Page 61 of Fake Skating

“I can’t believe Dani’s still sick.”

I kept my eyes out the window, turning up the volume in my ears as I tried ignoring the conversation behind me. This was an epic day and I refused to fucking think about her .

Not when we were headed to the X.

The team bus was surrounded by the ceremonial Southview police escort, lights flashing as the cruisers led us toward the city limits, and I was trying my damnedest to find a balance between excitement and focus.

“Did you talk to her today, Zeus?” Vinny asked, leaning forward.

He and Kyle were on the seat behind me.

“Nah,” I said, shaking my head and refusing to picture her face.

Kyle shot me a look but didn’t say a word.

He was the only one who knew.

I’d confided in him (which meant Cass probably knew), but when he suggested we keep it quiet until after the tournament so no one got superstitiously freaked out, I grabbed the bailout with both hands.

Because I had no interest in having any conversations about what had happened.

I fucking couldn’t.

I’d gone through the motions yesterday and today, pretending my girlfriend was out sick, but I couldn’t think of her without feeling a thousand fucking feelings.

So I’d stopped thinking about her altogether.

Hell, I was glad she was sick.

Her being there would’ve been too much.

After she left the other morning, I drove myself nuts trying to figure out what the hell had happened to make everything change so fast, because she’d seemed honest when she said it wasn’t about the fight.

But if Worthington and the fight had nothing to do with it, how had we gone from fucking perfect to her crying and breaking up with me?

It didn’t make any sense.

What the hell changed?

But the bottom line was that I couldn’t let it mess with my head. I didn’t have the luxury of being a heartbroken little bitch about this, because it was tourney time.

And we were facing St. John’s Academy in the quarterfinal.

Between having to play against the guy who could’ve had me arrested (which would’ve destroyed my future) but didn’t, and having to deal with the emotional bullshit of getting dumped a couple of days before the tournament, it was going to take every bit of mental focus I had to be a hundred percent locked in.

So the only thing I was thinking about was lacing up my skates and sending St. John’s home.

Shoving our win down Worthington’s throat.

“I’m a little dialed into other things right now,” I said, doing my best not to sound like a dick.

“For sure,” Vin said, nodding in agreement. He gestured to my headphones with a smirk. “God, I can’t even imagine what kind of softass bullshit you’re rocking for this game, Z.”

Everyone roasted me for listening to the opposite of “pump-up” music (aka Zeus’s Lady Tunes, Barczewski’s Emo Jams, Alec’s Pregame Cryfest) when gearing up for games, but I swear to God they had it all wrong.

I didn’t need music to get me going—fuck, my goddamn brain never slowed when it came to hockey.

No, I needed the calm before the storm.

Which today came in the form of “exile,” though the lyrics were hitting a little too close, making the calm a little tougher to settle into than usual.

“Well, what the hell is on your playlist at the moment, jackass?” I asked. “What banger is fucking amping you?”

Vinny flashed an unrepentant grin, pointed at me, and said, “This motherfucker right here with the ludicrous question.”

“Aw, shit,” I said, laughing in spite of myself. “Walked right into it.”

Vinny was obsessed with Lady Gaga and had been on a kick all season, torturing us with his playlists whenever he had the opportunity.

“?‘How Bad Do U Want Me,’?” he said, “is fucking fueling me, man.”

And Vinny proceeded to hold up his phone and crank the volume so the entire bus had no choice but to give in to the Gaga.

And— God help me —give in they did.

We all did.

By the time the police escort left our side, the whole damn team was singing along.

When we got to the hotel, we dropped our bags in the conference room.

It was reserved for our equipment, so we unloaded our stuff immediately, laying everything out to dry from practice, and then we checked into our rooms. I was staying with Vinny, which was good because he was pretty chill, and Richie and Kyle were in the room next door.

“I can’t believe they took our phones,” Kyle said when we walked through the lobby an hour later to get back on the bus to go to the banquet.

“Yeah, what the hell am I gonna do tonight to fall asleep?” Richie asked. “Lie down and just close my eyes like a pioneer?”

“Watch TV, dumbass,” I said, wishing we could fast-forward to game time tomorrow.

I knew—because my parents had reminded me about a hundred times—that I should soak up everything about the tournament, but it was hard when I just wanted to go.