Page 5 of I Blame the Alcohol

I close my laptop and sprawl on my bed. I could drive home to Lethbridge for the break, but then it would be just me rattling alone in our family home. That seems more depressing than simply staying in Taber, where I am close enough to the university that I can use the training field and gym whenever I want. And who knows, maybe a few of my players will be staying through the holidays as well.

With that hopeful thought, I sit up and scrounge the room for my phone. Finding it in my coat pocket, I unlock it and open my messages, pulling up a strand that hasn’t been opened in a while.

STEL: Don’t do something stupid like come back to the gym before the doctor clears you.

ME: Does this mean I’ll have to bring a doctor’s note?

STEL: Only if you plan on being stupid.

I grin rereading her responses. Normally, we see each other a minimum of five times a week, sometimes more if I don’t have games on the weekend. But since I got plowed down during the season opener, I’ve seen Stella maybe six times over the last six weeks.

The worst part about recovery hasn’t been losing my cardio to the point of humiliation, it’s been not seeing my 4’11 gym buddy. I miss her, miss our futile arguments, miss seeing her topknot come loose after her workouts.

In a way, she is one of my closest friends here at Taber. If things were different, she would be marked down as my future wife, but they aren’t, and I am mature enough to realize that what you want and what you are willing to sacrifice aren’t always as cut and paste as they may seem.

My phone buzzes with an incoming call from my favourite rookie. It’s unprofessional to have a favourite as the captain, but every captain has one. Wes is mine, and I was lucky enough to be Mo’s.

I press accept and immediately Wes’ voice fills the silence of my room, “Cap! It was so good to have you back last practice. Oh, and don’t worry, we’ve all agreed not to talk about the fact Hunter kicked your ass during sprints.”

Every captain has a favourite rookie, but they also have a least favourite. And that’s Hunter for me. Not because he’s a bad lacrosse player, but because he had the audacity to stick his tongue down Stella’s throat right in front of me. It was dark, we were at a club, and I have no ownership over her, but that night permanently placed Hunter in my bad books.

“I appreciate the reminder, Wes.”

“Hey, anytime.” Despite myself, I feel my lips tug into a grin. Mo sometimes comes off as condescending, but Wes always manages to turn cockiness into charm.

“What can I help you with?” It wouldn’t surprise me if that’s all Wes called to tell me, but I have a feeling we’re not done yet.

“So, now that you’re feeling better, I was thinking we should throw a party to celebrate. Everyone was concerned alcohol and music would be too much for you, but now that you’re getting slaughtered during sprints, we figured you might be up for a night out.”

“Who would be hosting?” I ask the question wearily, remembering how long it took for me to clean up my house last time.

“Mason has offered, apparently his landlord relaxed some of the overnight guest rules, so a few of us can crash there if need be.”

“Sounds good. When is the party?” I walk from my bedroom to the tiny office and check my calendar. Besides hitting the gym Wednesday morning, there’s nothing written down for this week.

“Tomorrow night. I’ll text you the address.”

“Isn’t a Tuesday a little eager for exam break?” I do a double take at my calendar, realizing a morning gym session isn’t the only thing written down for that day.

“Not as eager as a barely recovered captain doing sprints last week. It’ll be good fun, Cap. I’m bringing Trip, so I’m sure Stella will tag along.” He drops her name innocently, but I know exactly what he’s doing.

“Sounds good. I’ll talk to you later.” I end the call, using my other hand to trace the words carefully written down for Wednesday morning.

5am Taber Gym. See Stella.

Chapter 2

Stella

2 minutes remaining…

The three little words blinking on the bottom of my computer screen triggers my heart to pump harder than it did during this morning’s workout. The exam’s clock counts down the seconds remaining on my exam as I take one final breath and move my cursor to the submit button. Body odour of the strongest caliber fills my nostrils as the guy to my left swivels anxiously in his chair.

Swallowing the urge to gag, I sneak a glance over and see the poor guy made the mistake of wearing grey today on top of forgetting deodorant. The rancid smell coming from his underarms actually pales in comparison to the unfortunate stains running down either side of his torso.

Relatable.

With a heavy exhale, I press submit just as the timer starts flashing red. My screen returns to the home setting, sucking away the last two hours of brain power with a friendly reminder to swipe my access card on the way out.

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