Page 23 of The Poster Boy
“Marek.” The worried tone in Kelsey’s voice stopped me. “You’re okay, right? You’re taking care of yourself.”
“I’m taking care of myself, Kels. Don’t worry. But I have to go. We’ll talk soon, though, okay?”
“Okay.”
“Give my love to Faye.” I ended the call and let out a shaky breath as I stuffed my phone away. My apartment was a wreck. I was nearly always late for one thing or another. If I wasn’t on a road trip where meals were provided, I was off diet half the time because I hadn’t remembered to set up a meal delivery program.
I wasn’t looking after myself. But I was doing the best I could, and I was playing some damn good hockey wheneverthe coach let me in net. I spent five minutes speed-cleaning my room, which mainly consisted of tossing my laundry into a pile and tugging the covers on my bed until they were reasonably straight. Then another alarm went off on my phone, and I raced out the door for practice.
The press had cooled off a lot since my trade and I found that I didn’t miss dodging them on the way to the rink. They still hounded me on game days, but had started to ease off otherwise. Even without their obstruction, I was still late, but I wasn’t the last person to show up so I counted that as a win.
The conversation with Kelsey had rattled me. I hated that she still felt like she had to look out for me and ask if I was taking care of myself. I hated that she had cause for concern. Most of all, I hated my brain for making shit difficult for me when it was easy for everyone else.
Andrew draped an arm around me as I changed into my practice gear. “Why the long face?”
“No reason.”
Andrew was a friend, but we didn’t hang out after games or anything. He was an at-practice friend. A friend during games and hockey time, and no other time. I didn’t have any friends who were my friends off the ice. Not like Brookbank, who was a surly asshole all the time, but still managed to have his little clique.
Andrew looked at me with suspicion like he wasn’t buying my story, but he shrugged it off when Coach came in and told us to hurry up and get on the ice. With a final look of skepticism, he left me to get dressed.
Practice was a shit show. I missed as many as I stopped during drills. My mind was a jar of marbles that someone had spilled down a set of stairs. I couldn’t hold on to a singlethought or action. Frustration built in me, only making my performance worse.
Coach split us into two teams for the end of practice. Church was in the other goal, as solid as he’d ever been. He stopped everything that went his way. Even shit that shouldn’t have been stoppable.
In his infinite wisdom, Coach O’Neil put Brookbank on my team. Because heaven forbid he be at the other end of the ice. Jay was distractingly good looking, and he moved on the ice like a dream. He was quick on his feet, agile in a way that I might envy if he didn’t annoy me. And he could take a hit.
He played with a laser-intense focus. The kind of focus that eluded me lately. Boone came up the ice, passed the puck to Vasily, who passed it back to Boone. He deked around Brookbank, by some sort of miracle. Even Brookbank looked surprised. And while I was watching Brookbank, Boone passed the puck back toVasily, who sank it into the back of the net.
“What the fuck was that, Myers?” Brookbank asked.
“Well…” I sucked in a breath and tried not to let the goal rattle me. But it was far too late for that. I’d missed a stupidly easy save because Brookbank had been pretty and shiny, and I liked looking at him even though he couldn’t stand me. “That’s what they call a goal. You see, it’s what happens when the puck goes in the net.”
I smiled at him like I didn’t have a single care in the world. I’d gotten good at that.
“I know it’s a goal. Why the hell did you let it in? That was an easy save.”
Boone skated over and got between me and Brookbank. I hadn’t even noticed his proximity until he was in the crossfire.
“Goals happen, Brookbank. It’s practice.”
Brookbank scoffed as Boone pushed him away.
“Looks like you need all the practice you can get.”
Yanking my helmet off, I glowered at Brookbank. We’d gathered attention from the other guys, but I didn’t care. My focus was solely on Brookbank. “What is your problem, man?”
“You.”
“Me? What the fuck did I do?”
“You’re always late for shit, and when you do show up, you’re fucking scattered. If it were up to me, I’d bust your ass back down to the farm team where you belong. But they can’t do that because you’re the media darling. The?—”
“Jay.” Boone’s voice cut Brookbank off before he could say more. Jay snapped his mouth shut. “Apologize.”
“That’s fine,” I said before Jay could refuse to apologize. He didn’t want to—I could tell by the look in his eyes that he wasn’t sorry so I didn’t want some fake-ass apology.
Coach O’Neil skated over and looked between Jay and me. “Problem?”
