Page 18 of The Assist
I give a small nod. “Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it. Ever. I’ve got a reputation to uphold.”
The rest of the night blurs in noise and dim lighting. Someone starts a singalong near the bar. Jacko ends up arm-wrestling a bloke twice his size and wins. Ollie knocks a stool over and pretends it didn’t happen. Some guy turns to call him out on it, but when he recognises my teammate, he thinks better of it. Ice Hockey is more popular now than it’s ever been, and the fan base has grown wildly over recent years. Which makes us mini celebrates sometimes.
And through it all, I sit there with that same feeling I always get in moments like this; like I’m floating above it. Watching my own life from a distance.
I’m part of this team. I’ve earned my place.
And yet, some part of me still doesn’t quite feel it.
When I leave the pub, the air outside is cold and sharp. It cuts through the haze of beer and fried food and brings me back to myself. Murphy falls into step beside me, hands shoved deep into his coat pockets. “You walking home?”
“Yeah.”
“I’ll walk with you.”
We move in silence for a while, the only sound the scuffof our boots on the pavement and the distant hum of traffic. The streets are quiet at this hour. Most of the town’s tucked in and sleeping. We’re not.
“Been thinking about Mia,” I say after a while.
Murphy glances over. “Yeah?”
“She gets it.”
“She’s good people. Scary. But good.”
I laugh. “Yeah. She’s got this wall up. But she’s still real. Doesn’t bullshit me.”
Murphy nods slowly. “You like her.”
It’s not a question. He doesn’t ask. He knows.
I don’t answer and Murphy doesn’t press me on it.
When we reach my place, Murphy claps me on the back. “Get some sleep, Diesel.”
“You too.”
I watch him walk away, his shoulders hunched against the cold. Then I head inside, strip off the jacket, and sit on the edge of the bed, staring at the floor.
I think about the team. The game. The fear that never quite fades. And I think about her. The way Mia looks at me like she sees all of it and doesn’t turn away.
The truth is, I’ve made it to the top of my game. And some nights, that feels lonelier than being on the outside looking in.
CHAPTER NINE
MIA
The clinic is quiet this morning. The kind of quiet that lets thoughts creep in where they’re not wanted.
I should be reviewing treatment plans or updating player charts, but instead I’m sitting on the padded bench in the corner, staring at the spine of the rehab manual like it might blink first.
Spoiler alert; it doesn’t.
My phone buzzes again. Another message from Mum. Another photo of Dad. This time he’s holding the neighbour’s new puppy, and smiling like nothing ever fractured between us. I don’t open it; I text Sophie instead, to see if she’s free for a drink later. She’s always the voice of reason, and that’s exactly what I need right now.
Then I get up and busy myself doing things that don’t need doing. Reorganising tape rolls by colour. Refilling the ice packs even though the freezer’s full. Anything to keep my hands moving and my mind still.
