Page 10

Xander, October 21st

T he hotel we arrive at after a three-hour bus ride is at a weird level between dump and cheapest-available-family-friendly option. Not that we see a lot of it anyhow, just enough to arrive, store our gear and have lunch. Then it’s onward to the rink to get used to the ice. It’s only when we come back to kill some time before the game that I’m confronted with being unable to avoid Nate any longer.

After he snapped at me when I tried to have a look at his knee, I spent the rest of yesterday hiding away in my classes, the library and the gym. I made sure to come back late so he could pretend to be asleep. Even on the bus I sat at the front, my nose buried in one of my textbooks rather than chatting with my teammates. But of course, no one else got the memo that we’ve had a spat. We always room together, so naturally our coaches put us in one room this time as well.

I take a deep breath and stride in, grabbing my bag. Time to be an adult about this, I guess.

I inspect the TV program, then throw a brief look over at my best friend who’s still hovering near the door. I don’t know what he has to be nervous about, unless he suddenly does mind being in the same place as me. Which, after two weeks of his silences, odd glances and occasional glares, as well as snapping at me, is just the tip of the iceberg.

I try to rein in my thoughts, carefully schooling my face before I attempt some small talk.

“Window or wall?” I point at the beds, shifting my duffel over my shoulder.

But Nate is barely listening to me. Rather he’s fussing with his stuff, not even looking my way until he catches my stare. He walks over and dumps his bag on the wall-side bed.

“This one.” His voice is clipped as he brutally murders the conversation. His eyes flicker with the expectation of another fight that I’m not going to give him.

I set my bag down next to the other bed, then stretch out on it and pull out my phone. Determined to smooth Nate’s jagged edges, I hold out another olive branch: “I have I and E and three tries left. How far along are you?” Usually I don’t bother asking, as he always insists that I need to guess the solution to the Wordle on my own. Especially before games, otherwise it wouldn’t count.

Even though I’m hurt over his behavior, not to mention the lack of an explanation or apology, I’m desperate for some connection. We’re only a few hours away from an important game after all. I know it won’t matter on the ice. In less than a year, I’ll have to play with Nate’s twin after all, knowing full well no one will care about our hatred for one another. They’ll expect us to play together as part of a team.

“Haven’t looked at it yet,” Nate mutters, walking off to the bathroom. Hearing the lock click, I roll over onto my back, unsure what I’m doing wrong.

I’m fully prepared to just play the damn game and settle our argument when we’re back home. But by the time we’re back at the rink, my mind has changed on that. We both avoided each other throughout dinner and sat separately on the bus again, where I messed up the stupid Wordle.

It feels like a bad omen right before one of our most important games, and I need to do something about it.

I end up throwing Nate a few glances while we’re stretching, but he’s avoiding them stubbornly. I feel paranoid by the time we’re all geared up. So it’s either crawling out of my skin or growing a pair and talking to my best friend.

“You got a minute?”

He eyes me warily, then shrugs. I take it as a sign to continue and sit down next to him. I keep my distance so our shoulders don’t even brush.

“About yesterday,” I start, clearing my throat a few times and still not finding the right tone of voice. I feel odd worrying about this when talking to Nate, but the past week has made me feel like I might not be as familiar with my best friend as I always thought.

“That sucked. I just wanted to help.” I raise a hand when Nate frowns and opens his mouth. “You’ve been acting weird all week, I…if you’re annoyed by me, you can just say so, but don’t…are we still friends?”

“...what?”

I frown, thinking that I’ve been clear enough, then gesture between the two of us, opening my mouth again, but he interrupts me.

“It’s not that! Not everything is about– Of course, we’re still friends.” He looks pissed, and even if I’m irritated, I’m also glad to hear that this hasn’t changed.

“It’s my knee, okay? And with all the shit Nicko went through–” Nate breaks off, like the words are strangling him.

I grimace, feeling stupid. “I’m sorry, I hadn’t thought of that.”

“Of course you didn’t.”

“What the fuck has gotten into you?” I snap back at him, staring incredulously. Nate has never talked to me like that. Sure, he’s berated me for being a dick to his brother, but he’s never acted like he thought I didn’t care about him.

“You shouted at me to stop touching you,” I continue. “I’m sorry that I didn’t immediately connect that to your brother’s injury.” I take a breath, shaking my head. “Obviously, I can see you’re worrying about him, and that it was a big shock, but it’s been months; he’s walking and skating again. If that did happen to you, it wouldn’t be the end of the world! You could make it work as well. Faster too I’d say, because at least you know what it’s like to fight for what you want.”

Nate’s eyes are brighter than normal when they dart up to me and then quickly away again. He’s put in his contacts for the game. Without his glasses his eyes seem larger, but his face looks emptier. Weird, how quickly I’d gotten used to them when he only started wearing them more often this past week.

I’ve managed to get out some of my anger and hurt, and even if I’m still feeling an odd sort of restlessness, I do feel better.

“So yeah, either talk about what’s messing you up or don’t, but don’t take it out on me when I can’t read your mind.” I set my shoulders to at least try and bring some boundaries into this conversation.

It’s no use; I cave almost instantly, ducking my head and adding a quiet, “Please.”

Nate still hasn’t answered me, and I’m not given a chance to bring our conversation to a real end either, as Coach Griff yells us over for a last-minute pep talk.

But when we gather for the huddle, Nate stands right next to me. Even through all our pads I can feel his every move. I’m hyper aware of how our steps sync up as we walk through the tunnel.

After all this turmoil, I need this game to go well. As if the whole team shares my need, we come out swinging. Maybe because we remember the humiliation of last year, which makes every single one of us feel like he has something to prove today. Every time one of the Grizzlies so much as looks at the puck, a Bat is there to fight them tooth and nail for it.

For the first period we’re neck and neck. It’s only halfway through the second period that I get ahead. I steal the puck and make a break for it.

I don’t get very far; two black-clad defensemen are building themselves up in front of me, the goalie a wall behind them.

There’s no way through, but at the right edge of my vision there’s a green blur.

Eyes? Nate’s voice echoes through my head.

Yup, I have those. Without thinking twice, I flick the puck over. Moments later I’m checked into the boards when the opposing D-Man crashes into me. The impact leaves me gasping for breath, my head ringing. I have no idea whether my pass reached its goal until our tiny green corner erupts.

They are screaming their lungs out and making me grin as I push the cursing Grizzly off of myself.

The scoreboard confirms it: We’re in the lead!