RHETT

          I feel like I'm on cloud nine, which, in my book, is always a clear sign something bad is about to happen.

          There are times in my life—way too frequent for comfort—when it gets hard to tell the difference between anxiety and realism, where I'm constantly anticipating the other shoe to drop because, in my head, it just makes sense for it to work out that way. I don't know whether the evidence is just in my head and is fabricated by my brain in a terribly pathological attempt to keep me alive and safe (debatable) or if it's objective and palpable.

          I don't like it when the lines get blurred like this. It doesn't comfort me in the slightest, it doesn't make me feel any more prepared for an impending catastrophe; it just makes me feel like shit, and, in turn, sours my mood and turns me into the terrible person I've always been convinced I am, rotten to the core. 

          It does me no good to try and repair my reputation and social standing when my own actions go out of their way to prove everyone right. How am I supposed to pass off as the right choice for the boosters and the scouts? How am I supposed to make my teammates trust and support me if I'm snapping at them over the littlest things and am barely able to hold my own weight on the ice?

          I'm benched.

          It's the first match of the season, and I'm fucking benched because my behavior during every practice but the very first one has been miserably laughable, and Coach Gonzalez couldn't justify allowing me to be a part of the starting roster for the first match of the season. All eyes are on us, and I'm benched in the penalty box because I'm a fucking idiot, unable to escape his own mental prison.

          It's utterly humiliating. Even Andy couldn't find a single nice or supportive thing to say, even though he's been dealing with his personal problems, and all he managed was a commiserating pat on the shoulder as we were leaving our locker room. I don't even know why I bothered to show up tonight.

          It would be far, far worse for me if I refused to be present for the first match, especially since tonight will set the tone for the rest of our season, and I don't want to disappoint anyone even further, especially Coach Gonzalez and my family.

          Though Andy understands and would never hold this and my mental health over my head, asking the same from everyone else in my life would be way too much, and I don't want to impose. I don't want people to feel bad for me or do me favors out of pity, but sometimes a guy just wants to feel validated. It's an emotional evening and I feel like an open wound, shivering from head to toe even while wearing my protective gear, and I'm so jittery and restless I can barely sit still. My whole body itches to be on the ice, and it's my own fault that I'm not.

          That makes it a million times worse. I can't blame anyone but myself for my current circumstances, and it fucking sucks having to hold myself accountable for ruining my own life and future.

          Strangely enough, Brie is the only thing that has been going right for me lately, and there's some comfort in knowing I haven't ruined everything I touch, like a reverse King Midas.

          Before this fake relationship started, before I somehow gathered enough courage to intercept (read: ambush) her at that coffee shop nearly two months ago, before I even came up with the intricate plan of asking for her help and begging for her forgiveness, I thought hockey would be my saving grace. My social life had hit its peak, too, and I felt like I had somehow been transported back to my high school days, when the only things that mattered to me was being great at sports and being popular.

          I'm a greedy bastard. Everyone knows this. I want to have it all, to be the best at everything I care about, and I don't lose. I always want to succeed and always want to prove to everyone in my vicinity I have what it takes to do so, along with proving I can juggle all areas of my life in a sustainable way—like what Andy does, but even better, as he's not nearly as much of an obsessive perfectionist as me. In my head, life was utopic and I could certainly enjoy every aspect of my life without having to sacrifice some for the sake of others.

          Real life doesn't work that way, much to my dismay. I can't blame Brie for anything that's going wrong just because she so happens to be the one thing that isn't, but I'm still human and inherently selfish, so I can't stop myself from bitterly wishing I could have my previous success while keeping her at the same time.

          Instead, reality just makes it abundantly clear how dangerous it is to constantly chase after every possibility to succeed, no matter how infinitesimally small it is, just because you want everything you can't have.

          There's a certain blindness in your pursuit, leaving you somehow oblivious to your own self-sabotaging actions, and you keep falling and picking yourself back up without realizing you're tripping over your own feet. You become your worst enemy, and the heartbreaking part of it all is that you only realize it when it's too late and your whole life is in shambles.

