26. Van

26

Van

S etting my tray down at the big table by the window, I take a seat and wait for Pete to finish his conversation with Coach. We're meeting the rest of the guys here for lunch like we always do, but since my class ended early and Pete's done for the day, we're here ahead of time.

"Yep, will do. Thanks, Coach." Pete sets his phone down and looks at me. "We're cleared to go back in."

I breathe a sigh of relief. We were gone all weekend, but when we got back Sunday night, we weren't allowed in the house so we all scattered in various directions. A couple guys stayed with Booker at the Chapel, and I know Coach and his wife let players stay there, too. Pete's originally from Syracuse, but he lives close by now, so we crashed at his mom's house. I'm kinda glad we got to go, honestly. Pete's mom has been through hell the last couple years. She's a two-time breast cancer survivor and one of the best people I know. She went for a checkup a few weeks ago, and found out the cancer is back. We know she's gonna beat it again because she's a damn warrior, but the whole situation sucks. Pete and I did some stuff around the house for her and kept his brothers busy so she could rest. I definitely wish Mickey hadn't set the couch on fire, but I'm glad I got to help out.

"Nice," I say. "So…is Coach going to feed Mickey to an actual wolf? Because the guys voted this weekend and I think that's the punishment they decided on."

Pete laughs. "I have no doubt that was Ollie's idea. But nah, I think Mickey's spared for now, at least from Coach's wrath. I'm thinking we make him do all our laundry for a month. Does that seem fair?"

I take a bite of grilled chicken and think it over. "I don't know, man, he lit the couch on fire because he was making S'mores and he was too lazy to go into the kitchen and use the burners."

Pete gives me a look. "I'm not so sure that's safe, either. And how the hell was he making S'mores in the living room? I never got that part of the story."

I shake my head. "You know how Will's mom is always sending us stuff? Well, she sent one of those big-ass candles last week. It's one big jar, but it's got, like, five candle wicks or whatever you call them. I guess he lit that and was using it to roast his marshmallows. But then he saw a commercial where they pour the soda in a glass and it gets all fizzy. And there's all that good nugget ice, you know? That made him thirsty, so he went back into the kitchen, but I guess when he got up, he must've tipped the candle over without realizing it because when he walked back into the living room, the couch was up in flames."

"No shit," Pete mutters, shaking his head. "The damn thing's polyester. I bet it went up in no time. It's a fucking wonder he wasn't hurt."

"Thank God for nugget ice?" I joke. "I'm not sure what's more of a mess—our house or the people who live there," I say just as my phone pings with a text.

"That Josie?" Pete asks, his voice hopeful.

I shake my head and tap the button on my phone. An automated voice says, "Message from Ollie. Running late, dude. Be there in ten."

"Nah, man," I answer. "We're right back where we were before. We've had a couple sessions this week, and she's all business. She hasn't said a word about Thursday night. She's acting like it never happened. What the hell?" I ask, forking an asparagus spear with a little too much force.

"Maybe she's waiting for you to start the conversation?" Pete asks.

I know he's just being nice and trying to help, but it's not working. "No way. My intentions were perfectly clear. And I know that she's just as attracted to me as I am to her, so it's her play," I say, stabbing at another bite of food.

"Dude, why are you mad at the veggies? What did that zucchini ever do to you?"

Pinching the bridge of my nose, I sigh. "I'm not mad at anyone—not my food and sure as hell not Josie. Maybe it's better this way? Hell, I don't know. It doesn't feel better. But the thing is, I want more with her. So much more. And if that's not what she wants, then maybe it's best if we don't start things up again."

Pete's eyes go wide and his bushy eyebrows nearly disappear into his untamed hair. "Really?"

"Yes, really. How is this news? I want it all—a real relationship. If she can't do that, fine. I'll be cool with it, but I won't be her boy toy."

My best friend stays quiet, but he's looking right at me.

