KEANE

          I still haven't told anyone that I quit the ice hockey team.

          Realistically, I know this is going to come back and bite me in the ass eventually, as my sports career is one of the few things that manage to unite my parents, and they both come to almost every game every season. They'll find out soon enough, no doubt about it, and I'm attempting to brace myself for the unavoidable moment when my life implodes right in my face, but I'm choosing to avoid it for the time being.

          The team knows. That includes both Coach Gonzalez—the head coach—and Coach Tripp—the assistant coach—along with Jeff. They were mostly understanding about it in their own ways, some of them being more explicitly so than others.

          Coach Gonzalez grunted something about looking out for myself, that I can't be at the top of my game if I can't get my personal life in check, while Coach Tripp offered to hear me out if I ever need someone to talk to.

          I haven't taken him up on that offer just yet, both because the school year has just started and everything is mostly fine, but also because my dad is a psychotherapist and hooked me up with someone the moment he noticed a change in my mood and behavior.

         This is also why I'm dreading having to tell him I've quit the team. I still love hockey, which is why I spent the summer consuming ice hockey content, but I don't have it in me to play this year. It would be a warning sign if he knew, but not for the reasons he thinks.

          Even if they don't mean to do it, the other guys and the coaches would expect me to be the next Andy, after having been mentored by him for three years, and I know I'd never be able to meet those expectations. I'm good, but not that good, nowhere as good as Andy was, and the mere thought of disappointing everyone makes me nauseous. Being good at what I do and going through great lengths to achieve my goals has also taught me to know when to walk away, to figure out when something is no longer working for me.

          The team itself has my back, more so than I expected. No gesture could ever rival Jeff's bear hug, tight enough to make my bones crack ("sorry, sorry, mate," he said, after I winced in pain. He's not Australian), but the team's group hug has always been a personal favorite. They're my second family, my home away from home, and I trust those guys with my life, so knowing they support my decision, whatever it might be, has been a breath of fresh air when everything else feels so uncertain.

          So, to keep up the ruse, I attend the team's practice sections, watch the try-outs, and pretend like I wouldn't kill to be with them on the ice. I've made my bed and I sleep on it just fine, regardless of how comforting it is, but I don't want to go back on my decision. It hurts even more knowing I probably would have been made captain this year.

          Coach Gonzalez told me I'd be welcomed back whenever, if that's something I choose to do, but I knew what I was getting into the minute I told him I wouldn't be returning this year. He has mellowed out during the summer, taking Andy's death a lot harder than I thought he would, and it just goes to show even the most self-assured, harsher people you know are also human. They also have hearts that break.

          It has taken everyone by surprise to witness the changes in his demeanor, even though he has kept most of his spark, what makes him him; he's still loud, still complains about everything and everyone, and is still one tough, insanely demanding cookie. The drills he has the team run are no joke and I can safely say that's one of the few things I don't miss, even when joining Jeff on his workouts.

          I've brought my laptop along to continue working on my revamped scripts for Spirit Files. It's not the ideal place to be doing any sort of serious work, as ice hockey is a loud ass sport, even when they're not playing competitively, and I'm having a hard time focusing with how much noise they make with their sticks and the puck. I promised Jeff I'd be here, as it's the first day of tryouts and he made it to captain in my place; I told him I'd be present, but that I couldn't pay as much attention as he probably wishes I could.

          Having Paige on board has been . . . strange, to say the least.

          Even though everything between us is different and won't ever go back to how it used to be before her life came crashing down like a landslide, I'm still finding it difficult to get acquainted with this new version of us. I've had an entire summer to prepare myself for an entire school year without having her in my life after three years of us being able to rely on each other for anything and everything, and yet being without her is an utterly foreign experience. It's been one of the most complicated experiences of my life, but this is Paige de Haan; of course it would be complicated.

          It's hard running into her during lectures and watching her choose a seat the furthest away from mine as possible when she used to sit right between me and Ripley whenever we were all together or just by me when it was only the two of us.

          It's hard seeing her around campus and opening my mouth to greet her only to see her look the other way.

          It's hard walking into the frat house and hearing her lock the door upstairs.

          It's hard wanting to text her because I saw something that reminded me of her or one of our thousands of inside jokes and then having to manually force myself to block my phone again because she wouldn't care about it or want to hear from me at all. Every day I wake up with so many things to talk to her about and I can't.

