Page 39 of Best Things in Life

“Sure, right. Because that’s who you’ve been thinking about all this time.”

“Ouch.” He’s right. “I deserve that. But they don’t.” My heart speeds up because I can feel things slipping away and it’s all my own fault. “Look, you don’t have to like me. You can hate me for the rest of your life. Maybe I deserve that. Probably do. But we can behave civilly, get along for the team, for this one last season, for a few lousy months.”

“Sure,” he says too casually. “People do it all the time. Work with people they hate.” He looks at me as the stab of his words make me feel like I’m bleeding somewhere. But his face doesn’t show hate. It shows indifference. And after being his friend for the last three years, indifference is almost worse than hate.

But it’s what I deserve, whatever he dishes out. I’ll have to take it and deal. Because I knew all along that when I went after Sarina I was breaking the rules and there would be consequences. I also knew there was a ticking clock and that waiting like Bigs insisted I should wasn’t an option either.

“I’ll take it. And for the record, I don’t hate you Bigs.” He snorts.

“Because I didn’t steal your girl.” We look at each other and I arch my brow because we can both hear Sarina screeching in frustration that no one stole her, that she made up her own mind. He bows his head. “Okay.” He pauses a beat and I gather my brows, not knowing where he’s going with this. “You didn’t steal her. She chose you.” He looks up and now I can see the shade of hate, or maybe jealousy in his expression. He shrugs. “Either way, I hate you.”

The words make me dizzy because they sound final, but I stand and take it because I get it and if the shoe were on the other foot I would feel the same way. In fact, I’d probably taken a couple more punches.

“You want to take another punch?” I say. He snorts and eyes me, lifts his hands as if he’s considering the option, then after a beat where I’m surprisingly relaxed, he drops them to his sides again and turns to open the door.

“Nah. One look at your face and the guys’ll know I got the better of you.”

I follow him back into the locker room which is empty now, not knowing if he’s decided to be civil or if he plans to hold a grudge, but I can only control my own actions—something I should have remembered a couple of months ago.

But this is one of those lessons I had to learn the hard way and I grab my mask and head out to the ice. I haven’t seen coach until now, but whatever punishment he has to dish out is nothing compared to what Bigs delivered, compared to what I’m giving myself because I’m worried the bile in my gut is going to eat a whole through it right now.

The whistle blows and the guys gather at the bench. Bigs steps onto the ice and skates over. Coach nods and I have no idea how much he knows or doesn’t know. But I keep my eyes on him as he talks, ignoring the glances from the guys at my half-shut eye which is probably black and ugly looking right now. I’m not sure I’ll be able to wear the mask over it.

“Line drills today courtesy of Garino for missing yesterday’s practice.” He looks at me. “Looks like you might have to miss a couple more practices because there’s no way you can wear a mask with that cheek swelling up. Go see the trainer.” I stand paralyzed, waiting for the other shoe to drop, all eyes staring at me. “Well? Get the fuck out of here.”

I skate off, the guys staring at my back and I wait for the sensation of poison darts thrown at me to kick in, for the humiliation and horror, but I don’t feel any of it. Remorse is there, but not for missing practice, for messing up my friendship, for messing up the team.

There’s only one thing I can do to fix that.

After I undress and put on my suit again, I go to coach’s office and find a piece of paper and pen and write him a note, sign it and leave it folded on his desk with his name on it.

My letter of resignation from the team. I’m the only one who caused the problem on the team and my resignation is the only way I can fix it so that no one else suffers but me.

My next class is Hospitality Management with Sarina and I go back to BMOC house to eat, change clothes, get my back pack and head to class. I arrive slightly late and sit in the back of the room by myself with a view of Sarina who sits on the aisle half-way to the front. I’m wearing sunglasses, but no one says a thing to me. Could be my body language shouting I’ll punch you if you talk to me. Which is strange because normally people chat me up and joke even while the professor lectures.

Watching Sarina is enough to distract me from dwelling on the team, the loss and all the implications until class is over. I stay seated and watch her walking almost past me until she notices me here.

“Nate, I thought you were skipping out.” She gives me a wary look and I know she notices my swollen bruised cheek because the sunglasses can only hide so much. I stand and put an arm around her and we walk out together. When we get outside we head in the direction of our street, but she stops.

“What happened?” She lifts the sunglasses from my face and grimaces. “Tell me he looks worse, please.” I shake my head.

“Tell me everything,” She says, kissing my cheek so lightly I barely feel it. But that’s because all I can feel is the throbbing. I refused the ice pack from Majik because it could wait until after class, but now I’m not so sure.

“The punch in the eye was the easy part, “ I say. Then I tell her the whole story and when I get to the part where I left a letter resigning from the team on the coach’s desk, she’s crying and punches me in the chest.

“You did not? Why, Nate? Why would you throw away your dream like that? Don’t do it—take it back.” I hold her against me as she cries tears for both of us because I know she feels guilty, like she’s the cause of it.

“It was all my own fault Sarina.” She shakes her head.

“No, it was me. I should have realized Bigs wasn’t the one, that I didn’t feel that way about him. I should have broken it off with him when his father insisted that he could get me into SPU. I thought about it, had the thought that it would be a bad idea, that going there for Bigs wasn’t right.” Tears roll down her cheeks and she swipes at them as if they’re nothing, but I see the suffering.

“That wasn’t your fault. You had every right to date him, to take the time you needed to figure out if he was the one for you.” I take a breath and continue. “You’re forgetting this was all my fault because I’m the one who left you behind three years ago. And I never should have.” She smiles through her tears and then mocks me.

“You had every right to go off and play hockey, to take the time you needed to figure out if hockey was the most important thing to you.” I laugh.

“Wiseass.”

“Truth,” she says, more soberly. I take a deep sigh.