Page 14 of The Fine Line
Dad: Rhett, your mother and I have an event out of town this weekend. Don’t you remember?
I didn’t remember. Because they never told me.
But it’s not like that’s unusual.
Me: Right, my bad.
And because this kind of thing with my parents is routine, I already know what would happen if I pushed back. If I said anything. So I swallow the lump in my throat and swipe to another thread.
The group chat.
The one I started fourteen minutes before the game.
Me: Party at Chateau Sutty tonight. I’ll be there around 9:30. Get there whenever. Door’s open.
It always is.
I’m from a small town just outside Toronto. Nothing bad ever happens here.
I shove my phone back into my bag and glance around the parking lot again, even though I know I won’t see my family. I’m already turning away when something stops me.
Or rather—someone.
Because I spot the closest thing to family I’ve got.
A grin breaks across my face, and my feet are already moving before I can think better of it.
“James!”
My hand lands on his shoulder, and he turns with his usual furrowed brows—until his golden-brown eyes light up with recognition.
“Sutty,” he says, clapping my hand with his. “How’s it going, man?”
“Better if you hadn’t wiped the floor with us back there,” I tell him honestly.
“You win some, you lose some.”
“Yeah, right. Except for you.” I roll my eyes. “You win them all, dick.”
It’s a joke. Mostly.
But not really.
Jamesy may have gotten the W tonight, but we’ve been onthe same side more often than not—playing together outside of school for most of our lives.
He shrugs, that classic subtle smugness Bennett James wears so well flickering across his face.
“You’re a prick,” I tell him.
Hockey’s basically a religion where we’re from. And at this level, the deeper you go, the smaller the world gets. You run into the same people over and over. They either become your fiercest rivals—or your ride-or-dies.
Bennett’s the latter. Even if we’re opposites. Even if I drive him crazy most days.
Somehow, I think I managed to trick him into letting me be his best friend.
He’s definitely mine.
“I’m throwing a party at my place tonight,” I say. “Wanna come?”
