Page 64 of Facing Off
“Please don’t call me buddy.” His shoulders drop ever so slightly. “I don’t want to be your buddy.”
We stare at each other.
“Because you already have so many friends in your life?” I venture explaining, chewing on the side of my lip.
“That’s not why,” he answers quietly, eyes locked on me.
My breath catches, and I realize I’m shoving another plate at him. “Don’t change the topic. This is aboutyou. Andyouare talking as if the Wings are justyourresponsibility.”
“I’m their captain. Itismy responsibility.”
“Doesn’t that stress you out?”
He throws the plate. “Sometimes.”
“How stressed are you?”
“I’m…managing it.”
My lips purse. “If you don’t want to keep talking, say so. Because non-answers don’t count.”
“No, that’s no—” He clears his throat. “The GM is the problem. He’s talking about trading a lot of the team. Clearing the roster. Starting fresh. Not giving us—me—a chance to pull us together as a team.”
We’re wearing protective visors attached to the helmets. They are slightly tinted, but not enough to hide twin spotsof color forming on his cheeks. Little indications of what? I wonder.
“Okay, that sucks about your GM,” I say, starting to feel bad for pressuring as hard as I am. “Losing your teammates?—”
“Not going to happen.”
I shake my head. His confidence isn’t exactly realistic. Not when hockey players get traded all the time. “Can you really make that promise, even as a captain?”
“I have to.”
“But I don’t think you can, right? You might not be able to stop anything.”
The plate in his hands drops closer to our feet. A strange, rare fumble.
My hand raises of its own volition, reaching towards him. “What was that?”
“My fingers slipped.”
“Why are you stepping back from me?”
He stills. Briefly I see it, a flicker in his eyes. Anguish? “Sonya?—”
I close the distance between us and grip the sleeve of his arm. “Adrian.”
My mouth falls open. So does his. I’ve shocked both of us by using his first name.
Eventually Hughes swallows. Meanwhile, I’m paralyzed with this confusing turn of events and this underlying growing sense of worry I can’t explain.
My eyes flick down.
My ribcage feels too tight, and there’s an intense claustrophobia sensation going through my body I’ve never felt before.
Because did I see his hand tremble?
“Hey, don’t look at me like that,” Hughes croaks. “It’s okay.”
