Page 114 of Blindside Me
Silence again, heavier than before. He looks at me, eyes dark and heavy with regret. Or maybe shame. I want to scream, to make him feel every year I spent waiting for him to show up, but my throats too tight. I stand, chair scraping, and grab my jacket.
“Where are you going?” he asks, not moving.
“Back to the dorm,” I say, not looking back. “I have a lot of homework to catch up on.”
The door slams behind me, and I take a deep breath as the night air hits my chest. I hate that it still hurts. I’m still that kid on the porch, watching his truck disappear, hoping he’d turn back. He didn’t then, and this dinner just proves he still doesn’t know how.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Drew
The protein shaker tumbles from my hands and rolls off the coffee table, joining the pile of everything I’ve stopped caring about. I’ve been staring at the same hockey highlight for twenty minutes, the TV muted.
Seven days since I walked away from Jade at Barton’s. Three days of dodging her in hallways and slipping through doors before she could reach me. A week of proving her right that I’m a coward.
The suspension? Background noise. The real damage is what’s hollowed me out from the inside.
My workout shorts cling to my skin, still damp with sweat from the training session I couldn’t finish. Couldn’t focus. Couldn’t breathe through the sets without hearing Coach’s voice in my head.
“You’re letting the team down, Klaas.”
Am I, though? Or am I protecting them from what I really am?
The living room is a disaster zone with discarded equipment bags, Xbox controllers, and someone’s gloves draped over the lamp. Normally, the mess would drive me insane. Today, I barely notice.
I scroll through old game footage, but nothing sticks until I land on a practice scrimmage from three weeks ago. There, barely audible under the skate noise, is Jade’s laugh. I replay it. Again. Just to hear that sound that used to light me up from the inside.
Seven fucking days, and I miss her laugh like physical pain.
Replay.
“Jesus, Klaas, you look like shit.”
My head snaps up. Blake stands in the doorway, dressed in dark jeans and a button-down, calm and put-together. His eyes scan the mess and land on me.
“Team dinner’s in twenty. You coming?”
I grunt. My eyes drift back to the paused video.
Blake drops into the armchair across from me, leaning forward with his forearms on his knees. “Coach asked about you after practice.”
“And?”
“And I lied. Said you were handling the suspension like a professional.”
I almost laugh. “Thanks.”
“Don’t thank me. Prove me right.”
Footsteps pound the stairs. Easton appears freshly showered, wearing a shirt that costs more than my monthly grocery budget.
“Whoa,” he says, stopping short when he sees me. “Your hair looks like you got punched again.” He points to his head, miming a disaster zone. “You trying out a new look? ‘Electrocuted caveman’ vibes?”
His attempt at normal banter lands flat. My jaw tightens.
“Give it a rest, Easton.” Blake’s tone is sharper than usual.
Easton shrugs. “Car’s leaving in fifteen if you want a ride to Auntie B’s.”
