Page 95 of The Fall
And that’s Blair.
I didn’t even mean to be down in this swallow-me-alive maze beneath the rink. I had to burn off nervous energy, or that’s what I’d told myself after lunch, but now I’ve stumbled on two others who were using these hallways to hide, too. I edge forward and peer around the corner.
Hayes is dressed down in his pre-practice gear, in shorts, a cut-off T-shirt, and a backwards ball cap. Blair is a near mirror image minus the ball cap and plus his base-layer leggings beneath his shorts. Hayes is taller and Blair is broader, but Blair is looking at Hayes like he could put Medusa out of the stone-making business.
“That’s ridiculous,” Hayes scoffs. “Way too much was asked of him too soon and you know it. You know he’s got potential.”
My name is all tangled up in what they’re not saying. God, how can it still surprise me how little everyone thinks of me? I am the one who proved everyone’s dreams for me wrong.
“I’m not wrong.”
“He’s got skills, Calle, you can’t deny that?—”
“It doesn’t matter.” The growl punches out of Blair. “What good is potential if you don’t fucking use it?”
Cold prickles at the back of my neck.
“You were the one—you, Calle—who said you don’t give up on a kid that quickly. Remember? Why are you the one who’s given up now?”
Blair spits his answer like venom: “He’s already given up on himself.”
He’s so fucking right it burns. I lean harder into the wall, the cinderblock rough against my shoulder blades, and I want to disappear into it, want to become part of the foundation so I never have to face what Blair revealed.
“You’re being unfair,” Hayes tries again.
“Am I?” There’s movement—footsteps, the scrape of a shoe against concrete. “When was the last time he fought for a puck in the corner? When was the last time he took a hit to make a play? Hell, when was the last time he even looked like he wanted to be here?”
I close my eyes, try to remember, try to find one moment, one single fucking moment where I proved Blair wrong.
“He’s scared,” Hayes says quietly. “Maybe he needs someone to believe in him.”
Fear has been my shadow for so long I’ve forgotten what it’s like to move without it.
“Belief isn’t enough.” Blair’s voice drops. “You can’t save someone who won’t grab the rope you throw them. Kendrick...” He sighs. “He’s already decided he’s lost.”
“Do you really dislike him that much?”
Don’t answer that, please, please, don’t answer that?—
I will myself to become invisible, to dissolve into nothing before Blair’s answer cuts through me.
“Out there, I see...” Blair stops, starts again. “Someone whoshouldbe great.”
The corridor feels too small, the walls closing in.
“Maybe if you?—”
“What? Held his hand?” Blair’s laugh is bitter.
“He needs time,” Hayes insists.
“Time for what? To wash out completely? To prove everyone who said he was a bust right?” There’s a thud—Blair’s fist against the wall, maybe.
“He’s awkward as hell, Calle, but maybe that’s because he’s been fucking sinking for three years without a lifeline. I called a few guys around the league. And you know what?” Hayes inhales. “He’s got no one. No friends. No family. His dad fucked off after juniors, moved overseas somewhere, and Kicks has been alone since.”
That strikes an ugly root no one talks about. Hayes isn’t wrong, but hearing it said like that...
“A lot of people are alone, Hayes. They figure it out.”