          The mere thought makes the corners of my eyes sting with stubborn tears, which I both rush to clumsily wipe away (these gloves are no joke and don't allow for any kind of delicate hand gestures) and to blame on the criminally low temperatures in the rink.

          The last thing I need is for one of the guys, a sponsor, or Coach Gonzalez to witness me crying like a baby just because I can't play. To them, it would look like I'm throwing a childish tantrum. If my chances at landing a professional career are hinged on my performance on and off the ice, behaving like a little boy who gets all prissy when he doesn't get his way would only ruin everything for me, and things are looking abysmally bleak right now.

          So, I physically force myself to pull it together. I force myself to be supportive of my teammates, even though being here, so close yet so far, is bone-shattering painful. I try to do what Andy would do if he was benched—which would never happen, as we all know—and observe them as closely as possible, taking mental notes of what they do well and where they're flawed, but not because I want to rub it in their faces.

          Andy has taught me every match, every practice, every second we spend on and off the ice can be used as a learning opportunity depending on your perspective.

          It's easy to lose sight of what you're doing and why you're doing it while you're playing, as everything is so fast-paced and you barely get a fraction of a second to think before you act; a lot of it is reaction. When you're watching it, be it a recording of yourself or a match in real time, you have time and a better angle.

          I can sit back and sulk and feel even shittier than I currently do simply because I'm a deeply flawed, spiteful, and unhappy person. This would only hinder my team, and I can't do that to them. So, I decide to do what the guys would do for me—I sit back and watch so I can learn.

          Jeff wins the initial face-off, which gives us a head start, but most of us have gone through this countless times and know better than to let one single event dictate how the rest of the match will play out. It's easy to get overconfident and underestimate the winning team, but the guys from the University of Vermont are no slouches. When Jeff and the first line try to make a play, speeding past the offense to grant him a breakaway, the defensemen immediately react and stop him before he can shoot the puck.

          The sound is deafening—the sticks clashing against each other, the puck being shot across the rink like a bullet. I'm used to it, but it still makes me wince sometimes. It feels even louder when you're benched, having to watch it all unfold in front of you while being powerless to do anything.

          "He's getting overconfident," I tell Coach Gonzalez, who keeps his arms crossed just as U of V succeeds at recovering the puck. Andy calls the defense back. "If he keeps trying and failing, he'll get impatient and frustrated, and is bound to make stupid mistakes."

          "I know," he grunts. "Kid thinks he can do it all, be everywhere at once, and he's fooling himself if he thinks U of V is just going to let him waltz in and score without interference. He knows better than that."

          If there wasn't so much at stake today, I'd be over the moon to hear these words, to be validated by Coach Gonzalez, but neither of us can afford the luxury of criticizing Jeff for petty reasons. We're lucky Andy is having a good day so far and is keeping his focus, having enough time to get our defense to get their shit together and back him up before U of V can take advantage of our momentary distraction. Though they attempt to score, Andy is faster and blocks it, making the whole play collapse.

          I clap and cheer along with the audience. My best friend or not, Andy de Haan is one of the best players that has ever played for Bennington, and he's proving it. If there's anyone on the team that absolutely deserves to go pro based on skill alone, he's the guy.

          First blood is ours. No one knows how Jeff somehow made that happen, but he does, even after getting caught behind the net to try and make a flashy play that would leave U of V disoriented, and I guess that's the thing about him. He subverts the odds, fights back even when everything is stacked up against him, but it's unfortunate that it takes putting up with his main character syndrome to see it happen.

          "They ought to capitalize on this," Coach comments, through gritted teeth, and I'm not sure whether his words are directed at me or if he's just talking to himself, so I wait. It's better to stay quiet instead of overshooting my importance in his life. "U of V's morale is spiraling. That was a goal that they shouldn't have let happen."

          "Scott needs to know that play won't always work," one of the other guys says. He's fresh meat, so baby-faced one would think he's still in high school. "They'll be expecting him to try it again because it worked once."

          "Who the fuck is Scott?"

          The fresh meat blinks in confusion. "Scott Jefferson, Coach."

          "Jeff Jefferson, Coach," I clarify. The rookie cracks a nervous smile to thank me for the assistance. "Scott is his actual first name."

