Page 55 of Blindside Me
A puck-shaped stress ball pelts me in the face. I pick it up and chuck it back at Easton without looking. “What the fuck, dude?”
He just grins. “We’re ordering another pizza. You in?”
“No,” I say, too fast. “Already ate.”
Ryan laughs. “Since when? You barely touched your food before disappearing after practice.”
“What are you, my mother?” I shrug like I didn’t forget. Like I didn’t lose my appetite somewhere between missing her and hating myself for it.
“Dude, someone has to be.”
“For real,” Easton says, eyeing me now. “You’ve been broody as hell. And not even the fun, dangerous kind. Just the sad, walks-alone-on-campus type.”
“Maybe he’s finally writing poetry,” Ryan adds. “We gonna find a sad boy notebook under your mattress?”
I scowl, flicking through the plays I’m not absorbing. “I’m fine.”
“Yeah, sure. That tone really sells it.” Easton stretches, kicking an empty Gatorade bottle across the floor. “You’ve been ghosting everyone. Blowing off teammates, missing house parties?—”
“And skipping Friday rounds at Barton’s,” Ryan adds, mock-offended. “That’s practically a team violation.”
I shake my head. “Got other priorities.”
They both go quiet for a beat. I can feel them looking at me. Feel them adding it up.
Ever since the suspension, I’ve been different. Missing that game hit harder than I let on. Being benched while the guys battled without me … watching Coach’s expression when the clock ran out … seeing them win without me … cracked something loose inside me.
It wasn’t just an embarrassment. It was the realization that one wrong step, one distraction, and everything I was working for could slip away.
And now, that wrong step has a name.
Jade.
“Whatever. Figure it out.” Ryan sets his phone down. “Scouts don’t care about your mood. They care if you’re off your game. Which, by the way, you are.”
The words hit. Not because they’re mean, but because they’re true. My stats have dropped. My shots are missing the net. My passes are sloppy. Coach Howell pulled me aside after yesterday’s practice, his face lined with concern I didn’t want to see.
“Whatever’s happening off the ice? Fix it, Klaas. Before it follows you on.”
He didn’t say it, but I saw it in his face. The suspicion. The math he was doing in his head.
His niece. Me.
The late-night locker room sightings. The sudden drop in my stats.
“Maybe it’s the Coach’s niece,” Easton says, casual as ever, and my spine stiffens so fast it feels like whiplash. “Jade, right? The one you couldn’t stop staring at during practice?”
My pulse quickens. Air’s gone from the room.
“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” I manage, but even I don’t sound convinced.
Easton just smirks. “Sure, you don’t. You’ve been acting like someone stole your dog and then slept with your girlfriend. Since neither of those things happened, the process of elimination says it’s Jade.”
I stare at the game footage until it all blurs together. “I’m just focused on impressing scouts. The NHL draft doesn’t care about my love life.”
“Maybe,” Ryan says, leaning forward. “But Coach does.”
He lets that hang for a moment, then adds, “Overheard him talking to Daniels. Said someone’s slipping. Said he’s watching.”
