Page 117 of Beyond the Lines
As we step into the hallway, the heavy door swings shutbehind us, but not before I catch Coach’s first words. “We need to talk about those MRI results…”
Linc stares at the closed door, his earlier joy completely evaporated. “What the hell, man? Mike’s the best player on this team.”
“Something’s going on with his ankle or his foot,” I say quietly. “He’s been hiding it for months.”
“Shit.” Linc drums his fingers on his thigh. “You think it’s bad?”
I don’t answer. Don’t need to. We both know what MRI results likely mean, especially when the scout didn’t ask for his contact information. The word is out, and—for now, at least—Mike’s pro career might be on the backburner or dead completely, depending how bad the damage is.
Linc shakes his head as the reality sinks in. “Why would Coach let Mike sit through that? Was it just to humiliate him or something?”
The hallway stretches empty before us, our voices unnaturally loud in the post-game quiet. The celebration has moved elsewhere, leaving just us and whatever’s happening behind that closed door.
“Maybe it was a wake-up call,” I say, adjusting the strap of my duffel bag. “Mike’s been hiding whatever’s going on for months, including from Coach, I guess. Maybe Coach figured he wouldn’t fess up unless he knew his spot in the NHL was on the line, and this is his way of telling us when Mike won’t.”
“Man.” Linc exhales sharply. “I’ve seen Mike play through everything—flu, broken finger, and that time he got concussed and pretended he was fine. This?—”
“Must be serious.”
We fall silent, both processing. The weight of what’s happening to Mike settles on my shoulders like a physicalthing. Here I am, getting scouted, playing the best hockey of my life, while my friend—my captain—is facing what might be a career-ending injury.
Linc suddenly straightens, his expression shifting. “What’s different about you, anyway?”
“What?”
“You.” He gestures at me. “You’ve been practicing and playing like your life depends on it lately. Like, better than I’ve ever seen you play.”
The heat crawls up my neck. “Just... clicked, I guess.”
“Bullshit.” Linc’s eyes narrow. “I know that look. That’s your ‘I’m hiding something awesome’ face.”
No point denying it. Not to Linc. “I’m still seeing Lea,” I admit quietly. “Not just seeing her. We’re dating now.”
Linc winces. “Called it, and I’d like to think it was my posing that?—”
“Shut up,” I say, unable to stop the smile that forms just thinking about her. “It’s good, man. Once hockey season’s over, we’ll come clean to Mike.”
“That’s...” Linc searches for the right word. “Optimistic.”
“By then, we’ll have been together for months. He won’t be able to say it’s just a hookup, or that I’m not serious about her.” The plan sounds reasonable when I say it out loud, and it has asmallchance of him not chasing me with a hockey stick… or worse. “And it won’t affect my game or his.”
“And you really think you can keep this secret for that long?”
I shrug. “We’ve managed so far.”
“On a campus this size?” Linc gives me a skeptical look. “Where everyone knows everyone’s business before they do?”
“We’re careful.”
“Careful enough that you’re not eye-fucking her in the stands while her brother’s three feet away?”
My stomach drops. “Was I that obvious?”
“To me? Yes. To Mike?” Linc pauses, frowning. “Look, I think Mike’s got bigger problems than you and Lea right now, but still, be careful. If he finds out…”
“Noted.”
“I’m not saying don’t go for it,” he adds, clapping me on the shoulder. “Just... maybe slightly less obvious moon-eyes during games?”