          Coach sighs. "Yeah. I figured it had to be something other than Jeff." 

          Miraculously, we're at an advantage by the time first period ends, and Jeff manages to reel his energy in instead of going all hyper with the intention of acting like a superstar on the ice.

          The rookie was right, which everyone already knew, but a common fatal flaw shared by the majority of the team is our ego and intense need to prove ourselves, so, if it wasn't for Andy ripping Jeff a new one by trying the exact same play, which resulted in a successful forecheck and successful goal scored by U of V in consequence, we'd be toast. We make up for it, but the damage is already done, and no one likes to have their flaws and mistakes pointed out to them.

          After intermission, Coach Gonzalez pulls me aside as we head out of the locker room for the start of second period. For a moment in time, I feel like I'm dreaming, but then he snaps his fingers to pull me back to reality.

          "Listen to me, Price," he scolds. "You're going in. Don't prove me wrong. Make me believe I'm making the right choice by trusting you and letting you play tonight. Eyes on the puck. Eyes on your future."

          "Are you sure?" I choke out. "I don't—"

          "Warm up, prepare for the line change. Don't ruin this for me. Don't ruin this for your team." He lightly punches my shoulder. "Most importantly, don't ruin this for yourself. Remind yourself how badly you want that championship win, and go out there and help your team win."

          He speeds past me and all I can do is stare at his back in disbelief, but I quickly rush to follow him to start my warm-up exercises.

          All I have to do is not ruin everything. I can do that.

          I can, right?

          Right?

ᓚᘏᗢ

          Lo and behold, I don't screw it up.

          I'm still far from being at the top of my game, which frustrates me endlessly, and I can't help but feel like my teammates share the same opinion. It easily creates a never ending cycle where negativity feeds itself and feeds off itself as well, an ouroboros of confirmation bias, and I quickly discover how unsustainable it is.

          By fearing what people will think of me and whether or not it's negative, I end up underperforming, which increases their already steadily rising disappointment in me and confirms their suspicions that they should have never expected great things from me. Rinse, repeat, I want to collapse under all the pressure, most of it self-imposed.

          This time, all the pressure works out for the best and I channel all of it into doing the best I possibly can while I'm on the ice. Though I'm not the sole reason behind our victory—all the good plays from first period were vital to ensure the win, and we obviously would never win if it weren't for Andy—my team trusts me enough to help me score twice, and it's the best we've played in months.

          I'm not sure what it is—if it's because of all the new blood on the team forcing us to improve our communication skills instead of relying on what's already there and is comfortable in its predictability, or if it's something else—but there's an improvement, and we're all working towards the same goal. All parts of the machine geared up to make it move forward.

          And yet, even though we win against the preppy guys from the University of Vermont and I know I contributed to the victory with the goals I scored, I still feel like a fraud. I don't say this aloud to anyone—not that anyone asks or even cares—and even manage to pretend to be euphoric about winning the first match of the season along with the guys, but it just goes to show how far practice and repetition can take you. I'd perfected the art of pretending, of faking it until I made it, and I almost managed to fool myself into believing I was genuinely happy with my performance when, in reality, I was far from pleased.

          "I'm proud of every single one of you," Coach says, as we settle into the living room of the massive frat house—where we usually hold informal team meetings, as an alarmingly large number of guys from the team are also members of the co-ed Greek house system. The houses used to be separate and we had both a fraternity and a sorority, but they were merged around ten years ago. "Even when I thought you wouldn't be able to pull it off, you still did."

          "Gee, thanks, Coach," Jeff complains, with a bag of ice resting on his thigh. I won't be the one to decide whether he actually needs it or not. "It's always great to be reminded of how much faith you have in us."

          "Gee, thanks, Jefferson," Coach mocks, perfectly mimicking Jeff's falsely hurt tone. "It's always great to be reminded of how utterly self-centered you are and how your fucking ego could have cost us the win tonight. Had it not been for the rest of the team being willing to pick up your slack, you would have been toast, so forgive me for always expecting the worst when it comes to you."

