Page 116 of Beyond the Lines
Mike’s head jerks up, a look passing over his face I can’t quite read. “Yeah. Third row, blue tie?”
“Front row, actually,” I correct him. “Dark suit. Seemed to be smiling a lot from what I could see…”
“Looked like he was paying extra attention to you, Mikey,” Linc adds, bumping Mike’s shoulder.
Mike’s laugh comes out forced. “Only because I didn’t completely suck for once. I’ve played like garbage the rest of the season.”
“Not true,” I start, but Mike talks over me.
“Tonight was different. Showed up because of you two.” He nods at Linc and me. There’s no mistaking it this time—beneath the compliment is a flicker of jealousy that makes my stomach twist, barely there but detectable if you know him. “You guys have been solid all season.”
Linc flops onto the bench, stretching his long legs. “You’re our captain for a reason, man. Scout sees that.”
“We’ll see…” Mike shifts his weight again, and I notice him flex his right ankle subtly, testing it.
“You OK?” I ask, nodding toward his foot. “Noticed you’ve been hitting the Deep Heat pretty hard after practice.”
Mike’s face shutters. “I’m fine.”
“If something’s bothering you?—”
“I said I’m fine,” he snaps, then immediately looks apologetic. “Just a little stiff. Nothing that matters.”
Before I can press him, Coach Barrett returns. “I wanted to talk to you three because the scout tonight was Kyle Morrison from the Harriers,” he says.
Linc sucks in a breath beside me.
Can’t blame him. The Harriers are a quality outfit.
“He was impressed.” Coach glances down at his clipboard. “Asked for contact information for Garcia and Andrews. Wants to set up meetings with both of you.”
Linc lets out a whoop that could shatter glass, jumping up and slamming into me with a bone-crushing hug. “Hell yeah!” he shouts, his face split with a grin.
I force a smile, trying to match his enthusiasm, but my reaction feels mechanical. A month ago, this news would have sent me into orbit. Now I’m just... relieved? Happy for Linc, definitely. But for myself, there’s this strange disconnect, like I’m watching someone else’s dream come true.
Then I notice Mike.
The stiff way he’s holding himself.
The forced smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.
The devastation he’s trying desperately to hide.
Coach hasn’t mentioned his name.
Linc realizes it too, his celebration cutting off abruptly. “Oh shit, wait, what about Mike? He didn’t ask for Mike’s contact?”
Coach’s expression tightens. “Garcia, Andrews—head out. I need to speak with Altman.”
“But—” Linc begins.
“Now,” Coach says, his tone final.
Linc gives Mike a bewildered look, then grabs his bag. I follow suit, stomach churning with guilt and confusion. Whatever issues have plagued him this season, Mike is still the best among us, and he shows his leadership by giving us both a tight nod that’s supposed to be reassuring but falls miles short.
“Tell him you want Mike’s info too,” Linc mutters to Coach under his breath. “Mike’s our captain. He belongs on that list.”
Coach just stares at him until Linc breaks eye contact and heads toward the door. I hesitate, not wanting to leave Mike alone, and torn between loyalty to Mike and Coach’s direct order. But when Mike shakes his head minutely—Go—I reluctantly follow Linc.
