Page 121 of Two Guys One Puck
“Do you think I let hockey come before my happiness?” I flop back on my bed. I need to walk or move, but I don’t want to deal with Coach. I’m keyed up for no reason.
Happy blinks like he’s coming out of stasis. “Not everything is meant to last, but you are meant to play hockey. If it’s important, it will be there after this.”
“When? After the draft? When all I will do is travel and play hockey?” I feel myself parroting Ronan’s points, but I’m careful not to let Happy know I’m seeing another hockey player. “They have to have job, too. No one has time to follow me around. How can a relationship last with those conditions?”
“Is that so bad?”
“Traveling ten months a year? Yeah, I think it is.”
“You have the rest of your life to do that. Maybe you should try turning your brain off.”
“I’m not going to do this.”
“Why not? It’s really refreshing.” He nods and it’s unsettling.
How have I never noticed this before?
“Isn’t that what sleep is for?” I can’t believe we are still having this conversation.
“Sure, but also any time you need a little break.”
“I don’t think that is a good idea, mate.”
“Maybe that’s your problem. You don’t ever try anything.” Happy shrugs.
“I think if I turn my brain off, is not going to come back on.”
Happy’s face contorts to a shape I’ve never witnessed. “I’ve never thought of that.” And I’ve possibly given him a complex.
“Turn it off. Shut it down before you short circuit!”
“Good idea!”
“You good?” Happy asks about an hour later, like nothing happened.
I shiver because if that is not the most uncanny valley shit, I don’t know what is. “Is good. I will play and feel better.”
“I’m going to bed before you body snatch me or something.”
“Shouldn’t I be worried about you? I am the main character.”
“If I could have ended this by taking your body. I would have.”
Something pulls me from a deep sleep. I’m foggy but realize my phone is ringing.
I reach for it, opening one eye and hoping it’s Seaborn.
But it’s my brother. I shove my feet into my boots and leave the room, not giving a single fuck if Coach gets mad at me.
I answer the call.
I snap to full awakeness and answer it, “Andriy?”
“They’re bombing the city.” Air raid sirens echo behind his voice.
“How close to you?” I clutch the phone harder, switching to tactile calm. “Are you going to the bomb shelter?”
“We’re here.”
