know that, this is embarrassing enough as it is.

“Where you goin? I can give you a ride if it’s close.”

“It’s not. Thanks anyway.”

“Come with me man, I’ll give you a ride to the bus station.”

I makesure I’m the first person at practise on Monday. As the team start to file in, I sit on the bench and tape my stick, paying meticulous attention to the task at hand. Each one of my teammates greets me as captain, but I can still feel the animosity rolling off them in waves. Fuck it. Fuck them.

My gut has been clenched since Saturday. I told myself I had a hangover from the champagne and stayed in bed with the drapes closed. But it was more than a hangover. I have to face facts – I’m fucking heartbroken.

I can’t get the image of Seb’s face out of my head when he showed me the door. That fucking grin - it was like no time had passed since we’d face off in his Yale games. All that shit we’d done together hadn’t even happened.

I keep playing it over and over, telling myself what I should have done differently. But every scenario I play out ends up the same. With him pushing me away.

Every time the doors to the locker room open, it feels like my heart has temporarily stopped. Disappointment and relief mingling at the sight of another teammate’s face.

I’m mentally exhausted by the time Seb actually does appear. I look away before our eyes can meet and he takes his usual place at his cubby and starts to change.

He’s still putting his shoulder pads on when Coach comes in and briefs us on today’s practise. I chance a look at him, but he isn’t paying anyone but Coach Wilson the slightest bit of attention. After a few more glances, I realize, Iwanthim to look at me. Just the slightest acknowledgement of my existence will do. But no. Nothing.

We skate out onto the ice and even then, Seb is barely looking at me. He’s isolated from the rest of the team anyway and I feel helpless, knowing Coach is gonna be disappointed that I couldn’t bring the team together.

I can’t focus and I’m off my game. Of course, Coach notices and calls me into his office after practise for a talk.

“I’m just tired Coach,” I lie. “I had a busy weekend.”

“You don’t strike me as a party animal Donoghue.”

Memories of Seb’s parents’ house flood to the forefront, drinking champagne from the bottle, Seb blowing me in an actual fucking home library before his dad came in and caught us.

“I’m not Coach,” I say, my heart sinking. “That’s not me.”

He nods. “We all have off-days, just make sure you get an early night tonight and come back fresh tomorrow okay?”

“Yes Coach.”

Everyone’s left the locker room by the time I go back in. I pause at Seb’s cubby, his skates hanging above his jersey. It’s like a gut punch looking at it. I reach out to touch it, the door opens and I pull my hand back.

Steve, the equipment manager gives me a confused frown, but doesn’t seem to realize I was about to go full bunny boiler over my teammate’s jersey when he asks me what I’m still doing here.

“Just forgot something, sorry.”

My phone rings when I get out of the rink. I try to put on a happy façade for Ma, but she can tell something’s wrong.

“I’ve got some vacation days I need to take before the end of the year, why don’t I take Saturday off and come see you play… if you can get a ticket, if not, we’ll just hang out.”

“Ma, you don’t have to drive all the way out here.”

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