Page 104 of Dear #47, You're the Worst
The rage hits me like a physical force. Hot and immediate and completely disproportionate to what just happened. My hands clench into fists, and I can feel my whole body going tight with the need to yell, to lash out, to make someone else feel as shitty as I do at this moment.
“Watch where you’re fucking going,” I snap, my voice louder than it needs to be. “Jesus Christ, Connor. Use your eyes.”
The kid freezes, his face going white. A few other guys in the hallway turn to look. I can see the way they’re all holding their breath, waiting to see how bad this is going to get.
“Hunter.” Juliet’s voice cuts through the haze of anger. Sharp and warning.
I look at her. Her expression is carefully neutral, but there’s something disappointed in her eyes that makes my stomach twist.
“It was an accident,” she says quietly. “The rookie made a mistake. He didn’t kill your dog.”
Connor looks like he wants to disappear into the floor. The other guys are still watching, waiting to see if I’m going to explode completely or if this is as bad as it gets.
I want to keep yelling. I want to make Connor understand that this isn’t just about coffee; it’s about everything. It’s about feeling like I’m always one wrong move away from screwing everything up. About being tired of having to hold myself together all the fucking time.
But Juliet is looking at me like she’s cataloging this moment for later reference. Maybe she’s remembering why she thought I was a lost cause.
I clench my jaw and force myself to step back. “Just... be more careful.”
It’s not an apology, but it’s not the explosion it could have been. Connor nods frantically and disappears toward the locker room. The hallway slowly empties until it’s just me and Juliet standing there.
“Better?” I ask, my voice tight.
“Not really.” She studies my face for a moment. “It’s a start.”
That night, after we’ve finished another round of media obligations and I’ve somehow managed not to alienate anyone else, I’m lying in my hotel room scrolling through my phone when I remember Connor’s face earlier. The way he looked so panicked, so young.
I open the team group chat and scroll through a few stupid memes until I find one about faceoffs that’s actually kind of funny. Something about how they’re like awkward first dates but with more violence.
I send it to the chat without really thinking about it.
Hunter:[sends meme about faceoffs being like awkward first dates but with more violence]
Connor:
Grayson:If faceoffs are first dates, Connor’s ghosted before the puck even drops.
Thorne:More like he’s the guy stuck paying the bill while the other center skates away with the puck.
Jett:Nah, I figured it out. They’re not dates for him. They’re breakups. Every single time.
Connor:wtf guys
Grayson:Don’t worry, bud. One day you’ll win one.
Thorne:Not today. Not tomorrow either.
Jett:Should we start a GoFundMe for his self-esteem?
Connor:I hate you all.
Hunter:[sends gif of someone getting demolished in a faceoff]
At the next practice, Connor gives me a fist bump when we’re lining up for drills.
Maybe that counts for something.
The game itself is everything I needed it to be. Two goals, an assist, clean hits, no penalties. The performance that makes the coaching staff remember why they keep me around despite all the headaches.