          Jeff groans, sinking lower into the pillows of the fake leather couch he's occupying, and, for a moment, I feel bad for him. He knows he fucked up and paid the consequences for it—we all did, as it was a loss for the entire team—but it's never great to be blasted with it on repeat. I would know.

          I relish in knowing Coach is proud of us, even if he delivered the compliment in the most backhanded way possible, but it's a lot more than I feel deserving of. I should have been playing since the start of first period, not as a last-minute line change during second period, and the bitter side of me is convinced I never would have made the same mistakes as Jeff. I'm older, more experienced, and know how to rely on my teammates.

          However, there's a reason why he was part of the starting roster and I wasn't. In spite of his flaws, in spite of a stupid decision he made on the ice, he has always been consistent, and doesn't let external factors impact the way he plays.

          He goes in, does what he was to do, succeeds at it, and moves on with his life. He doesn't replay every single action, every single word, every single thought over and over in his head, desperate to find a way to improve what cannot be changed or to justify whatever trivial thing he catastrophized along the way.

          Long story short, I might have the technical side of hockey in the bag, and I'm technically better than him. I know this, he knows this, Coach Gonzalez knows it. The issue is that it doesn't necessarily translate into the practical side of hockey and there's no use in being better in theory if you can't actually use that to your advantage when you're playing.

          I'll be damned if he gets drafted before I do. I can lose a lot of things to a lot of people—the mere thought of losing anything leaves me feeling sick to my stomach—but not to him. Not like this.

          Once Coach leaves, vehemently refusing every request to stay and crack a cold one open with his favorite guys on campus, I settle next to Brie in the kitchen with a tall glass of orange juice. We both stand against the kitchen islands, backs turned against the entryway so we can ignore the commotion going on in the living room, and the silence that falls between us ends up being everything I need.

          Until she clears her throat.

          "I'm proud of you," she tells me. "I could tell by the look on your face you were pissed off about being benched during first period"—being pissed off might be the understatement of the century, but I don't tell her that—"and you could have easily let it overpower you, but you didn't. The team wasn't losing with the current line-up, so there was technically no need to rotate the players, but your coach still let you go in. That has to count for something, right?"

          "I guess," I murmur. "I don't know. Maybe. I still feel like I could have played a lot better."

          "I know." Her hand rests between my shoulder blades as she leans her head against my arm. It's such a small and simple gesture, yet my heart is throbbing in my chest with her touch. "For what it's worth, I still think you were incredible out there. I felt like I was on the verge of losing my voice with how loud I was cheering. Nearly made Nancy go deaf, too."

          Nancy Huang isn't my biggest fan, but I'm not expecting her to warm up to me anytime soon. All I ask is for civility, especially for Brie's sake, and, with her knowing the truth about the nature of our relationship—regardless of how blurred the lines currently are—I know I need to stay on her good side. I'm determined to be the best boy out of every good boy, like a Golden Retriever, if it means protecting our secret.

         If it means protecting Brie.

         With all my stress-induced breakdowns, I've barely had a second to ask Brie how she's been holding up. After the brawl at Paige's birthday and after her advisor took a leave of absence after ghosting her, I know she's putting on a strong face so we're not overwhelmed with problems coming from both sides, but I wish she didn't feel the need to do so. Fake relationship or not, we're meant to be there for each other when it gets hard, and she has dropped so much just to be present and supportive. It's about time that kindness gets reciprocated.

          "Do you want to go out and grab something to eat tomorrow?" I ask. "Dinner, maybe?"

          "What about your diet?"

          "I can eat, Brie."

          "I've always been a Gouda kind of girl, personally." I roll my eyes, but still wrap an arm around her shoulders to pull her close. She snuggles against me, sighing softly. "That was a great joke. You should have laughed."

          "That was a terrible joke."

          "I'd beg to differ. I've been working on my cheese puns ever since Dante gave me that stupid nickname."

         "Now that's something I never expected to see again."

          Hell could freeze over right now and I would still be sweating like a mad man. Brie and I both turn to face the voice that interrupted our moment, startled beyond belief, and I feel all the blood drain from my face.

          "Mom."

‧₊˚❀༉‧₊˚.

it's mom time. but WHOSE mom. discuss