Page 127 of Beyond the Lines
“Mike’s going to lose his shit when he sees Rook here,”Linc mutters to me under his breath. “He specifically said he wanted a quiet night.”
“When has anything ever been quiet with Rook around, Linc?” I reply with a resigned shrug.
It’s true. Our freshman goalie has the volume of a car alarm and the situational awareness of a concussed puppy. Since the first day of practice, he’s been the human equivalent of a bull in a china shop—all enthusiasm, zero restraint.
“Hey, where’s the captain?” Rook asks, looking around.
“Bathroom,” Maine answers. “But fair warning—he’s in a mood.”
“When is he not in a mood?” Rook laughs, clearly missing the gravity.
As Rook bounces toward the bar, I can’t help but feel a growing sense of unease. Mike’s been wound tight enough to snap lately, and Rook is exactly the kind of complication he doesn’t need right now.
But there’s nothing to be done about it, because Rook returns with a tray of beers a minute later, right as Mike emerges from the bathroom. His face darkens the moment he spots our freshman goalie.
“Who invited the infant?” Mike asks, his voice gruff and with an edge of warning as he slides back into his seat.
“The beer fairy,” Rook says, as he sets the bottles down, unfazed by the frosty welcome. “Figured I’d see how the legends spend their Friday nights.”
“Legends,” Maine repeats, clearly pleased. “I like this kid.”
Mike accepts his beer without comment, but his jaw tightens.
We settle into playing pool, with Linc and Maine taking turns showing Rook the proper way to line up a shot—each contradicting the other’s advice. Mike watches from our table,silent except for the occasional grunt when directly addressed.
“So,” Rook says during a break between games, peacocking as he holds the cue, “you guys know Hughes Hall, right?”
“The freshman dorm?” Linc asks, chalking his cue.
“Yeah.” Rook takes a theatrical swig of his beer. “Met this hot journalism major there. She was interviewing people for some story about campus nightlife.”
“Let me guess,” Maine says, “she needed a personal demonstration?”
Rook grins, pointing at Maine. “Exactly! We hit it off, went back to her room, and, uh?—”
I tune out as Rook launches into graphic details about his alleged conquest. Mike catches my eye across the table, and for a moment, we share the same thought: this kid is so full of shit. The momentary connection almost feels like old times, before everything got weird between us.
“—and then I’m walking down the hall after, right?” Rook’s voice cuts back into my awareness. “And guess who I see coming out of the building?”
Something in his tone makes my stomach drop. I look up to find Rook staring directly at me, a shit-eating grin on his face. Every muscle in my body tenses. Beside me, Linc goes completely still.
“The tortured artist, the man of mystery,” he says. “With some girl. Looking very… cozy.”
“What are you talking about?” I ask, aiming for casual but landing somewhere closer to defensive.
“Come on, man.” Rook laughs. “I saw you. This was like, Tuesday night? You were walking out with this girl, all secret-agent quiet, but you didn’t notice me because you were toobusy making heart eyes at each other. And you didn’t do your boys the solid and tell them!”
I force a laugh, though my throat feels like it’s closing. “Yeah, I hooked up with someone from Hughes. So what?”
“Nah, this wasn’t a hookup.” Rook shakes his head emphatically. “You took her face in your hands and looked at her like you were in love or some shit.”
The pool table suddenly feels miles away. Mike’s attention is now fully focused on our conversation, his expression unreadable. And suddenly, there are alarm bells going off in my head, telling me I need to shut Rook—and this conversation—down right the fuck now.
“You must be confusing me with someone else,” I say, the lie sticking to my tongue. “Hey, who wants a beer?—”
“No way, man.” Rook leans forward, cutting me off, enjoying being the center of attention. “It was definitely you.”
“Rookie,” Linc interjects, trying to help me cover my tracks before shit gets real explosive. “Maybe ease up on Dec, man.”
