Page 138 of Beyond the Lines
Linc laughs, but I can tell he’s waiting for a real answer. He has a way of drawing things out of me whether I want to share them or not. It’s why he’s such a good teammate, and friend.
“I’m nervous,” I admit. “Not just about the game, but about Mike. He’s struggling…”
“You know, you’re not responsible for Mike’s career. Or his happiness.”
“Yeah, but?—”
“But nothing,” Linc cuts me off. “Man’s got two feet. He can stand on them. Sort of.”
I shoot him a confused look. “What do you mean, ‘sort of’?”
Linc hesitates, as if he’s said more than he meant to. “Look, I wasn’t going to say anything, but I was in the training room yesterday. I overheard him talking with one of the trainers, and apparently he’s been playing on a sprain since the start of the semester. He never let it heal, so it keeps getting worse.”
“That explains the MRI. But since game one?” I sigh. “That’s months ago. Why didn’t he say anything?”
“Because he’s Mike, dumb ass. He’s stubborn as hell.” Linc shrugs. “Hope Lea doesn’t havethatfamily trait.”
I ignore the joke, processing this new information. Mike’s behavior, his declining performance, and his increasing retreat into being quiet and sullen—it’s all making a lot more sense now.
“Robbie said because he didn’t rest or ice it properly, so the sprain never healed,” Linc continues. “And now he’s risking permanent damage to the ligament.”
“Jesus.” I let out a long breath that clouds in the cool morning air. “What did Robbie tell him to do?”
“Take a couple of weeks off, at minimum. But Mike…”
“Won’t do that,” I finish. “Not with scouts watching. Not in his senioryear.”
“Bingo.”
We run in silence for a few minutes, the only sounds our breathing and the squelch of mud beneath our shoes. Mike’s injury gives context to his behavior, but it doesn’t excuse it, because he’s been hiding something crucial from the team, from his line-mates, and from me.
“You’re thinking too loud,” Linc says. “I can practically hear the gears grinding in your head.”
“I’m just trying to figure out what to do with this information,” I say. “Someone has to protect him from himself.”
“Not your job,” Linc suggests. “What happens, happens. You can only control your own game, your own behavior.”
“Yeah.” I nod slowly. “Lea said the same thing the other night, even though she’s still furious at him.”
Linc smirks. “Smart girl.”
“You’re right, though. If he wants to wreck his ankle and his future, that’s on him. I’m done feeling guilty.”
We emerge from the wooded trail onto the open fields near the athletic complex. The hockey rink looms in the distance, its sleek modern design contrasting with Pine Barren’s otherwise traditional architecture. Tonight, it’ll be packed with screaming fans, watching to see if we can maintain our streak.
We slow to a stop at the crossroads that leads both of us back to our places, but in different directions. The morning has brightened considerably, and students are beginning to filter out of buildings, heading to early classes or breakfast. I can feel my mood improving at the thought of seeing Lea, then playing the game.
“Meet you at the dining hall in twenty?” Linc asks.
“Nah, I’m having breakfast with Lea…” I shrug.
“You’re evolving, man.” He snorts. “Next, you’ll growwings and fly.”
But I don’t tell him that I’m already airborne from my time with Lea, and no longer feeling weighed down by Mike’s demands and accusations. Part of me feels bad for him—hiding an injury, playing through pain, while watching his dreams slip further out of reach.
But the larger part of me is done enabling his self-destructive behavior and done feeling guilty, and I don’t need to apologize for how I feel about his sister. If he can come to terms with that, there might be something left to salvage, but if he can’t…
Well, tonight I’ll play my game. Do my job. Then go home to Lea.
