Page 102 of Put a Rink on It

Despite the amount of alcohol she’s drunk, the meaning of her statement is crystal clear.

And it sucks.

Even though it’s the truth, she’s right.

It will be the end of this fake relationship we’ve built, but will it also be the end of our friendship?

The thought has me off the couch and pacing.

What if, when this ends, it’s the end of everything for Marina and me? I never considered the consequences of that, but hearing her words, could she be implying that?

I can’t do that.

I can’t do life without Marina. I can’t have her for myself, but she’s supposed to be here as a friend. We’ll go back to not seeing each other regularly, but we’ll have texts, phone calls, FaceTime. She’s not supposed to disappear from my life. That’s not the plan.

Nope, can’t happen.

I swipe a beer from the fridge, chugging more than half, nearly choking myself. Leaning over the sink, what I can’t hold or swallow fast enough spews from my mouth. I cough and spurt, slapping my hand against my chest as beer worms its way down my esophagus.

“Nero?” Marina’s voice rings out from the phone I placed on the counter. “Are you okay?”

“Fine.” Not in the slightest.

“There were a lot of coughing sounds. Are you getting sick?”

Sick at the thought of losing you.

“Drank the beer too fast,” I sputter, another cough working its way out, a new pain in my ribs adding to the one in my shoulder. On par for today.

“Oh, okay. Well, be careful.”

“Thanks. I will.” As much as I don’t want to get back to the conversation that sent me spiraling, I can’t ignore it. “Fill me in about this Minnesota wedding.”

This time, instead of beer, bile gathers in my throat.

I manage—I’m not sure how—to continue the wedding conversation. I let Marina talk, telling me the visions she has so far. It’s not much, but her animated voice about does me in. She doesn’t mention an “ending” again, which I’m thankful for. Hopefully, my piss-poor mood doesn’t translate across the line.

My teammates text about meeting up at the bar, so after I hang up with Marina, I get ready for a night out, obtaining Raul’s services for the night. I haven’t drunk any more of the beer, but I can’t take the chance of driving depending on what I drink tonight. I can’t get too out of control since we play tomorrow night, but enough to drown this day.

And my out-of-control thoughts and feelings about Marina.

I’m the first to arrive, so I grab the booth in the back, the one that seems to be ours. I start a tab with Zeke, sticking with beer rather than the hard stuff. I still haven’t fully recovered from several years ago when I messed up my system. I was sick for days, getting the flu on top of the worst hangover of my life.

Marina was in Minnesota visiting for the weekend. She extended her stay to take care of me and caught the flu when she got home. Since then, I haven’t been able to drink liquor after even half a beer.

“Who killed your cat?” Novak slides onto the seat across from me, a glass of whiskey in front of him. A full-body shudder passes through me.

“Fuck off.”

“Oof. Still touchy from practice, got it.”

“And other stuff.” Oops. Perhaps seltzer or soda should be on tap for me, though neither is strong enough to kick this mood out.

Beer it is. Maybe I’ll switch to lite after this one.

“How’s Marina?”

Of course, he jumps to that conclusion. Truthfully, it would probably be my first guess, too.