"Okay, no. I will totally go along with whatever she wants. I'll take Josie any way I can get her. But I'll hold out as long as possible."

Santos keeps staring at me, like I'm a criminal about to crack. "Look, she's definitely not giving out girlfriend vibes, okay? And the last time I threw a hissy fit about that, it didn't end well. So I'm keeping my mouth shut. Besides, I'm actually passing all my classes right now. Maybe I need no-nonsense-Josie."

Santos is shaking his head. "I give it a week."

"Wow, dude, thanks for the vote of confidence." I snag a fry from the basket on my tray and fling it at him. He catches it in his mouth and grins.

"Why are we throwing fries at Santos?" Deano asks, taking the seat next to me and stealing a fry from my tray.

"What the hell? You have your own—you have two orders! Don't be stealing my fries!"

Deano shrugs. "I'm a growing boy. And why are you so grumpy? Sharing is caring, my dude."

The rest of the guys file in, crowding around the table. We're all eating and talking, and, of course, the conversation turns to hockey.

"Hey, since we can get back into the house tonight, we need to paint the penis," Mikalski says, like it's not a weird-as-fuck thing to say.

No one's even pretending it looks like a thermometer at this point. Once you see the giant burgundy cock on our kitchen floor, you can't unsee it.

"Uh, dude," Santos begins, and I can tell he's about to use his teacher voice.

"I know, guys," Mikalski says, cutting him off. "I'm really, really sorry. I?—"

"We know, man," Santos responds. "But listen, I haven't been back to the house yet, so I don't know for sure, but there was water everywhere Thursday night. I'm just warning you that it's possible the thermomo-dick has washed away."

A hush falls over the table, which is wild. We are never quiet, but it's like we're having a moment of silence for the pornographic artwork we've been using as a progress chart.

The silence ends when Ollie bounds over to us, his phone in hand.

"It's still there!" he practically shouts, and we all cheer.

"How?" Santos asks

"Um…divine intervention, probably," he says with a totally straight face. "Or it was that stuff Annabelle gave us. What was it called?"

"I don't remember," Deano says. "But Annabelle said it was basically like a top coat and that it would protect our artwork. Turns out my girlfriend was right, as usual."

"You good?" I ask Pete. He's got this confused look on his face, and that's rare. Pete always knows what's up.

"I'm just shocked, I guess? I mean, first off, it's a fucking miracle the place didn't burn to the ground. Add in the fact that the guys', uh…‘artwork' is still in perfect condition, and I'm blown away. Is there a patron saint of hockey? Maybe my Nana's been lighting candles and saying prayers for us."

"It's St. Sebastian," Will says around a mouthful of chicken sandwich.

"How the hell do you know that?" Ollie asks.

Will waves his phone around. "Dude. Google is free."

"You know what else is free?" Deano asks.

"Um…these fries?" I say, snagging the little cardboard container off his tray and helping myself. Fair's fair, after all.

"No," he says, trying to swipe them back, but missing. "Us. We are free this weekend. It's the first time in months that we haven't had back-to-back games and I'm fucking here for it."

The guys all nod, and I get it. We've been on fire lately, but they're ready for a break, and we just happen to have a rare weekend off. It will be nice to relax and chill, but, honestly, I'd rather be playing. Maybe I'd feel differently if Josie and I were together, but right now the weekend just seems to stretch out in front of me, waiting to be filled.

I'll probably spend half of it at the athletic center. We've had a lot of success lately that I want to build on, and I know I'm not the only one. We've been dominating. Will's back in action and better than ever. He's also back with Mel, so that might have something to do with it. Rosco's been leading the second line, and J.T. is protecting the net like it's his baby.

I'm not trying to jinx anything, but if we keep playing like we are, we're going to do it—we're going back to the Frozen Four.

That means my play is as important as ever. So I need to stop worrying about getting Josie back in my bed and I need to refocus on my grades and my game.

It's a solid plan, but it's easier said than done.