“Am I just not cool enough anymore?” I ask with a crooked grin.
Milo’s lips don’t even twitch at my joke, which, okay, tough crowd today. Or maybe I really am not cool enough for a Middle Schooler anymore. That would be a tiny blow to my ego.
Ever since I participated in the summer training camp, I feel a weird responsibility toward Milo. It was fun to see his improvements on the ice and chat hockey with him.
Growing up with a twin, I never had much contact with children younger than myself. We have a bunch of smaller cousins in the Netherlands, but we only ever see them on zoom calls, so I was hesitant about interacting with Middle Schoolers. And in large part it was exhausting as fuck—but also hilarious. Kids have this way of just speaking their mind, direct and uncomplicated. I really liked that.
“MaybeI’mnot cool enough,” Milo mumbles, and even with the defiant way he’s squaring his shoulders, I can hear a hint of sadness in his voice.
“You? Oh, c’mon, that can’t be true. You’re the coolest winger since…” I trail off and point at my own jersey, giving him a wink.
“Why didn’t you come to my game then?”
“Your game?” I blink, surprised by the force of his accusation. Milo whirls around, fixing me with his stare. He’s probably trying to come across as tough, but his lower lip is trembling. It takes me another moment to remember the last conversation we had, since that day is mostly overshadowed by hiding from my teammates in our storage room. Definitely not my proudest moment.
“Oh, fuck.” I slap a hand over my mouth when the curse slips me, quickly looking around, but Coach is nowhere to be seen.
“I know worse words than that,” Milo assures me seriously, “especially in Bulgarian!”
Well, I do believe that, but it doesn’t mean I want Coach to catch me swearing in front of his son.
“Milo, I’m sorry,” I sigh heavily as I lean forward to put my face into my hands. Suddenly I’m shivering in my gear, despite the sweat running down my back.
My promise completely slipped my mind after switching lives with Nate—I wouldn’t have made it since the Bats were playing the Grizzlies that day, but at least I could have sent my brother in my place. I cringe the moment the thought forms in my mind. No, I’m actually glad I didn’t send Nate and lie to another person in my life.
Still, I fucked up.
“Something came up and I– I’m going to be honest here, okay? I totally forgot. Shit, buddy, I really am sorry.”
My heart sinks when Milo takes my apology with a quiet nod, his head hanging now as he stares at the tips of his dirt-smeared sneakers.
“Is there something I can do to make up for it?” I ask as I undo my gloves to carefully place a hand on his bony shoulder.
Milo takes a deep breath, kicking his feet under the bench before turning toward me again. His blue eyes are glistening as he searches my face.
“What came up?”
“Huh?”
“You said something came up. What was it?”
I hold my breath for a moment, weighing my options. Officially, I was the one who came down with a stomach bug—which is also what excused me from training. But I also don’t want to present Milo with that lie.
“My brother needed me. You know Nate, right?”
Again, Milo nods, this time with a hint of eagerness. “Right wing from St. Bernard’s, third round draft pick. 76th? For the Pioneers.”
I laugh at that, holding out my hand before he can launch into my twin’s stats and averages.
“Damn, kiddo, you’re a hockey fanatic! Well, see, he had a rough time, and I had to help him out that weekend. He gets very nervous before games, and this one was really important for him.”
Milo sucks his lower lip into his mouth, chewing on it for a moment. “I get really nervous before games, too,” he tells me softly.
“I know. But you don’t have any reason to be nervous, becauseyouare doing great.”
It’s the truth. Milo’s biggest weakness is his size. But what he lacks there he definitely makes up for with skill. He’s a great stick handler and a little weasel on the ice, slipping right past the defenses. There are almost no external similarities between him and his famous father, but Coach definitely put all his NHL genes into this one.
“Did you train with him?”