          It's hard realizing I was in love with her all along, only to have those feelings squashed under the sole of her shoe when she told me she didn't want me around anymore. They haven't disappeared, but now I have no fucking clue what to do with them; I can't verbalize them to her, but I also fear letting her go.

          It's hard having the best intentions and always having them blow up on my face. I didn't decide to throw the séance because of her or because I wanted to taunt her about Andy, as Ripley kindly informed me that was what had gone through her mind. 

          I would never do something like that to anyone, let alone to her; all I wanted to do was plant some easter eggs about Spirit Files, dreaming about showing it to everyone. My goal was to pique people's curiosity, get them talking about it, and then, hopefully, make the series go viral. It was purely innocent in nature; selfish and self-serving, yes, but innocent.

          The thought of it affecting Paige hadn't crossed my mind with how busy I'd been with planning the party, but Ripley's words resulted in a last-minute cancellation. It was too late, though, and everything that could have gone wrong did. Paige, Izzy, their argument . . . all the existing tension was heightened by the theme and the main event of the party. Every time I think about it, I feel like smacking myself in the face.

          What an idiot.

          "You okay there?" Jeff asks from the rink, raising his voice. He doesn't have to; he doesn't have an inside voice anyway and it echoes in here, bouncing off the walls. "We're not being too noisy for you?"

          "Let him nerd out, Jeff," one of the guys, a sophomore playing defense, jokes. "He's busy. Some people have to work."

          Jeff punches him in the shoulder. "Well, I work."

          "Do you, now?"

          "Hell yeah, man. I worked out for two hours this morning."

          They all share a wholehearted laugh, the kind of brotherhood that comes with being part of a tight-knit team. Even with all the teasing and jokes at each other's expense, even after all the blood, sweat, and tears, the bruising, the injuries, the shared frustrations . . . these guys really are my brothers.

          I've never doubted it for a second, but the past couple of months solidified why we wouldn't be making it out of this strange new reality without each other. Being in a team with someone creates a special bond between you, strengthened by the love for the sport and the knowledge that you always have to depend on each other. Everyone has to work in tune to pursue and achieve a common goal; even if you don't like some of the guys, you trust them. And they trust you.

          Losing Andy, even after he graduated and was no longer a physical part of the team, was a devastating blow. He'll always be one of us in spirit, especially now that his jersey number has been retired and the jersey itself is hanging in the trophy room, and we've vowed to honor his memory in every way possible. Continuing his legacy is a promise we made—to him, to his parents, to Izzy, to his daughter, Daisy, to his ex-girlfriend and Daisy's mother, Jackie, to Rhett Price.

          To Paige.

          "Hey," Jeff calls, interrupting my inner monologue and longing for Paige, and skates close to the plexiglass screen. He presses a gloved hand against the clear surface. "If being here upsets you, you don't have to stay. I'll be fine. It's just first day nerves."

          Scott Jefferson has never been nervous one day in his life besides on the day before a match, but he has also never captained anything before. We were used to having Andy around to tell us what to do, to come up with game plans, and to offer a supportive shoulder whenever we needed to be comforted or a brick wall if we needed to vent without expecting a response.

          No two people are identical and no one will ever be able to replicate his captaincy style, so I'm aware Jeff is feeling the pressure of the enormous shoes he has to fill. It's why I refused to stay, even after Coach offered me the position, but I know Jeff will find his footing and a dynamic that works well for him and the rest of the team, in spite of his nerves. He just has to keep them at bay, use them to strengthen everyone's morale instead of crumbling under their weight.

          It sounds easy enough in theory. In practice, not so much, but I have faith in him.

          "I promised you I'd be here," I tell him, balancing my laptop on my knees.

          If this thing falls, it will be disastrous, but Paige talked me into backing up my files and backing up those back ups. I would have done it myself eventually, I'm certain, but she didn't want to run the risk of losing everything and having to start from scratch. She says it would be an offensive disservice to how long it took me to put everything together, not to mention all the changes I've been working on, but we both know what was left unsaid.

          Whether she wants to admit it or not, she cares about it just a tiny bit. Even if it's not about Spirit Files itself, ever the skeptic, even if she's just worried about her senior project, it's still something. It's something Keane-adjacent, and I'll take any scraps I can get at this point.

          Jeff would likely point out I'm being pathetic, in true Jeff fashion, if he knew about how inner me is giddy and jumping around with joy for being acknowledged by Paige, but I need him to let me have this one. Just this tiny victory.

