Page 52 of Practice Makes Perfect
“Big, grumpy defenseman choosing the big, grumpy character,” Maine says.
I hide my smile as they bicker their way toward the living room, then start up the game. This is the most animated I’veseen Mike in weeks. Maybe I’ve been overthinking the whole captaincy conversation, and maybe all he needed was some normal friend time.
“How can I help?” Declan offers, staying behind as the others disappear down the hallway.
I glance at Declan, suddenly aware of the parallels. Last semester, we stood in this same kitchen, cooking dinner while Mike and Maine were distracted elsewhere. That was the night Declan first told me about his feelings for Lea—before anyone else knew, and even before he’d even admitted it to himself fully.
“Rice is in the pantry,” I tell him, gesturing with my chin. “Measuring cup’s by the sink. Two cups, rinse it three times.”
Declan nods. As he measures the rice, he continues talking. “So,” Declan says casually, “how are you feeling about Colgate?”
“Better,” I admit, then pause, knife hovering over the herbs. “Still not looking forward to tonight’s conversation though.”
“With Mike?”
“Yeah.” I shrug. “He seems… marginally less homicidal at the moment, but who knows how long that’ll last.”
Declan turns on the tap, rinsing the rice. “I think he’s trying, in his own way. The meditation thing surprised me.”
“Me too. Though his version probably involves visualizing crushing his enemies.”
That earns me a chuckle. “Probably.”
The silence stretches between us, comfortable but weighted. Declan dumps the rice into the rice cooker, measures the water, and hits start before turning back to me.
“Hey, can I ask you something?” he says, leaning against the counter.
I nod, avoiding eye contact as I chop cilantro, because something in his tone puts me on alert. “Go ahead,” I say.
“Do you resent me? For leaving the team?” He pauses. “I mean, with Mike’s injury and everything… it left a lot on your shoulders.”
I carefully set the knife down, giving myself time to formulate an answer. The honest one feels complicated—part of me did resent him initially, but now—after wearing all this pressure from Coach and the situation with Mike and the constant attention from my mom—I kinda get it.
“No,” I say finally, meeting his eyes. “I mean, yeah, it’s been harder than I expected, with Mike and everything, but you made the right call for you. You’re in love with Lea, and with your art, and we both know that’s the future you want rather than pucks and skates.”
His shoulders relax slightly. “Thanks. I’ve been feeling guilty about it.”
“Well, stop. You’re happier now, right?”
“Yeah,” he says, a small smile playing at his lips. “I am.”
“Then it was the right choice.” I pick up my knife again, resuming my chopping. “Besides, it’s not like you’ve disappeared. You’re still around.”
“True.” Declan lowers his voice. “So… do you have a game plan for talking to Mike tonight?”
“Sort of.” I scrape the cilantro into a small bowl. “I’m going to tell him what Coach said, but I’m worried about piling too much on him at once, you know? It’s not just the captaincy stuff—it’s his overall attitude, the way he’s been treating the team.”
“The silent treatment,” Declan nods.
“Yeah, and when he does talk, it’s to criticize. The rookies are walking on eggshells around him. Which I get—he’s in pain, physically and mentally—but…”
“But it’s affecting the team,” Declan finishes.
“Exactly.” I start assembling the ingredients. “I don’t want him to feel like we’re all ganging up on him, but this can’t continue.”
From the living room comes more shouting, followed by maniacal laughter that can only be Maine celebrating a victory.
“So,” Declan says casually, clearly changing the topic, “I hear you and Em were hanging out.”
