Suddenly my shirt feels too tight over my chest, and the room is too small for the three of us.
I need air. I need to clear my head.
I need to get out of here.
“Nicko!” Xander’s voice sounds alarmed, and I only realize now that my breath comes out choppy. I feel like I ran too many offensive drills and need to bend over Coach’s sick bucket.
“I...need to go,” I stammer. Xander’s hands are reaching for me as I stumble toward the door, but I shake him off and burst outside. I’m faintly aware of voices calling after me, but I keep on running down the stairs, taking two at a time and tearing through the entry hall until finally the cool night air floods my lungs.
Xander, March 13th
Goosebumps cover my skin as I hurry down the sandstone steps. The air is cold against my bare skin, but I only clutch the towel around my hips more tightly. I ignore the looks and whistles of other students as I dash past them.
“Nicko, wait!”
“Go away!” he shouts over his shoulder, but his steps slow and he finally comes to a stop halfway across the grass patch outside of the building.
“Please, Nicko, don’t–”
“You knew! You knew and didn’t tell me!” He whirls around to glare at me.
I raise one hand, needing the other to make sure I don’t flash him—and anyone who happens to walk by.
“I know, I’m sorry,” I say, reaching for his arm and sighing when he yanks it away before I can even touch him. “Just...just listen to me for a minute, okay?”
He presses his lips together, but at least he doesn’t run. I nod toward an alcove around the corner. When Nicko doesn’t budge,I make my way there to be out of view. He joins me a few seconds later, and that’s enough to set off tentative sparks of relief.
At least he isn’t shutting down by himself. At least he isn’t locking me out.
“Yes, I knew,” I start, wincing when Nicko’s face instantly draws into a deep frown. I tilt my head to find his eyes, holding the contact even as there’s a storm of anger and betrayal raging in them.
“Nate told me in January, but only because I found a brochure for these online MA courses.” I let him do the math. It’s a while ago, yes, but it’s not last fall.
“You should’ve told me,” he insists and I hum, reaching up to cup his cheek. I smooth my palm against his warm skin and the slight scratch of his jaw. He allows the contact this time, but only for a moment before he pulls away again.
“I wanted to; I really did.” I bite my tongue, feeling the guilt swirl in my stomach when I think back to the night where I almost did—and then kept quiet. “But Nate’s my best friend, and he made me promise not to. And...well, I thought this was something between the two of you, and it wasn’t my place to take away his chance to talk to you. Which he wanted to!” I hurry to say, feeling some need to defend my best friend. “He just didn’t want to distract you during the season. Not that that’s an excuse, but you know him.”
Nicko chews on his lip, making me want to gently tug it out from between his teeth, but I refrain, waiting for him to digest the news. Any minute he isn’t running away from me is already a win.
“What...what online courses?” he finally asks, brows still drawn together.
“He’s going for a master’s degree in creative writing.”
“So he really wants to write books, huh?”
I hum and nod. “Yeah. And...and you know he...I think he really needs to have a plan B. Something other than hockey.” I raise one shoulder. “Just in case.” In case he doesn’t make it to the NHL. In case Nate isn’t as lucky and can’t come back from tearing a tendon or ligament.
“He wouldn’t need a plan B if he played for the Pioneers,” Nicko mutters, but there’s no real heat behind it, no fight.
My heart clenches with how hurt he sounds.
“We all know that they might have benched him for eternity,” I say quietly, trailing my hand down to lace my fingers with Nicko’s. He huffs but holds on to my hand.
I squeeze gently, leaning closer. “I’m not saying it’s okay what Nate did, believe me. I’ve been pretty upset with him too, but you should think about whether you’re angry with him—and me–” I add, tilting my head, “–or if you’re sad that things are going to be different than what you imagined.”
“I…” Nicko starts but then breaks off. There are unshed tears glistening at the corners of his eyes, his breath shaky as he inhales. “What even is a Utonagan?” his voice trembles, and my throat hurts in sympathy.
“It...it’s a type of dog.”