          Jeff briefly looks back over his shoulder, where the team regroups to resume the tryouts. "Look . . . we'll talk later, yeah? Just don't do anything you don't feel ready to do just because it's what you think other people want. Put yourself first for once in your life."

          We don't have deep, one-on-one conversations on a daily basis. We support each other unconditionally and call each other out on our bullshit when required, so we're aware of each other's needs and boundaries. He doesn't pry and I don't throw his inability to think before he speaks in his face most of the time. Most of the time.

          However, he knows me better than anyone. He sees right through me, even when it's the last thing I want him to do, and I know he knows I wish things hadn't turned out this way. In an ideal version of the universe, I wouldn't be sitting in the sidelines; I'd be down there on the ice with the rest of my brothers. Paige and I would still be best friends, maybe more, maybe not, who knows. Andy would still be alive.

          If we feel the need to talk, we will. Maybe not today, but someday, and we'll be okay. For now, I'd just like to watch him play.

          "Like you do?" I joke. It's our thing—instead of being earnest and philosophical about our feelings, we joke around before we get too sentimental. Neither of us knows how to act around that type of people, which I suspect has brought us closer.

          He smirks. "Everyone puts me first, honey." He raises a hand when the team calls him, asking them to wait another moment. "Seriously, though, man. Let's talk. Grab some dinner later if you're not busy chasing Paige."

          I grunt. Of course he'd include a jab at Paige.

          "It's a date," I say.

૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა

          I don't get much work done during the remainder of today's tryouts, but that was to be expected. I thought I could force myself to tune out the sound of my favorite sport in the whole world and type away about haunted locations and ghosts, but I failed miserably at it.

          I also fail miserably at being a good son, continuing my week-long streak of ghosting both my parents.

          I don't do it on purpose or to be mean, but I've found that lately I have been doing mean things to people I care about without intending to, so that's strike number three. Mom, Dad, and Paige. I'm on a roll and I hate that this is even an achievement, but it still doesn't give me the mental energy I need to pick up the phone, return a call, or answer an opened and ignored text.

          Though it's still early September and fall is three whole weeks away, the temperatures have already dropped. Following a scorching summer spent by the sea, my body is a stranger to the colder weather, especially after having spent that much time in the ice rink without being properly dressed for it, so I'm shivering by the time I head outside. The leaves on the trees, still intact and soft, are drying, fading from a vibrant green into lemon yellow, warm from the afternoon sun.

          It allows for a brief moment of peace, precious time I can use to catch my breath, swallow the lump in my throat. It's the kind of tightness that comes when you're about to cry, but I'm not a crier (really, I'm not), and I thought I'd be more well equipped to deal with the fact that I threw my life and hockey career to the wolves. I didn't imagine I'd miss it this much, a phantom pain taunting me everywhere I go, and being so close to the guys without being able to be with them is a special kind of torture, personalized just for me.

          I'm transparent. That's what I'm blaming it on this time. I'm transparent enough and my parents know me too well, so I know they'd catch me in a lie when it comes to hockey if I dare to say anything about it to either of them. If anything, I'm avoidant, but I also want to have a secret all to myself, some peace and quiet away from the scrutiny and the constant analysis of my every move and thought.

          Sometimes things don't have a secret hidden meaning behind them. Sometimes they just . . . are.

          Huffing, I struggle to stuff my phone back inside my leather jacket's pocket (this stupid pop socket, I swear) without making any sudden moves that will lead me to bump the messenger bag containing my laptop against a pole. I wobble from side to side like I haven't been sober in three hours. Most people in my way circle around me, muttering under their breath profanities about random seniors who don't pay attention to their surroundings, and I'm too tired to apologize.

          Well, sue me. I've pulled two all-nighters in a row.

          "You might want to watch where you're going," a voice dryly advises. When I straighten, Paige is standing right in front of me, arms firmly crossed in front of her chest.

          "Look who's in the way now," I remark. She doesn't laugh. I don't think laughing is something she does often these days. "Can I help you?"

          "Yes." She takes in a sharp breath, raises her chin to try and prove she's so over this conversation even though it has barely just started and she was the one to initiate it. "Why aren't you playing hockey anymore?"

✦⋆𓆩✧𓆪⋆✦

she hates you yeah yeah yeah

if you thought brie and rhett communicating was great, then get ready for the sequel, where paige and keane DO NOT TALK TO EACH OTHER