Page 17 of Offside

Sam and I came in from our shift, panting on the bench and avoiding looking at one another. I was fired up and irritated, but the sensible part of me knew I needed him to work with me.

Honestly, with his track record, he needed me to work with him, too.

“Okay, lightning round,” I managed over the crowd of people, getting his tired and sweaty face to look over at me.

All blotchy and red, with dark hair sticking out of his helmet and to his neck.

Oh, god, don’t think about him bent over like that–head in the game, Lando.

“Landon Christopher Marks. My mom's an English teacher, dad's a hockey coach and gym teacher. One sister, Rennee, has a degree in business, but mostly just travels on my dime. I was born in Maryland, but grew up in Boston. I’m twenty-seven, and I have no pets, but I would love to get a fish tank when I get into my new place.”

Sam nodded along, picking up on what I was doing quickly. His eyes darted around like he was mentally filing it all away.

“Samuel James Karter. Mom’s a stay-at-home mom, and Dad’s an accountant. Brother–name's Ben–he’s twenty and has a degree in music production, but that’s just fancy talk for DJ, and I was born and raised in Minnesota. Twenty-three, no pets, and I’m allergic to most of them, so the best I could have is a fish.”

It was basic and quick, but it would have to do, right?

I mean, we could do a deeper dive later on why the hell his brother got a degree to be a DJ, but for now, it had to be at least kind of enough.

Right?

Wrong.

Well, that wasn’t fair.

We played a little better–we stopped running into one another. We still didn’t play great, and even though we won, I lost.

Coach Banning told me in no uncertain terms that he was keeping me with Sam because we at least showed some progression together eventually…which was more than I'd shown with anyone else.

He didn’t have to say the words for me to get it–I needed this to work with Sam, or I was next up on the block to get traded.

My mood was shot already, but being forced onto a plane after without even getting a shower was rough. I still stood my ground on not showering with the guys, but that really sucked for nights when we immediately had to ship out to the next place.

It did, however, mean everyone stayed away from me.

My phone was blaring music into my ears, keeping me awake, even though I really should have been sleeping–the rest of the team was. I just really hated sleeping on planes, and it always left my neck stiff, so metal music to keep me awake was the move.

And it only slightly irritated me that it reminded me of a certain metalhead I was mad at.

Irritation bubbled in my veins, enough that I grabbed my phone from the little table in front of me and unlocked it, pulling up my chat with Metal.

BaskarKnight: I’m mad at you, and I don’t want to be.

BaskarKnight: I get that this is all very new and weird–trust me, I do, but I don’t feel good about opening up to you and not at least getting some kind of acknowledgement.

BaskarKnight: I’m not asking for all your deepest, darkest secrets, just a little message that said you were there or something–I don’t really know.

BaskarKnight: I’m really tired right now, and very irritated, so maybe it’s just that, but yeah.

The second I hit send on that last message, I regretted it. He didn’t owe me anything, and I hardly knew the guy–I was actively flying away from him now.

That didn’t mean he deserved it.

It wasn’t his fault I could only be honest with him, and it wasn’t his fault I couldn’t get my shit together at work. None of it was his fault, but I needed someone to blame that wasn’t just me.

I’d never climb out of that pit.

It just…it felt really nice for a day–having someone.