Page 101 of How We End

Anders turned to look at the ceiling, nodding before turning to me.“Julian.”

“Anders.”

“Are we alone?”

“Yes?”

“Good, because I’m going to be sick.”Anders sat up quickly and vomited all over the floor.

“Fuck.Andy.”I held on to him so he wouldn’t fall off the table.

“Don’t tell them, Jules.Please, it’s not what you think.”He breathed out.“I didn’t hit my head.It’s not a concussion.”

“Slow down.Okay, you’re going to be fine.”The bruised ribs wouldn’t be his biggest worry.It would be the concussion.“Are you sure you didn’t black out?”

“I don’t remember.Don’t tell them.Please.”Anders clung to my arm.“They’ll pull me.It’ll be my third this year.Why can’t I fucking breathe?”

“Because you’re hysterical.Now calm down.”I helped him lie back down.The smell of vomit filled the room.Playing hockey was all Anders ever wanted to do.Not because of his father but because he had some asshole Juniors player stay with him when he was eight.Made him think this was the only life there was.That asshole was me.

“Wait, why are you back here?”

“Silver, my office, now,” Murry called.

Anders grabbed my arm.“Jules, tell me you didn’t get into a fight.That’s number four.”

“Looks like we’ll have some time off together.Don’t worry about the season.We have plenty of it left.”I patted him on the shoulder as I walked out.

“How is he?”Mason asked, nodding to where I had just come from.

“He’s Anders, how do you think?Someone find Teigen and tell her he’s alive,” I said on my way to Murry’s office.

“Close the door,” Murry said, pacing the floor.“Are you fucking stupid or just hard of hearing?”he shouted as soon as the door closed.

“Are you blind?He ran Anders into the fucking boards.”It could’ve been worse.A concussion and bruised ribs were the best case.It could have been a season-ending injury or worse, a career-ending one.

“That’s number four, Julian!Not to mention a major in the last three minutes of a game.You are suspended for five games.And your little stunt cost me ten grand.”

“It could have cost you a player.”

“Well, it did!It cost me you.Anders is a fine player, but you are a great player.When will you get that through your thick fucking skull?There is no player in this league right now that is as good as you.Jesus fucking Christ, Julian, get out of your fucking head and stop trying to sabotage your career.”Murry kicked the desk.“We need you.This fucking team needs you if we’re going to make it to the playoffs.”

“What was I supposed to do?”I shouted at him.It was my job to protect my team.Protect Anders.

“Stop throwing your fucking career away.Why are you so afraid of winning?Of being something better?”Murry paced the floor before he stopped.“Your father was great only because he played with other talented players.He only has those records because of the teams he’s played with.But you.”Murry pointed.“You make a team better.You make those assholes out there better.Why do you think I continue to put my ass on the line for you?I have never coached a player as infuriating as you.As good and yet as scared of success as you.”He rubbed his face.“I want you to take this suspension and find your fucking head and pull it out of your fucking ass.Now get out of my fucking face.And get that fucking eye looked at before you lose that too.”

CHAPTERFORTY-SEVEN

WYATT

February 4

A ringing phone tore me from my fitful sleep.I lay there for a moment, watching the blue light dance across the ceiling.My head ached as the events of the night rushed in.The words spoken and the choices I’d made.It was my cell phone that was ringing.I caught it on the last ring.

“Hello?”My voice was still heavy with sleep.

“Wyatt?”

“Anders?”I pulled the phone away to see it was two in the morning.There were ten missed text messages, all from him.Fear cleared the fog.“Where’s Julian?”I sat up.The gray light from the infomercial on the TV lit up the room.