Page 29

Chapter Twenty-Nine

I t was obvious to anyone with eyes that the jersey wasn’t mine. Down to my knees, I was practically swimming in the blue and gray fabric. I’d paired it with blue jeans and blue ribbons in my hair to go all out.

Spirit Week was big at our school, and I usually went full-fledged for it. In the past, I’d never paid much attention to the sports days, usually borrowing something of Dave’s so I could participate. But now? Everywhere I looked, I seemed to spot Harbor Wolves jerseys on the staff and students alike. I noticed Brody’s last name on one of them and chuckled, almost having the urge to snap a picture to show Maggie. Others were wearing the jersey of that blond guy who we were sitting with at the bar that night. And some were even wearing Liam’s.

But the one I wore? It was Liam’s. Not some knock-off with his name on it that anyone could get in a sports store. No, Liam had bled, sweated, and played in the jersey I was wearing on my body right now. And no one had a clue.

It felt oddly intimate.

Still, they were our city’s home team, so I didn’t think it would draw much attention.

I rolled the sleeves up to my elbows, wondering if I looked weird in it. I was pretty sure I did based on the way Liam kept staring at me after I changed into it.

Feeling self-conscious, I slipped into the teacher’s room to put my lunch away. As always, it was filled with voices swirling together in conversations I could never manage to slip myself into.

I’d been at this school for over two years now, and I’d yet to find my footing with the staff. I was awkward, and my words tended to come out as rambling speeches that most people couldn’t keep track of. And usually, I ended up embarrassing myself too much to even bother trying again for a while.

It was the same way when I was in school. I was so hyper-aware of myself and everyone else that I overthought social interactions to the point where I ruined them before they ever began. It was exhausting.

“Didn’t peg you for a hockey fan,” one of my coworkers’ voices sounded.

I didn’t realize it was aimed at me until I shut the refrigerator and turned, watching the eyes of everyone at the table on me.

I tensed up, my brain whirling as I tried to think of how to respond. In comfortable settings, I had no problem having conversations. In fact, I thrived on it. I could talk a mile a minute with the right people. But with people, I felt that I hadn’t yet proved myself too? Knowing what to say next became a challenge I couldn’t conquer.

I wanted to be witty and know how to respond to their small talk that I’d never perfected the art of, like it seemed everyone else in the world had.

I laughed awkwardly, offering a shrug as a response. What else could I say? I wasn’t a huge hockey fan. If they asked me to name a single sports term, I wouldn’t be able to. The only players I could name were Liam and Brody. And if they tried to talk about anything game-related, I’d have no knowledge to offer up.

“I’m not really,” I responded as they waited for my answer. “I mean, I just recently started getting into it.”

“Because of Brynn?” The art teacher at our school’s eyes lit up, nodding toward my #26 jersey.

I froze. “What?”

“I don’t blame you. Everyone’s a hockey fan for Liam Brynn. I don’t know where they found that boy, but he looks like they ripped him out of a Calvin Klein magazine and put him in hockey gear.”

“Oh.” I laughed nervously, heart racing. “Yeah, he’s really good.”

“He could be the worst player on the team and still have half the women in Boston showing up to watch him.” Another teacher laughed.

“Really?” I asked, forcing out another laugh to appease them, but anxiety gnawed in my gut.

It was strange territory to be in, tiptoeing around the edge of Liam’s status.

“I’m surprised you spent the money on a jersey for a sport you’re ‘ just getting into,’ ” Marissa said, eating her yogurt and staring me down with equal intensity.

I couldn’t figure it out, but whenever her eyes were on me, they felt like a magnifying glass.

She’d never done anything outright to say, ‘ I don’t like you,’ but the sentiment always seemed to be clear, and the stronger I felt it, the more awkward I got around her, as if I could shrink myself down until she couldn’t even see me.

“I just needed a jersey for spirit week.” I shrugged, not understanding the feeling of having to defend myself.

She stared at me with what looked like boredom before continuing her conversation with the teachers sitting beside her.

This was how it always was. Her attention was on me long enough to make a comment, and then she was moving on as if I didn’t exist at all.

I looked down, brows raised, when I noticed she too was wearing a #26 jersey.

“So, Marissa.” I slid into the seat across from her. “Are you a big hockey fan?”

She looked up as if surprised I was still there and even more shocked that I was talking to her.

“Of course.” She laughed. “My family always had season tickets. I’ve been going to games before I could even talk.”

I didn’t doubt it. It’s how it was for a lot of Boston families. Something about New Englanders made their loyalty to sports teams run thicker than blood.

“Do you happen to know anything about the fight Liam got into the other night?”

She snorted. “I doubt it happened at all. Liam Brynn has never been the type to start a fight on the ice, never mind off of the ice, with a fan of all people.”

“It was a fan he fought?”

