Page 60 of Break Away
She was quiet for a moment before patting my cheek, not gently enough to be sweet and not hard enough to be a slap.
“Fine. But when another day gets here, don’t insult me by pretending there isn’t a story.”
I looked down at my bandaged hand and flexed my fingers. “I won’t.”
“You will try.”
“Probably.”
“Good. I like knowing what kind of dumb to expect from my children.”
I laughed beneath my breath, and for the first time all day, it didn’t feel like something breaking.
The door opened again before Mom could interrogate me further, and a few more guys from the team stepped inside. They immediately slowed when they saw my family in the living room and my face in the kitchen.
The threat I had issued earlier must have traveled fast because even the freshmen entered like they were walking into a museum with emotional consequences.
Briggs looked over his shoulder and pointed two fingers at his own eyes, then at Vivi’s headphones, then at the floor in what I assumed was his interpretation of silent leadership.
Ryan stared at him. “What the hell was that?”
Briggs whispered, “Nonverbal house management.”
Vivi looked up from his mask. “That was confusing.”
“Thank you for the feedback,” Briggs whispered.
Skylar snorted.
Mom squeezed my shoulder once, then let go. “Go be captain, baby.”
“I’m trying.”
“I know.” Her smile softened, but the steel remained beneath it. “Try not to confuse being needed with never being allowed to need anyone.”
I didn’t answer because I had nothing clean to give her.
Instead, I pushed away from the island and walked back toward the living room, where my sisters were surrounded by the loudest, roughest, most ridiculous men I knew, all of them trying in their own awkward ways to be careful because I had asked them to be.
The pressure in my chest did not leave. The scouts, the C, the money, the shifts, my family, and the girl I refused to think about before puck drop stayed exactly where they had been.
For one afternoon, Hockey House held it with me.
As captain, brother, and son, with too many people looking at me like I knew what I was doing, I pulled my shoulders back and made myself look steady enough to believe.
5
Easton
The Furnace was already loud enough to feel personal.
The first game of the season had the student section packed in neon while bass rattled through the locker-room floor, and every few seconds, the building shook like the crowd was trying to prove it could tear the rafters loose before we even touched the ice.
Inside the room, tape ripped, skates hit rubber, sticks knocked against stalls, and Briggs was already sweating through his underlayer like the building had wronged him on purpose.
“Whoever just kicked my blocker owes me an apology,” Briggs announced from the goalie stall, half-dressed in pads and glaring at the floor. “And before anyone tries to victim-blame me, I know what assault feels like.”
Rider looked up from tightening his laces. “You tripped over your own bag.”
