Page 96 of On His Mind

“I’m not passing into a double-team,” Theo says, still on his skate.

“You’re not passing, period. That’s the whole problem.” Stanley’s got the room and he knows it. “Fuller’s got it on tape, man. Third period, you had Reeve backdoor with a tap-in and you tried to go five-hole through two D.”

“He did,” Benson says, not looking up from his elbow pad. “I was standing at the post. I could’ve walked home and back.”

Theo’s jaw works. He doesn’t have an answer for it. “Course you’d say that.” He pulls his laces tight. “Hawthorne boys. You all live together, you all cover for each other. Must be nice.”

It lands flat. Nobody bites.

Drew leans back on the bench, defenseman-big, already grinning. “Marsh needs to get his dick wet. Man’s been a miserable prick for a month.”

“Don’t start,” Theo snaps.

Drew stretches his arms over his head. “Lucky for you, I’m on it. I’m back with Ivory.”

“Again,” Stanley says.

“It’s for charity. For this sad son of a bitch.” Drew tips his head at Theo. “Ivory’s roommate. You remember the roommate — architecture girl, quiet, smells like money. Marsh had that going, and then it went cold. She picked him up last weekend and bailed on him halfway, right? He’s been a bitch about it all week.”

“Shut up, Drew. I don’t need you running my shit,” Theo snarks back.

“Somebody’s gotta. You’ve been unbearable.”

“Fuck you.”

Stanley laughs. “She’s too good for you, man.”

They keep bickering, but I’ve tuned them out completely. My jaw clamps down as I finish the strap on my second pad. My hands keep working, finishing the pad. My fingers get hot; the way they used to when Mike would tell me there was no food in the house. Drew keeps talking about Ivory, but I don’t listen and focus on the game ahead. I don’t have a right to this feeling. Penelope isn’t mine.

I finish strapping my pads and roll my neck. Then I mentally prepare myself to watch a game from the bench with the weight of this on my back.

Hutch plays the entire game. I’m dressed and on the bench with my mask on my knee. I watch it closely, and all I can think about is the fact that there is only one net. It’s a tight game. 1–1 into the third and both benches yapping. Stanley’s line is out against Theo’s matchup half the night and they’re still at it,on the ice now instead of in the room, cross-checks after the whistle, faces close.

It boils over on a shift in the third. Theo takes a run at somebody, or somebody takes a run at Theo. It happens fast, and then gloves are down. Theo’s got a fistful of a Bridgeport sweater and he’s throwing. He’s good at it, mean and controlled, same as he is at everything.

And Blue’s right there. Somebody comes in on Theo from the side and Blue’s on him before he’s got two steps, gloves off, and now it’s two fights at once. Everyone’s on their feet, shouting, and the refs are letting it go for a second longer than they should because the whole building wants it.

They finally haul them apart. Theo skates to the box wiping his mouth, not a mark on him, blank-faced. Blue’s got a welt coming up under his eye, and he’s as calm as a Sunday. Five and five, both benches howling.

We win it 2–1 on a Benson point shot that Stanley tips with four minutes left. Stanley loses his mind, skating to Benson and jumping on him. The bench empties. Guys jump over the boards, and the lot of us pile on. I’m in the middle of it, and it’s good.

Half the team’s not coming back to Hawthorne. They’re going to Drew’s thing, and that’s fine. I don’t need to see Drew’s plan in action.

I go home with Blue. The welt under his eye’s gone purple. He doesn’t say anything about the fight, and I don’t ask. We walk the whole way back in the cold, not talking. I’m glad for the fifteen minutes of silence because what’s waiting for us at Hawthorne is going to be a headache.

The house is loud by eleven. The half that didn’t go to Drew’s thing is here, the music’s going, and the juice is gone in the first hour the way it always goes. Stanley’s re-scoring his goal for anybody who’ll watch, slower each time, more heroic. Benson’s got a girl laughing in the corner. It’s warm, loud, and becomingmy favorite pastime after a game. I sip at the beer I coddle almost every weekend to keep the questions at bay. It’s been a long week. I’ve been up at six every day.

My phone buzzes near midnight when the house has simmered down to a drinking game in the living room. With half the team gone, the night has felt more intimate. Sam Reichel and Walker Owens have even gotten a few words out of me.

In the middle of the game, I pull out my phone and glance down.

Penelope: I’m drawing again.

Three words, and they land warm, right in the middle of the loud room. My thumb’s moving toward the screen before I’ve decided anything. I want to answer it, keep the conversation going, and see what she’s doing later. But that thought stops me cold.Is she with Theo again and that’s why she’s texting me?I look up and the whiteboard is staring back at me, taunting me.

I glance down at my unfinished sentence:What are you…

I delete it and put my phone back in my pocket.