Page 84 of You Had Me at Hockey

I trudge in there and slide the door shut. Taking a seat, I try not to fidget.

Coach meets my eyes. “What’s up with you and Easton?”

I swallow. “Um, what do you mean?”

He narrows his eyes at me. Weirdly, this reminds me of my dad when I was a kid. He never let me get away with shit, and I could never lie to him. “You know what I mean.”

I rub my face and sigh. “Okay. But honestly, I don’t know how to answer that.”

“I know your history.”

I nod slowly. Of course he does.

“You’d think that being involved in a tragedy like that would bond a couple of guys. A shared experience no one else has ever gone through.”

“You’d think,” I say, with a touch of bitterness. “But not always, I guess. Some guys don’t care about the others who were involved. They only care about themselves and their own career.”

“I assume you’re talking about Easton and not yourself.”

“Well…yeah.” Duh.

His face is impassive as he stares me down. “You two don’t talk. I’ve noticed.”

Shit. I shrug. “It’s not a big deal.”

“It is a big deal if it affects your play.”

I resist the impulse to defend myself. I’ve been working my ass off. But…deep down inside I have to admit that Millsy and I don’t communicate very well. On the ice or off. I don’t care about off the ice. But on the ice matters.

“Okay,” Coach says. “You two don’t have to be best buddies, but you have to play together. I’ve brought this to your attention. I expect you to deal with it.”

“That’s fair.” I appreciate that he’s treating us like adults. Even though maybe we’re not totally acting like adults. “Thanks, Coach.”

I rise and leave his office, heading to the locker room to change for a workout.

I replay that whole conversation about a dozen times as I punish my body with grueling workout moves until I’m dripping sweat, my clothes soaked, my eyes stinging. I go from denial to annoyed (with Coach and with Millsy), to defensive, and then to annoyed with myself. I think about how I can do things differently. Millsy and I need to talk more on the ice.

Is Millsy getting the same lecture? If so, it won’t come as a complete shock if I approach him tomorrow to tell him that.

I can do it. I’m a warrior.

—

Leaving our Saturday night plans in Sara’s hands terrifies me even more than talking to Easton. It’s not that I don’t trust her, but…things have a way of going off the rails around her. She did tell me that we’re going for a fun dinner at a place in the West Village with her friends—Connor and Eli, Kamal and Sunny. Considering how the poetry reading went, I’m apprehensive.

She insisted we meet at the Times Square–42nd Street subway station. I get there early because I’m still not sure how long it takes to get places, so I wander around aimlessly, watching the crowds for her. Then she texts me that she’s here, and I still can’t find her.

Dammit, I should have picked her up. I have my car, I can drive more places.

We text back and forth and then there she is, right in front of me. I haven’t seen her for a week and, damn, now I realize how much I missed her.

“Hi.”

She smiles back at me, her lips shiny pink. “Hi.”

She’s wearing her black puffy jacket and a big scarf again, over ripped-up jeans. Her long wavy hair sweeps over her shoulders and her eyes glow that mystical blue-green. Her smile seems like she’s happy to see me too.

I bend and give her a quick kiss and she beams back at me, then slides her arm through mine. “Come on. We can take the Three train.”

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