Page 8

Chapter 8

JAMIE

T he light from my phone screen is too bright in the dark hotel room. It's after midnight, but sleep isn't coming. The unfamiliar bed isn't helping, but mostly it's the hyperawareness of Rylan Collings lying only a few feet away. I can tell from his breathing he's not asleep either.

"Can't sleep before a game either?"I finally ask, keeping my voice soft.

His sheets rustle."Not usually,"he admits after a pause.

"Let me guess – too busy reviewing plays in your head?"

"Something like that." Another pause. "What's your excuse?"

I roll onto my side. I can barely make out his shape in the darkness."New team jitters, I guess. Ireallywant to play well tomorrow."

"You don't need to worry."His voice is quieter now, almost gentle."The way you've been playing in practice... the guys noticethatkind of effort."

"Even Cote?"

Rylan sighs."He'll come around. He's... protective."

"Of you?"The words slip out before I can stop them.

The silence stretches on for so longthatI think he's not going to answer. Finally:"Of the team."

Through the gap in the curtains, the city lights cast faint patterns on the ceiling.

"What was it like?"I ask."Winning the Cup?"

"Magic."The warmth in his voice makes my chest ache."Everythingjustclicked, you know? The kind of season whereevenyour mistakes turn into goals somehow."

"Thatovertime winner in Game 6 was legendary."

He's silent for a while, and I wonder if I've said the wrong thing.Then:"Sometimes..."He stops for a second. When he starts again, his voice is rougher."Sometimes I wonder what my brother would have thought. He was the one with all the natural talent."

Something in my chest squeezes tight at the vulnerability in his voice. He's never mentioned his brother, and it's almost like Rylan's cracking open a door he usually keeps locked up tight. Everyone in hockey knows about Nick Collings, the golden boy who never got his shot at the NHL. His death made headlinesevenin Boston, where I was a kid dreaming of my own future in the league.

"Does it bother you to talk about him?"I ask softly.

The sheets rustle again as Rylan shifts in his bed. When he speaks it's barely above a whisper.

"No, it's notthat. It's--I don't do it often. It's been almost twenty years, but sometimes it's like itjusthappened."

Something in his tone makes my chest ache. It's not only grief, it's something deeper. It's Almost like he's spent so long not talking about his brotherthattheveryact of forming the words is foreign.

"What was he like?"

"He was..."Rylan's voice catches slightly."Everything came so easy to him. Hockey, school, friends. He was so much fun to be around, didn't matter what we were doing. He was going to be a legend. Some scouts used to jokethathe was the 'second coming of Wayne Gretzky', but I don't think they were joking. He had this way of seeing plays develop before they happened like he could read the future or something."

"I've seen some of his junior highlights,"I continue carefully."There was this goal he scored against Kingston? Fucking incredible."

"You've watched Nick's games?"

"Of course. Any hockey nerd worth their salt has studied those clips."I pause."My coach in juniors used to make us watch them. He used to saythatNick Collings was the perfect example of how skill and hockey IQ could combine to create magic."

There's a soft sound from Rylan's bed like he's sitting up."He had this big scholarship to the University of Michigan. It was a big deal for a kid from our little town in the middle of nowhere, Canada. Everyone knew he was going straight to the NHL after. The only question was who would win the draft lottery so they could take him first overall."

The pain in his voice makes me want to reach out, to offer comfort, but I stay still, sensing he needs to get this out.

"He'd taken his girlfriend out for dinner. Sarah. They'd been together since their second year."His voice gets rougher."Some asshole was driving the wrong way on the highway. Blood alcohol was three times the legal limit. They..."He stops and swallows hard."They died on impact. Both of them."

My gut twists."Fuck, Rylan...."

The police showed up at our house around 2 AM. Every single detail is burned into my memory. When my dad flipped the outside light on, they had snow on the shoulders of their uniform jackets. One of the cops had been my peewee coach a couple of years earlier." He gives a bitter half-laugh. "We all got up because it was weird... the doorbell ringing in the middle of the night likethat. When the cops came in, they made me go back to my room, but I stayed at the top of the stairs to listen. I couldn't make out the words, but…" he stops to draw in a shaky breath, and I have to grip the bedsheet to stop myself from going to him. "The sound my dad made... I'd never heard a sound likethatcome out of a human…"

The silence stretches between us for a moment. It's so much. So heavy. Part of me wants to recoil, to pull back from the memories of so much pain. But Rylan lived through it. Before I can say anything, he continues.

"My mom held us together,"he says quietly."She was the strong one through all of it. She was amazing. Andthen…"his voice cracks, and he clears his throat."Justover a year after Nick... Things were never going to go back to normal, but we were starting to feel like maybe we'd survive, you know? But she passed away from an aneurysm. Out of the fucking blue… One minute she was there, and the next..."He shakes his head in the darkness.

"Jesus, Rylan. I'm… I'm so fucking sorry."I'd known about his brother, and I was dimly awarethathis mom had passed at some point, but I had no idea how it happened. He keeps talking like he hasn't heard me. Like maybe he needs to get the words out.

"Afterthat, my Dad... broke. He started drinking. At first, only at night, butthenhe started during the day too. He was never able to go back to his job at the mill after my mom…"He huffs."So these days I spend most of my time waiting for calls from the cops or the bar owner, telling me he needs to be picked up."

"God, Rylan. I'm so sorry. It must be so hard,"I say gently."Watching someone you love hurt themselves."

"I'm all he has left."His voice is tight with somethingthatsounds like guilt."I left him alone, inthattown, with all those memories."He takes another shaky breath.

"We were supposed to play in the league together, you know?Thatwas what Nick and I used to talk about when we were little. We wanted to play side by side and win the Cup together."He laughs bitterly.

"Hey."I sit up because he needs to hear this. Maybe no one has ever told him this before."Your success doesn't dishonor Nick's memory. And you're allowed to have your own dreams, Ry."

"You know what's fucked up?"His voice is barely a whisper."Sometimes I wonder if that's why I'm so..."He gestures vaguely in the semi-darkness."Controlled. Rigid. It's like if I can keep control of everything, maybe I can stop anything else bad from happening."He huffs again."Stupid, right?"

"That's not stupid or fucked up,"I say softly."It's human."I pause before adding quietly,"And for what it's worth... I think Nick would be proud of you."

His breath catches. It's barely audible, but in the quiet darkness, it might as well be a shout. I have to resist the urge to cross the space between our beds and slide in beside him. To pull him close and wrap my arms around him and somehow protect him from all the pain inside him.

But I don't.

The silencethatfollows is heavy. When he finally speaks, his voice is rough."I don't usually... I never talk about him. Notevenwith Lou."

"Thank you. For talking about him with me,"I say.

There's a pause before he answers."Thank you."The words are simple, but there's a warmth in his tonethatmakes my heart race."We should sleep."

"Night, Rylan."

"Goodnight."

I stay awake a little longer, watching the city lights play across the ceiling, thinking about how much trust hejustplaced in me. It feels bigger than hockey. Bigger than being teammates or roommates.

Eventually, I drift off too, lulled by the sound of his steady breathing from the other bed.