Page 82 of The Play Maker

For me.

She didn’t have to do this. She could’ve stayed home, stayed in her warm bed with Waddles by her side. But she came anyway. She just sat in that crowd because she thought I might need someone.

“You came to a game for me?” I ask, unable to stop the smile that tugs at my lips.

Maisie shoots me a dry look. “Don’t make it a thing.”

“I’m definitely making it a thing.”

She lets out a little huff, tucking her hair behind her ear.

I sit down on the edge of the old wooden bench near the ticket booth. I nod toward the open spot beside me without saying anything.

Maisie pauses. She shifts her bag higher on her shoulder, glances back down the hallway like she might bail. But then her shoulders sag, and with a quiet sigh, she lowers herself beside me.

The game noise is faint now, just a dull hum behind the concrete walls. I lean forward, propping my elbows on my knees.

We don’t talk at first.

And for once, I don’t feel like I have to fill the silence.

Maisie just sits there, her hands resting on her thighs, her fingers picking at the edge of her sleeve.

I stare at the scuffed floor between my sneakers and mutter, “It fucking sucks.”

She looks over, but doesn’t speak.

I shake my head, trying to swallow down the knot in my throat. “Not playing. Sitting there, knowing I let everyone down. My team. Coach. Myself.” I pause. “My mom.”

Maisie doesn’t say anything, but I can feel her listening.

“She works at a private school,” I continue, voice low. “She’s a janitor there. Been doing it since I was a kid.”

My leg bounces. I press my hand down on my thigh to stop it.

“She used to come home with bleach stains on her pants and holes in her sneakers, but still found a way to buy me skates. Ice time. Weekend camps. She said if I loved hockey, she’d make it happen. Even when we could barely afford groceries, she made sure I had new laces before a tournament.”

Maisie’s hand shifts slightly on the bench, close to mine. She doesn’t touch me, not quite. But I can feel the space between us shrink.

I let out a breath, staring straight ahead. “I owe her. I owe her to make it. Get drafted. Go pro. Buy her a house. A car. Something. Anything that says thank you for working yourself into the ground for me.”

There’s a long pause before she finally speaks. “That’s not on you, Austin.”

I drag a hand through my hair, breathing out a harsh breath. “Feels like it is,” I say. “Like every time I fuck up, I push that dream further away. Like I’m wasting everything she gave up for me.”

My voice cracks at the end. I hate that. I bite the inside of my cheek to shut it down, my jaw clenching so hard it aches.

Maisie shifts beside me. Her knee brushes mine.

And then her hand slowly rests gently on top of mine.

The contact makes my throat close up in a different way.

We sit like that for a while.

Maisie shifts beside me on the bench, her hand still resting lightly on mine before she slowly pulls it back, folding it in her lap.

She glances over. “You ready for the midterm?”