Page 96 of Shift Change

My lungs were on fire, and my legs were so dead I wasn’t sure they were still attached to my body. I was caught in an endless, grueling practice, running plays I couldn’t remember learning, making mistake after mistake while the coaches screamed at me from the boards. It wasn’t one coach, butallof them, from mites to the Warriors. Even Coach Larkin was there, and he died mid-season during my junior year of high school.

The players were a jumbled mess too. Teammates from every stage of my life, all mixed up, with everyone equally flustered and confused.

And then there was Chuck.

He was at the far end of the ice, head down, running drills with perfect focus. I kept calling to him—shouting, even—but he never looked up. The more I yelled, the more people gathered around him. Soon, there was a large crowd, cheering like it was game seven of the Cup Finals. His nana was in the front row. She looked across the ice at me, her face solemn, and slowly lifted a hand to point at Chuck. He had a cut on his cheek. It didn’t look deep, but blood ran from it, pooling dark red on the ice, smearing across the surface like ugly bruises.

One by one, the guys around me skated away. Some joined Chuck’s team, while others climbed into the stands to cheer for him. Harpy fed him a clean pass, which Chuck snapped into the net as easy as pie. More of our teammates showed up near me, only to skate past without even saying hi. They gravitated toward Chuck like he was the sun.

Then I was alone.

My side of the rink was still and silent. Across the red line, Chuck’s was packed with fans, players, and chaos I couldn’t begin to understand. He’d disappeared into the fog. I pushed off and jetted toward him only to slam into something, an invisible barrier that was solid as steel. Though I tried to duck under, jump over, and crash through it, nothing worked. It was like glass, smooth and cold. Helpless, I shouted Chuck’s name while the fog swallowed everything on the other side.

Then, out of the haze, a figure skated toward me, and I held my breath. Chuck.

He stopped short of the red line and took off his helmet. His face was pale, and his smile was soft and sad. “I love you, Nate.”

I surged forward again, trying to reach him. “What’s going on? I can’t get through, but I need to be with you.”

“You can’t,” he said gently, pressing his palm to the invisible barrier separating us. “You shut me out, and now you can’t get in.”

“What? No, I didn’t mean to. Tell me how to fix it.”

His eyes, though still brown and beautiful, were dull now. The spark that had always warmed them was gone.

“I miss you,” he said, “but?—”

Someone called his name from beyond the fog. He glanced back, then looked at me as he slid his helmet back on. “I have to go. Take care of yourself, okay?”

“No, wait. Chuck!” I slammed my fists against the barrier and threw my body at it over and over, but I couldn’t break through. I couldn’t reach him.

He skated away without looking back. The crowd erupted, but no one even glanced in my direction. I was invisible and alone.

Worst of all, I couldn’t remember how he felt in my arms.

“Chuck!” I screamed. “Please come back.Come back to me!”

The fog swallowed him whole.

I lunged one last time, hurling my body into the invisible wall, then crashed sideways onto the sheets. I woke with a strangled gasp, trying to catch my breath between galloping heartbeats. The room was unfamiliar in the murky light, all wrong somehow. I thrashed against a tangle of sweat-soaked bedding, still half in the dream, and still reaching for him.

“Chuck?”

Silence.

I sat bolt upright, my chest heaving. The dream was gone, but the panic had only deepened. I squinted at the other side of the bed. There was no familiar sprawl and no hand clutching the comforter like it might float away.

I rubbed my eyes and blinked hard. Still nothing—only rumpled sheets and a hollow space where he should have been.

Throwing off the covers, I stumbled into the hallway, where his name ripped from my throat in a broken whisper. “Chuck?”

The bathroom door banged open under my hand—empty. I tore through the guest rooms—nothing. My bare feet slapped against the hardwood as I sprinted for the great room. Still as a tomb.

The kitchen gleamed, cold and untouched. There was no coffee brewing, no half-eaten toast, no signs of life. I ran to the foyer, my last hope. No shoes by the door. No jacket on the hook.

The house was silent, the air stripped of warmth and laughter, stripped of Chuck. He was gone.

In a blinding rush, it all came crashing back.What the hell did I say? Holy fuck, what had I pushed him into?

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