Page 55 of Halftime

Then at the beginning of December, on a Saturday away game, that message was hammered home. We’d played well and won on Friday night, but nothing was working Saturday. Everyone seemed a little on edge. Everything was just a little off, from our morning skate to our pre-game warmup. Then the game started, and everything went to hell. Our forwards couldn’t make a pass to save themselves. The defense was out of position, Anders was left high and dry, and she was as off as everyone else. Part way through the third, when the score was six zero against us, Coach finally put me in.

I’d been off today as well, and sitting on the bench after we went down three zero in the first, I’d moved from frustrated to irritated to angry to furious. I didn’t blame the score on our goalie. This was a team game—we won or lost as a team. But sometimes, when everything is going wrong, the coach needs to shake things up to get the team working right again. In the pros, a fight can do that. We couldn’t fight in our games. A goal can also change how a team plays, but we weren’t getting those. Another thing the coach can do is put in the backup goalie.

I mean, if I were in net and got four scored on me before the game was half over, I’d want out. I’d want to do something. It seemed that when Coach was so desperate that she had no other option, she put me in, too late to make a difference. All the waiting and getting angry had fixed whatever was wrong with me, because when I got out there, things were right again. At least for me. It did help the team. I shut the door on any more goals against us, and we somehow managed to get a couple scored. But it was past the point where we could save the game.

Afterwards, my teammates were great. We all told Anders it wasn’t her fault, but I got some taps, letting me know they knew I’d done well. I rushed through my shower and got out of there as soon as I could. I found a seat at the back of the bus and put on headphones, not wanting to talk, not wanting to make eye contact. I was pissed. And frustrated. I wasn’t sure what else I could do for Coach.

I texted Seb. I needed to vent to someone, and the men’s game had ended already. They’d won, so Seb should be in a good mood. The rest of the team loaded up on the bus, and fortunately, no one sat with me. I turned my music up loud and waited for Seb to answer.

And waited.

And waited.

My foot was jiggling, my fists were clenched, and no dots showed up on the phone. Seb wasn’t a guy who played games, timing how quickly he responded to a text as a power play. I’d gotten a good-luck text from him before the game, even though I hadn’t been scheduled to start. He’d know by now that we’d lost. He’d know why I was reaching out. But he didn’t answer.

My foot was jiggling faster, but I was a rational person, and I knew there could be a reason why he couldn’t respond. After half an hour, though, the reasons were starting to look bad. I double-checked the results from the men’s game. No injuries, Seb had played almost until the last shift. No notices that he’d fallen in the shower and hit his head.

Still, I was getting worried. My thumbs flew over the keyboard as I did whatever research I could online to find out what was happening. I finally found a picture. Of Seb. After the game. At a party at the hockey house.

I could live with him going to parties without me. It wasn’t like he could skip one at the hockey house since it was his home. And since we were never together on weekends, I wouldn’t expect him to stay in his room alone. His team had won an important game. Of course they’d celebrate.

He could have turned off his notifications, or he might not have heard or noticed his phone with a noisy group at the house.

I mean, I could make that narrative work. If I tried. But he was with a girl in the photo. A tiny, pretty brunette, and his head was down while hers was tilted up. From that angle, you couldn’t see exactly what was happening, but it was easy to imagine possibilities.

Like he was kissing her.

16

Faith

I closed my eyes and counted to fifty. Then I made myself stop that self-destructive loop that immediately started saying he was cheating. Again. I reminded myself he hadn’t cheated the last time, and if I’d given him a chance to explain, we’d both have avoided a lot of heartache. I didn’t know everything that was going on. He would have an explanation.

I refused to let myself look for more pictures. I wasn’t going to be suspicious and crazy. I wasn’t going to be like my mother when she was sure my dad was cheating.

No, I was going to be a grown-up. An adult.

We were due to get in late tonight, so Seb and I had arranged to meet in the morning. I would do that. I would let him explain why he hadn’t responded to me, and what happened in that picture. Assuming he didn’t reach out before then, which he totally would, because this was Seb. He wasn’t like my dad.

We got back to campus late, slowed by bad driving conditions. We unloaded our stuff, and my phone didn’t buzz. I made it to my room, keeping quiet so that Penny didn’t wake up. No message yet.

I didn’t fall asleep for a long time, and my phone was quiet all night.

* * *

Sebastien

The team were all a little goofy since we’d won a hard game against our most difficult opponent on home ice. It was a squeaker, too. The score didn’t show that, since we scored two goals in the last five minutes, but the adrenaline was buzzing. I saw that Faith’s game was not going well, so thought I’d wait until it was done before I sent her a message about how well our game had gone. We all had to shake off those bad games, and everyone deserved a bit of time to dwell and feel bad.

Normally, we hit up Biscuit in the Basket after a game. We younger guys couldn’t get any alcohol at the bar unless someone charmed the wait staff, but it was a tradition. It was probably good that we didn’t drink after every game anyway. Tonight though, my roommates thought we should have a party at the hockey house because it was Marcher’s birthday, and his best friend and his sister, who were dating, had come up for the game. So yeah, we had to have a party.

When I’d insisted I needed to go up to my room and talk to Faith for a bit, Cooper had picked me up, thrown me over his shoulder to carry me back, and since he wasn’t much taller or heavier than me, he’d managed to knock my phone out of my pocket and into someone’s abandoned cup of beer just before he dropped me.

It took five minutes before he believed I had to go back and rescue it, and by then, it wasn’t responding. I cleaned it with fresh water best I could and dropped it in a bag of rice. While I was doing that, Marcher introduced me to his sister, Raylene. She was going to school in Toronto, and Marcher had told her that I had lived there and might be able to direct her to the best places to go to eat and meet people. I tried, but the place was loud, and she talked so quietly I almost had to bend over to hear what she was saying. We finally went out on the porch to hear ourselves talk.

I asked if I could use her phone to text Faith, but she had some weird plan that wouldn’t let her text in the US. Cell phone packages were a lot more expensive up in Canada, I remembered, so I couldn’t blame her. We went back in, and I checked my phone again. Nothing. I needed to borrow another phone, but Cooper had started some stupid games, and by the time I could break away, it was too late to reach out to Faith. I felt badly that I hadn’t got a hold of her, but we were meeting for breakfast, and I’d explain then. Still, it would be good to leave her a message to see when she woke up.

As we were finally cleaning up, I insisted that Cooper let me use his phone. But he’d been taking pictures and videos all night, and it was out of battery. He was drunk, had no idea where his charger was, and passed out on his bed before he found it.

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