Page 34 of The Assist
Mia: Yeah. Just tired. Bit of a weird morning, that’s all.
I frown. Something about that doesn’t sit right. Not with the way she looked at me last night. Not with the way her voice caught when she said“I don’t.”Like she wanted to say more.
I wait a second. Then type.
Dylan: Weird how?
There’s no answer. I stare at the screen for a full minute, then set the phone down like it might explode. Maybe I pushed too far. Or maybe she’s dealing with something else.
I remember what Murphy said once, that Mia always carries the weight of everyone else’s pain, but you’d never know unless you really looked. And now I’m starting to seeit. The shadows behind her sarcasm. The way she always has her walls up unless you catch her off-guard.
Like last night.
I sit back on the couch and run a hand down my face.
There’s a voice in my head that I’ve trained myself to ignore, it’s sayingdon’t get involved.That I’m a mess. That I ruin things. That people don’t stay when the cracks start showing. But that voice sounds a hell of a lot like my dad. And I’m tired of listening to it.
I pull up her message again. Read it five times and then I make a decision. I’m not going to pretend last night didn’t happen. I’m not going to play dumb or brush it off. If she needs space, fine, I’ll give it to her. But if something’s wrong, I want to know. I want to be the person she can lean on the way I leaned on her when everything was falling apart.
I tap out another message.
Dylan: If you need to talk, I’m around. No pressure. I meant what I said last night.
I hesitate, then hit send. It’s the most honest thing I’ve texted in a long time. And it feels terrifying. I set the phone down again, but this time I don’t wait for the reply like it’ll fix me. I grab my skates and head for the door. I need the cold. The ice. The rhythm.
But I also need to hold onto the memory of her voice. The way she said I was enough. Like maybe I could believe it, too.
Even if it scares the hell out of me.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
DYLAN
The rink always smells the same the morning after a game; stale sweat and melting ice. There’s something comforting about it. Even when everything else is spinning, this place stays the same. The whirr of the overhead lights. The hum of the Zamboni doing its slow crawl across the surface. The faint echo of skates from the early birds doing drills.
It’s supposed to be a day of rest and recuperation, but that’s not in my nature. The need to stay on top is real, and runs bone deep with me.
Jonno’s gonna have my ass for it. He’s been on my case for months, muttering about load management and overuse injuries and how I’m not invincible just because I had one good night on the ice. He’s not wrong, but staying still’s not in my DNA.
I’m stretching on the mats by the boards when my phone buzzes in the pocket of my hoodie. I know it’s her before I even answer.
“Hey, Mum.”
“You looked sharp last night.” Her voice crackles slightly over the line, cheap mobile signal from the old house, no doubt. “That pass on the power play? Slick as anything.”
I grin, wiping sweat from my brow with the sleeve of my hoodie. “You watched?”
“Course I did,” she scoffs. “Wouldn’t miss it. I had to mute the commentators though. That one with the smug voice sounds like he’s never played a sport in his life.”
“Reynolds,” I mutter. “Guy’s allergic to saying anything nice about me.”
“You were the best player on the ice, and he still managed to make it sound like you were a liability.” She pauses. “But I saw you. That smile when you skated past the bench... looked like you were flying.”
My chest tightens a little. “Felt like it. First time in a while.”
There’s a beat of quiet. Just her breathing and the faint whistle of a kettle in the background.
“Mum,” I say, shifting forward to rest my elbows on my knees. “I want you to come down. For a game. I’ll book the flight, and pick you up from the airport. You can stay with me for a few days. No arguments this time.”
