Page 85 of Practice Makes Perfect
Mike has the decency to look guilty. He shifts his weight, wincing slightly when he puts pressure on his bad ankle. But there’s something different about him. The perpetual cloud ofbitterness that’s surrounded him for months seems to have lifted.
“Co-captain…” He grins, but the smile vanishes as his joke falls flat, and he rubs the back of his neck. “Yeah, I know. I’m sorry. I’ve been at Dec’s place.”
“For a week?”
“I needed to get my head on straight,” he says, looking more like himself than he has in months. “And I couldn’t do that around you.”
That stings more than I’d like to admit. “Why not?”
Mike exhales slowly, glancing around the stairwell. “Can we talk inside? I’d rather not have this conversation where some asshole freshman could overhear.”
I nod and continue up the stairs to our door, fishing the keys from my pocket. Once inside, Mike heads straight for the fridge, grabs two beers, and offers me one. I take it, surprised by this olive branch. Whatever happened at Dec’s apartment seems to have made him human again.
“I’ve been jealous,” he says bluntly, popping the cap off his beer. “Since I had the surgery.”
“Why?” I scoff. “You’re MikefuckingAltman, the captain of the team and the guy with the best shot at the NHL out of all of us…”
“Yeah, sure, real top prospect here,” he snorts, gesturing at his ankle. “I’ve been watching you live out the senior year I had planned for myself while I’m watching my NHL chances circle the drain. I know I’ll have another shot next year, but one more injury and… yeah. It’s fucked up, I know.”
“That’s why you’ve been such an asshole?” I ask, not bothering to soften the accusation.
“Pretty much.” He takes a long pull from his beer. “I just felt it building inside me until it erupted. First I was silent. Then I started nitpicking every little thing you did in practice. And whyI was a total dick to you a few weeks ago.” He meets my eyes directly for the first time in what feels like forever. “I’m sorry, man.”
“You could have just talked to me,” I shrug.
“You’ve got a heap on your plate, and you would have just tried to help by taking on all my shit, which would have made me even more angry.” He takes a long pull of his beer. “I had to get away from you and the team, and Dec was the perfect antidote to the poison I’d become, since he’soutnow…”
“He said something to you, didn’t she?”
“He told me if hockey was really my dream, I needed to stop punishing my body for getting injured, and stop taking it out on others as well,” Mike’s lips twitch into an almost-smile. “And Lea chimed in, too, calling me an ‘immature asshole’. Said I should go back to being a team player and talk about my feelings.”
“Harsh.”
“Truth usually is.” He shrugs.
As he says the words, I can’t help but think of the parallels—weird as they are—to my situation with Em, where I’m trying to run from my feelings and I’m pretty sure she’s keeping quiet about her feelings. But before I can dwell on this too long, Mike goes quiet, clearly waiting for me to deliver the verdict.
And there’s only one choice.
I’m tired of the tension, walking on eggshells, and missing my friend.
“It’s fine,” I say, dropping onto the couch. “I forgive you.”
Mike blinks, clearly thrown. “That’s it? No lecture? No making me grovel?”
“Looks like you’ve been torturing yourself plenty without my help.” I take a swig of my beer. “Besides, I miss having my friend and roommate around.”
Mike sinks beside me, looking relieved. “I’m seeing someone—a therapist, I mean. And I talked to Coach…”
“Did he talk back?” I shake my head. “He’s checked out, man.”
“He flicked me to the trainers, but they think that, with the right approach, I might be able to start some light practices in a couple of weeks.”
“That’s good,” I say, smiling. “The team needs you, even if it’s just leadership from the bench.”
“So,” Mike says after a moment, his tone lighter, “what had you so wrapped up in your head on the stairs that you couldn’t hear me calling your name?”
For a second, I consider deflecting, but what tumbles out of my mouth instead shocks even me. “I’m screwed, man,” I say.