“I just told you, I doubt it even happened,” she responded, shooting me a scathing look. “I can’t possibly think of any reason why he would’ve punched some guy after winning a game. It’s just not like him.”

The way she spoke about him rubbed me the wrong way. As if she knew him. A feeling twisted in my gut. Oh my God, was it jealousy? It shouldn’t be. He wasn’t mine. What did I care if she had some weird parasocial obsession with him?

“Maybe it was over his new girlfriend,” the girl next to her, Kendra, chirped.

I felt like I was in an elevator that just dropped ten floors without warning.

“His—” I stuttered, blinking. “His girlfriend?”

Marissa frowned. “Well, that wasn’t confirmed yet, either.”

Was Maggie wrong? Did he actually have more interest in women than he let on?

“I mean, there was a picture of them on Twitter,” Kendra responded. “Isn’t that enough?”

Maybe it was someone he met at an away game. Maybe he was just super private about his dating life. After hearing the way my coworkers were discussing him, I would be too if I were him.

“It’s not like they were making out in the picture!” Marissa retorted, irritated. “Besides, it was so blurry you couldn’t even see anything. It might’ve been some random waitress he was having a conversation with.”

“There aren’t any waitresses in The Trap, ” Kendra pointed out, and the realization hit me like a truck.

The Trap. The redhead sitting with him at the booth. Was that his girlfriend?

“What was the picture of?” I asked, voice airy as I felt the oddest, most unreasonable pang of sadness.

“It was actually really cute,” Kendra said, “He was leaning into her, bending down to hear what she was saying. He looked way taller than her, which is super hot.”

Marissa frowned into her yogurt.

“Well, I doubt it’ll last,” she said, mostly to Kendra. “He’s an NHL player. I doubt he’ll be content to settle down with the first girl he’s been photographed with.”

“You’re just jealous because you want him.” Kendra laughed.

“So what if I do? I have a better chance than most people after him. I actually like hockey, and I go to games all the time, so it’s not super unrealistic that I might bump into him.”

“You’d be the cutest NHL wife,” Kendra gushed in agreement.

I snorted, thinking that Marissa seemed like the last person in the world to be Liam’s type.

Or was that just this bitter jealousy talking, fueling with me an anger that I couldn’t suppress?

Why didn’t he tell me he had a girlfriend? Was it because he felt bad about kicking me out of the apartment since he knew I’d leave if I knew?

Feeling flustered and sick of the conversation happening around me, I walked out of the breakroom.

I walked a few steps, then paused to lean against the wall, waiting to regain control of my emotions before setting off to teach a group of five-year-olds.

“I don’t know,” Marissa’s voice sounded, drifting out to where I stood. “She’s just so jittery all the time. I mean, how can she teach a class of kids if she’s so nervous?”

Heat surged through me as I reached some invisible limit that finally set me over the edge.

I was sick of it. Of coming to work feeling self-conscious and out of place when she was around. I was sick of the way she whispered to her friends when I entered a room. I was sick of the way everything she said to me was delivered in a backhanded, condescending manner.

With my heart hammering in my chest, I whirled the corner back into the breakroom, for once ready to hear what she had to say behind the whispers.

For the first time in a long time, I felt angry, and I didn’t have the self-control to keep it at bay any longer. Not when I spent every day nervous about navigating conversations with my coworkers as if I were still the shy, awkward girl in high school trying to stay out of everyone’s way.

Marissa’s eyes widened as I entered as if she thought I’d been long gone, and the look on her face satisfied the part of me that was so used to running away.

“Have you ever thought that if I’m nervous around you all the time, it’s because you make conversations incredibly uncomfortable to be part of?” I asked, watching as her mouth opened to respond.

“Or have you not realized that making passive-aggressive comments about what I wear, or how much I talk, or how I’m ‘too nice’ is probably the worst way to go about giving yourself a confidence boost?” I continued, letting everything I’d bottled up come out at once. “You don’t have to like me, and you don’t have to be my friend because I’m just here to do my job, and no matter what you say, I know I’m good at what I do because I love those kids.

“And you’re right. I might not yell at my kids to get them to be quiet, or maybe I don’t have that ‘teacher voice’ you use to scare them into listening to you, but I have managed just fine. So, you don’t need to give me any backhanded advice anymore on how to run my class because you’ve been here longer, or using a louder voice to get their attention, because, timid as I am, those kids respect me. You want to know why? Because I respect them. ”

She stared at me, mouth agape. For once, she was the one with nothing to say.

“What?” I asked, furrowing my brows in confusion. “Did I break the rules of your passive-aggressive game by being too direct? Or was it only fun for you when I didn’t say anything back?”

I waited a minute to listen to whatever she had to say back. When she came up with nothing, I turned on my heel and left, feeling better in my own skin than I had in a very long time.