Page 109 of Don't Puck His Best Friend
"You okay?" I ask, breaking the quiet.
She nods. "You?"
I nod too, even though I'm not sure it's true.
I show up at the rink at eight on Monday ready to tackle the week ahead. I need to clear my head, need to skate without thinking, need to do something with this restless energy that's been building since I woke up to an empty couch and no calls or texts back.
The ice is empty except for the Zamboni finishing up. I lace up my skates and hit the ice, taking laps at full speed until my lungs burn. The repetitive motion helps—the bite of cold air, the soundof my blades cutting through ice, the familiar weight of my stick in my hands.
I'm working on wrist shots when the locker room door opens. Liam walks in, gear bag over his shoulder, sunglasses on even though we're inside. He doesn't look at me. Doesn't acknowledge my presence at all. Just heads straight to his stall and starts getting ready.
Something hot and sharp twists in my chest.
I skate over to the boards. "Hey."
He doesn't respond.
"Liam."
Nothing.
"Are you seriously going to ignore me right now?"
He finally looks up, and even with the sunglasses I can see he's hungover as hell. "What do you want, Cole?"
"I want to know you're okay. You disappeared without a word. Can’t even shoot me a text?"
"I'm fine."
"You were throwing up drunk off your ass. I brought you to my place because you wouldn't tell me where you live. The least you could do is say thank you."
He goes back to lacing his skates. "Thanks."
The word is so flat, so devoid of anything real, that my frustration spikes. "Are you kidding me right now?"
"What do you want from me?" He stands, and there's something dangerous in his posture. "You want me to thank you for being such a great friend?"
"I want you to stop acting like I'm the enemy here."
"You're not the enemy. You're just the guy who gets everything he wants."
The words hang between us, sharp and true. Other players are starting to filter in now—Sirus, Marcus, Tommy—and I'm aware we have an audience.
"That's not fair," I say, keeping my voice low.
"No? Then what is it, Cole? You want me to be happy for you? To pretend like it doesn't kill me every time I see you two together?"
"What the fuck, Liam?" The words come out harsh. "It's been almost a year. At some point, you have to let this go and move on."
His laugh is bitter. "Let it go. Move on. Right. Because it's that easy."
"It could be if you'd actually try instead of drowning yourself in alcohol and random hookups."
"Don't act like you know anything about what I'm going through."
"I would if you'd talk to me! But you shut me out. You won't tell me where you live, you won't return my calls, you can barely look at me—"
"What the fuck do you want!" He's yelling now, and the locker room goes quiet. "What the fuck do you want from me, Cole!?”
