Page 197 of The Fine Line

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He answers on the second ring.

“I messed up,” I say hoarsely, the words barely audible through the tightness in my throat. “I think I’m off the team. I—I failed.”

A pause. Then his voice, calm and cutting.

“It’s okay, son.”

My breath catches. “Really?”

“I already knew you would. It was just a matter of when.”

I go still.

“The house is being renovated for the next month. Your mother and I are in Muskoka for the summer. You’ll have to find somewhere else to go.”

He hangs up.

Just like that.

I stare at the screen. It stays lit for a second longer beforedimming, and I let it fall from my hand into my lap. My fingers are still curled around nothing.

Alone.

I sit there in the pouring rain, completely untethered, trying to swallow the taste of blood and humiliation. My brain is short-circuiting, my heart threatening to cave in.

Then, without even thinking, I pick the phone back up. My hands are shaking so bad I nearly drop it again as I scroll through my contacts.

I stop on a name.

Bennett James.

I stare at it.

We haven’t talked in months. Not since the game. Not since everything went to hell.

But I hit call.

The phone rings once. Twice. Three times?—

Then clicks.

“Hello?”

I don’t say anything at first. My throat closes. My mouth opens, but nothing comes out.

Then, softer this time?—

“Are you okay?”

It’s him. His voice. Familiar and steady. Like a life preserver.

“I…” My voice breaks. “I’m not.”

“Tell me what’s wrong, Rhett.”

“I’m in trouble.”

“Are you hurt?”

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