Page 38 of Taking Sides

“Motherfucker,” I mutter, tasting blood. I shove him more out of instinct than anything. Victor turns on me. His eyes are wild, and his fists are clenched at his sides. I toss my gloves. I’m not much of a fighter, but I’m not about to back down. Victor moves first. He grabs for my jersey to hold me in place, then punches. He misses, but not by much. I’m ready, firing back.

But before either of us lands a hit, the referees skate between us and push us apart. Victor’s given a five-minute major penalty and so am I.

We move to the penalty boxes, still glaring at each other.

On the flight home, while the rest of the team is relaxing and basking in tonight’s win, I’m lost in my thoughts. All of them about Whitney. Did she see the game tonight? Is she pissed that I fought with her brother? I run my tongue along my cut bottom lip.

“Do you want in this hand?” D-Low asks, nudging me with an elbow.

I blink out of my haze and look to the table in front of us. Nick and Travis are sitting on the other side and Penn is across the aisle. All four of them are watching me closely. I’ve been quieter than usual all week, and it looks like I’m a few minutes from an intervention if I don’t snap out of it.

“Yeah,” I say, sitting forward.

D-Low deals the cards. Crazy eights is our game of choice on the road. It’s easy and quick and helps pass the time. For a couple of minutes, no one talks while we get started and go around once.

Travis is the first to break the silence. He stretches his neck from side to side and groans. “I cannot wait to get home and sleep in my own bed.”

Houston was the last of our three-game road trip. We have two days off, then another home game before we head out again.

“Is Hannah back from visiting her family?” Nick asks him.

Trav’s smile stretches across his face. “She got back this afternoon.”

D-Low chuckles. “So when you said you couldn’t wait to sleep in your own bed you meant⁠—”

“Oh no, I meant sleep. I toss and turn when she isn’t in bed with me. It’s the weirdest thing. My body can’t relax or something.”

“Toss and turn.” D-Low snickers.

“You are a child.” Penn shakes his head, but he laughs too.

“He’s the one saying it.” D-Low waves a hand toward Travis. “And also, you might want to look into a new mattress.”

“My mattress is fine. We test it out regularly when we . . . toss and turn.” Travis smirks.

“See?” D-Low looks to Penn, who is still laughing under his breath and shaking his head.

“Keep laughing, old man. You need a good toss and turn.”

“I need painkillers and a massage,” Penn mutters, and puts the eight of hearts down.

“Are you really telling me you’d rather a massage than sex?” D-Low studies him seriously. “What kind of massages are you getting?”

Penn rolls his eyes. “Worry less about my sex life.”

“Fine. Fine. Only trying to help.”

“Yes, this all feels very helpful.” Penn sounds all grumpy, but he’s still smiling. He catches my eye and holds it for a beat like he’s checking in on me. He hasn’t asked me about Whitney. But that’s Penn. He rarely pushes me to say more than I want. Or fuck, maybe he assumes I screwed it up again and doesn’t want to make me relive another dating disaster. Actually, now that I think about it, that has to be exactly what he’s doing. Neither he nor D-Low asked, though they both know I talked to her that night at the high school hockey game.

Before I can figure out what, if anything, to do about that, my phone vibrates on the seat next to me. I take my turn and then pick it up, expecting my parents. They text me before every game, and sometimes after as well. They’re the best. Every step of my career, they’ve supported me.

But it isn’t my mom or dad.

“Whitney?” I whisper.

“What’s that?” Travis asks as he discards.

I look up and around at my teammates, but no one seems to have heard me.