Page 36 of Unlovable Player

Fuck.

My head’s all over the place. I didn’t sleep well last night after… yeah, I can’t even verbalize it to myself.

I’m exhausted when I get to Coach’s house just off campus. The busses aren’t running and I get a ride with a few of the guys who are car-pooling. Except a few freshman whose parents came to get them and bring them home for Thanksgiving, nobody had time to make it back.

I wonder if Coach invited Seb and if he’ll be there when we arrive. The thought makes my stomach swoop, and I can’t decide if it’s a sick sort of swoop, or an excited one.

The guys are in a good mood and no one brings him up, which is fine by me.

But an hour into sitting around Coach’s dining table, eating turkey and mashed potatoes, I’m wondering where he is and why he isn’t here.

I follow Coach out to the kitchen when he starts bringing our dirty plates out to put in his fancy dishwasher.

“You didn’t invite Huntington today?” I ask as casually as I can manage.

Coach has his back turned, loading the dishwasher.

“I did, but he said he was busy.”

Busy?

“You think he went home?”

I think about the little bits of information he gave me about his family and I can’t imagine being in a rush to spend time with them if I were him.

“Maybe.” He turns around and gives me a look I don’t like. It’s asking too many questions. Threatening to see too much. I try to change the subject.

“You’re not seeing your daughters today?”

I know it’s the wrong thing to say as soon as the words leave my mouth. Coach’s face drops, but he recovers quickly.

“No, I’ll see them the weekend.”

I nod. Understanding why he invited a bunch of college kids to his home on Thanksgiving. He would have been alone otherwise. Like I imagine Sebastian’s alone right now. PlayingFarming Simulatorand eating pizza from the only place open on public holidays.

We start to head out once the desert’s been eaten and the guys who are old enough to drink start itching for a beer where their coach can’t see them.

He reminds us not to get too drunk on our way out and the guys barely suppress their groans. He’s a fucking stick in the mud, but he’s a good guy, and I feel bad about leaving him alone in that big house without his family on Thanksgiving, but what else am I supposed to do?

Ma calls when I get back to my room. She sounds like she’s had a few beers and I can hear my family in the background, laughing and joking. They’re fucking loud, but I miss them.

“The one year I get off from the diner and you’re not even here.”

“I know.”

“I guess I’ll have to get used to it, you’ll be playing Thanksgiving games every year when you’re in the NHL.”

My stomach twists and I think she’s about to ask me what’s wrong when someone shouts something to her and she gets distracted.

“I’d better go Ma, I’m gonna get an early night for practise tomorrow.”

“Okay, be good, love ya.”

“You too.”

I tell myself it’s no big deal. It’s only Thanksgiving. Most years I’d spend it coloring with my crayons at the shittiest table in the diner while Ma bussed tables, painting a smile on for the customers before we took the leftovers home and ate in front of the TV. But it was still a tradition –ourtradition. I wonder again what Sebastian’s doing right now.

In the quiet of my room, I can’t stop thinking about that kiss. How fucking soft his lips were. The smell of his aftershave up close and the heat of his body.Fuck.

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