Page 28 of Revolve
Their somber expressions don’t change.What the fuck is happening?
“We’re not here because of the drinking or the weed. We see how much not having hockey is affecting you and we don’t want you to fall down some reclusive hole,” Summer says.
I know she’s worried about me. They all are. But what we have here is important to me, and I wouldn’t ruin it by revealing all these messed-up parts of myself now that it’s already too late. No one wants a broken person around. That’s why alcohol has helped me piece things back together, so I could always be the Dylan they wanted—the one who never adds to the weight they’re alreadycarrying. I was trying to be a friend, an escape for everyone, even if it meant I could never escape myself. I’d be that for them forever because that’s what people need. Not another reason to be depressed. Not another burden.
I feel my jaw tighten, the pressure building in my chest. I can’t let them see me like this.
“Well, this was great, but I don’t want to hear it.” I knew this would happen. I fucking called it. The moment I stopped masking it, reality came crashing through.
“You’re going to have to,” says Aiden. “Coach thinks he can get you back, but you can’t risk it this time.”
The room feels like it’s closing in under the weight of their expectations. I swallow hard, trying to hold it together, but I’m not sure how much longer I can pretend everything’s fine.
“I won’t,” I say.
“You already did,” he says, harsher this time. “You have to figure your shit out for good.”
Summer pulls away from a heated Aiden to hand me a white card that says the name of a therapist who works at our sports clinic. “If you can’t talk to us, talk to someone else. Someone who can help. There’s no pressure.”
I take the card and mutter a thanks that doesn’t sound the least bit appreciative. However, none of them force me to stay. They let me go, and I step straight into my shower.
Here, I don’t have to pretend I’ve got it all figured out.
When I was a kid, whenever my dad came home after a business trip, my mom would rush me into the bathroom and turn on the shower. “The steam is good for your skin,” she’d say, her voice a mix of urgency and comfort. “You can be as quiet or as loud as you want in here.” Then she’d promise she’d be right back, and the door would click shut behind her. After a while, I understood what she was doing. I found myself stepping into the shower more often. By the timeI would come out, my dad was gone, and my mom would be in the living room, crying into her clenched fists.
I’m not sure if the card I tossed on my desk can help sort all that out. Especially when I don’t think it ever ended. But what I do know is that I won’t let my friends worry about me. I’ll do whatever it takes to get reinstated.
TWELVE
SIERRA
WHEN LIDIA TOLDme to meet her this morning, I thought I’d be meeting my new partner. Not sitting in Coach Kilner’s office to watch him shuffle through papers and answer calls with quick yeses and noes.
But then there’s a knock on Kilner’s door, and he drops the stack and rounds his desk. I’m trying to be patient to show Lidia how determined I am to be disciplined with the rigorous training we have to do. But when I look at her, she’s blinking rapidly. It throws me off.
I’m counting the number of stress balls in Kilner’s office before I hear a voice that makes my stomach flip.
“Have I told you how young you look lately?” The smirk is loud in his voice.
I peek over my shoulder to find Dylan leaning with one hand against the threshold.
“Sit your ass down, Donovan,” Kilner says, and my hope of this being a hallucination puffs away.
I’m in a nightmare, and Dylan Donovan is my sleep paralysis demon.
Though instead of the scary long fingers and skeletal frame, it’sthick biceps and broad shoulders striding in confidently in gray sweats and a black T-shirt that’s tight around his arms, hair a little wavier than usual, like he just rolled out of bed.
Wake up, Sierra!
“Sierra?” Amber brown eyes find me, and he stops. “I was joking about the stalker stuff before, but this is getting a little creepy.”
“You two know each other?” Kilner asks.
“Yeah—”
“No,” I blurt at the same time. My fists clench at my sides, and I can’t tear my eyes away from the idiot, who’s staring at me like this is amusing.
When Dylan drops into the seat beside me, he smells fresh, like soap and clean laundry. The distinct smell of him is one I had been surrounded by under the bleachers and in the Fishbowl. When he obnoxiously manspreads, his knee hits mine, and I reflexively pull away. He follows the move with a smile on his lips, like he’s holding back a laugh. How could he possibly find this funny?
