Page 49 of Beyond the Lines
“They think I’m overly emotional when I’m just… reacting normally to things,” I continue, the words spilling out now. “Like after Chris dumped me, my Dad tried to cheer me up by telling me there were ‘plenty more fish in the sea,’ like I’d lost a goldfish instead of having my heart torn out.”
“Ouch.”
“And my Mom said I was ‘too sensitive’ and ‘too trusting,’ like it was my fault.” I scoff, avoiding Em’s eyes. “Mike was the only one who got it. He helped me get through it all, and he never once made me feel stupid for being upset about everything.”
“Your brother sounds like a gem,” Em says, smiling softly. “Everyone needs someone like that.”
“He’s great,” I agree, glancing at him on the ice. “He may be overprotective, but he’s never invalidated my feelings. When I’m upset, he just… lets me be upset.”
The buzzer sounds, making me jump. Pine Barren has scored again—Mike’s goal, with an assist from Declan. Without thinking, I leap to my feet, tears pricking my eyes from the memory of Chris and the gratitude I feel for my brother.
“GO MIKE!” I scream, the words ripping from my throat with surprising force, drawing looks from around me, including the “PUCK ME” bunnies.
Em jumps up beside me, her voice joining mine. “WOOOOOO! ALTMAN FOR THE WIN!”
Down on the ice, Mike looks up into the stands. Even through his helmet and mouth guard, I can tell he’s grinning. He raises his stick in acknowledgment, and a strange lightness fills my chest. But when he sees Declan looking up at me, he barks at the team—or, really, at Declan—to keep focused.
When we sit back down, my cheeks are flushed with excitement and the unexpected emotion. “He makes up for our crappy parents,” I murmur.
Em gives me a thoughtful look. “So how do you think he’d react if he found out what Declan said about your art?”
I hadn’t thought about that angle. “What do you mean?”
“Well, he sounds like a protective big brother,” Em says, watching as the players reset. “What would he do if he knew Declan insulted your work? Do you think he’d break into a mid-game fight? Throw him against the wall in the locker room? Challenge him to a duel with pistols at ten paces?”
The image is almost comical—Mike confronting Declan over an art critique—but knowing my brother’s temper when it comes to people hurting me, it’s not entirely far-fetched. And Declandidhurt me twice in a week, which isn’t something I’d really banked on during my first few weeks of college.
“We’ll never have to find out,” I say firmly, “because I’m done with Declan the Dick for good.”
“True,” Em concedes. “Plus, if Mike punched him, Declan might get even hotter—bruises are in right now—and that would make it harder to hate him…
Despite everything, I laugh. “You’re impossible.”
“Just keeping it real,” she grins. “Besides, we can mess with him in more creative ways. I’ve got connections in the chemistry department. Just saying.”
“Tempting,” I admit, “but I’m trying to be a mature adult.”
“Overrated,” Em declares. “Being petty is much more satisfying.”
act 2
ten
DECLAN
I hate running.
I especially hate running at dawn when it’s forty-three degrees and my lungs feel like they’ve been scraped with steel wool, and I’m surrounded by my sweaty, miserable teammates who all want to murder me—or would, if they had the energy.
“That’s twenty-four! One more lap!” Coach Barrett’s voice booms across the track. “And remember this next time you decide to blow a lead!”
My legs burn and my lungs scream for mercy as I round the final curve. The whole team has been doing punishment laps, courtesy of our embarrassing loss to Princeton last night. A loss that, judging by the side-eyes I’m getting between gasps for air, everyone knows is my fault.
I’d played a solid game until I spotted Lea in the stands during the third period. After that, everything went to shit. I’d missed three perfect assists from Mike, and my sloppy defense led to Princeton’s game-winning goal with just two minutes left.
The crowd’s disappointed groans still echo in my head. We’d been so close to a crucial win, only to watch it slip away because I couldn’t keep my head in the game, because I’d had Lea on the brain. Even now, just thinking about her makes my jaw clench.
“Move those asses, ladies!” Coach Barrett shouts, and I swear his voice actually rattles the chain-link fence surrounding the track. “This isn’t a tea party!”
