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Eli
I actually slept okay last night. It was the first night in a while that I didn’t wake up in a panic, and I know exactly why. First off, getting to see Logan in Minnesota settled me, knowing that she was home. Second was the sweet text she sent me after she saw the new pictures in her dorm room. I swear I stared at her words on my phone all night, telling me how much she loved me. And lastly, the picture Marc sent me of Logan sitting court-side with him. She had a huge smile plastered on her face while one of the players was talking to her before inbounding the ball. Don’t get me wrong, I didn’t love seeing the giant basketball player that was probably hitting on my girl, but I did love her smile. I haven’t seen that in far too long.
She didn’t tell me if she was coming to Chicago with Marc, and I was hoping that my brother would’ve mentioned it either way. But his lack of information makes me believe that she probably won’t be here.
I stayed in a random hotel last night when I got into the city. Senior Showcase check-in wasn’t until this morning, but I didn’t want to drive all through the night and show up here without sleep. I spent most of my evening staring at my phone and icing my hand. Thankfully the swelling has gone done in the last twenty-four hours, and most of my mobility is back.
This hotel is much nicer than the one I crashed in last night. As I walk through the lobby with my equipment bag slung over my shoulder, I spot plenty of faces I recognize. Seniors from teams I’ve played all over the county and a few scouts I’ve spoken to.
I weave through the crowd until I make it to the registration desk to wait in line. By the looks of it, I’m pretty sure this hotel is probably sold out, so I’m glad that my parents booked a couple of rooms for themselves and Marc months ago.
“Name?” the woman sitting behind the registration table asks me once I make it to the front of the line.
“Maddison. Eli Maddison.”
She riffles through the bins of manila envelopes organized in alphabetical order until she finds mine.
“Okay, here you go.” She hands me my envelope. “You’re in room 1712. Your key is in there. It looks like your roommate already checked in.”
“Roommate?” I ask in disbelief.
“Yep. You’re one of the lucky ones. You only have one.”
How did I not realize that I would have a roommate this weekend? I’ve only ever shared a room with Logan or Marc. I’ve never allowed someone to be in my space in case a panic attack came on, and seeing how they’ve inundated my life these last three weeks, I wouldn’t be surprised if I have one while I’m here.
This weekend is too cutthroat to let my competition see me that way. Everyone here is looking for a leg up, and the last thing I need is for someone to find out that I have any weaknesses. Even though it’s not a physical impediment, my mental toughness, or lack thereof, could still be seen as an issue.
“Your identification number is in that envelope. Make sure you keep that pinned on your jersey all weekend. The welcome meeting is in the main ballroom at noon.”
“Thank you,” I tell the woman before digging out my room key and heading towards the elevator.
Pushing the button for floor seventeen, I take my phone out for the ride. I have a text waiting from my brother, informing me that Ali’s flight was delayed, so they’re running late. He doesn’t mention anything about Logan, though, so I’m still unsure if she’ll be here.
There’s another text from my dad wishing me good luck, telling me how proud he is of me, and that he can’t wait to watch me play this weekend. Though, I’m pretty sure I could be doing nothing productive with my life, and the guy would still be proud of me.
The last message is a family group text started by my stepmom, telling us what time to meet for dinner in the hotel restaurant tonight. Logan is included in this group message, so I’m going to hold out hope that Mary knows something that I don’t know about her coming today.
When I make it to my room, I slide my key into the slot and throw the door open, trying to get my bags inside before it closes on me. I toss my gear to my feet when I make it into the room, and when I do, I spot my roommate lying down on one of the beds with his arms crossed under his head.
And it’s the one person I was planning to avoid all weekend.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” he says when he spots me in the entryway.
“Fuck this.”
Evan Zanders. Evan fucking Zanders is my roommate this weekend? I swear to god we’re being pranked. This guy has been on my ass since we were kids playing travel hockey. He’s a dirty player and a giant prick. To be honest, I’m shocked that his massive ego even fits in this room. Granted, he’s a great defenseman, but that doesn’t make up for the fact he’s a shitty human.
As if his face wasn’t already plastered in my mind ever since he illegally threw me into the boards and shattered my ankle three years ago, I also have to see him multiple times a year whenever we play Ohio State.
And now, I have to see him in my room all weekend.
I knew he was going to be here. He’s being heavily scouted, but I was planning on avoiding him as much as possible. Apparently, that’s not going to happen.
“Do you know anyone you can swap rooms with?” I stay standing in my spot by the door.
“No, do you?”
I let out a defeated sigh. “No.”
