Page 15 of Fake Skating

“Are you okay?” my mom asked, pushing open my door, letting the light from the hallway flood into the dark bedroom where I was lying on my bed.

Was I okay?

Fuck if I know.

She stood in the doorway with her arms crossed, watching me with the same overworried, overprotective look she’d worn for most of my life.

Especially since the accident.

Everyone had finally left, thank God, so she was checking in after witnessing me getting yelled at for two hours straight.

God, it was so stupid.

I hadn’t even put my mouth on megabong. As much as I’d wanted to get hammered at the bonfire, I’d been a good boy and steered clear of Reid’s party favors.

I’d laughed my ass off when I saw his ridiculous apparatus, of which Tawnee had snapped a photo, but I’d hardcore passed on that nonsense.

In the end I’d known better, but now no one believed that I’d just been holding it.

Not even my dad.

I mean, my biggest lapse in judgment had been letting Tawnee take a photo at all. I didn’t have any social media accounts (that were public or searchable) because of potential situations like this. I knew better than to post anything about my personal life for the world to see.

But she didn’t know better. Tawnee’s harmless “photo dump” had ensured that half the hockey players in the Twin Cities—a large number of them my rivals—laid eyes upon that picture of me holding a fucking bong.

And now the guys up north, the ones with all the power, had already seen the photo.

Gee, I wonder how that happened? Fucking Maserati-driving douchebag.

I was so screwed.

I paused my playlist—“undressed” by sombr didn’t feel right while talking to my mom—and took out my AirPods.

“Yeah,” I said, staring up at my ceiling. “I mean, I deserved that.”

“You did,” she said with a smile in her voice, “but you’re just a kid. Screwing up is part of growing up.”

Her understanding made my throat tight, because she of all people needed me to be on . Out of everyone in my life, she and Dad were the ones who should’ve been yelling the loudest, because I was potentially fucking things up for them.

But here she was, asking if I was okay.

“Do you think they can fix it?” I asked, hating how weak I sounded. How unsure.

“I do,” she said. “I know it’ll be fine.”

After my coaches hollered at me for an hour, they came up with a tentative plan.

I was going to behave like an angel and be fucking perfect—perfect grades, perfect behavior—and they were going to see if they could get the newspaper to do a story on me and my family and the whole ride we’d been on.

They thought maybe if they showed who I was—and the shitstorm we’d (sort of) weathered—the decision makers would be more prone to forgive the stupid things I’d done.

“Just do everything they said, kiddo. You’ve got this.”

Her faith in me almost made it worse, because it just added to the pressure that’d been crushing my skull for the past year.

A tiny part of me wished this mistake would ruin everything.

Then I wouldn’t have any more pressure to get the wins and make the training team and eventually get the NHL deal that was going to change my family’s life forever.

I could go to community college next year while working at the hardware store, and no one would even notice my presence. Finally, I’d be able to breathe.

But my hockey future had become the most important thing to my family’s long-term security. It was the thing with the potential to make the grind less grinding. I didn’t think my parents had even realized that we’d stopped talking about other options for me a long time ago.

Which was fair, because life had been hard since the accident.

My dad still couldn’t work, aside from part-time, because his back seized up if he sat too long (or stood too long). And the medical bills we still owed from all those surgeries and hospital stays weren’t going away, especially since my mom was a teacher and not a millionaire.

I’d been doing my part to cover hockey expenses by working a lot, but the Barczewskis as a whole were way the fuck away from being in the black, so the life-changing lotto win of a future contract would mean everything.

God, I wanted to deliver that so fucking badly.

But what if I failed?

What if things never got easier for my parents?

“I promise not to screw up again,” I said, my voice cracking.

“I know you won’t, honey,” she said. “By the way, you didn’t even tell me how things went with Dani. I’m assuming you two have run into each other by now?”

Like I need this right now.

“Yeah, I saw her,” I said, rolling with her attempt to change the subject without going too deep into a Dani discussion. “It was fine.”

“Just fine?” She sounded shocked.

“What’d you expect?” I asked. “I haven’t seen her since middle school.”

“I don’t know—you kids were always like two peas in a pod, so I think I imagined you immediately going back to business as usual, the way you did every summer.”

“Yeah, well, it’s been a long time, and I only saw her for a few minutes.”

“Oh.”

“Don’t sound so disappointed,” I said, smiling in spite of everything because sometimes my mom was so ridiculously delusional that it was kind of adorable. She always had an attitude like she knew everything was going to work out.

Even in the worst of times.

“Well, now that you’ve seen her, I’m sure you’ll get to know each other again.”

“Maybe,” I said, just wanting to end the subject.

For some reason, talking—hell, even thinking about Dani hurt my chest.

“Well, if you have the chance, make sure you go out of your way to be nice to her. Make sure she’s hanging out with good kids and making friends.”

“She’s a senior in high school—I’m sure she can handle this,” I said.

“Yeah, but Hannah said she’s changed. Apparently she’s not the same outgoing kid she used to be.”

Ugh. There was that pain in my chest again.

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know, she didn’t really go into it, but I get the impression that all the moves kind of messed with her. She sort of closes herself up, and has some social anxiety.”

“I can’t imagine Dani being an introvert,” I said, and the idea of it made something in my heart pinch as I pictured her red cheeks and lowered eyes in the library over lunch.

Nope—not my problem, I quickly reminded myself.

“Yeah, me either, but I’ve never had to switch schools every two years. That’d really have to screw with your head, y’know?”

“I’m sure she’s fine,” I said, unable to sympathize with Dani when I had enough shit to worry about.

“Yeah, I’m sure she is too,” my mom said. “I’m going to go check on the twins, but get some sleep, kid.”

“I will,” I said, even though I wouldn’t.

Between the ache in my shoulder and the stress in my brain, I could tell it was going to be a long night.