Page 7 of The Has-Been

Which usually does the trick. But not always.

Fuck. I wish he’d crack a joke right about now.

“Hello! Earth to Liam!” Reid snaps his fingers in my face, trying to bring me back from my trance. I shove his hand away, considering pushing him back into the snow, but I know I’ll just end up there alongside him.

And the last thing I want is to sit through Applied Athletic Training Concepts with a wet ass. It’s my fifth class of the day, and my attention span is near zero as is, a soggy bottom on top of that seems like true hell.

I didn’t think missing only two semesters would affect me this much, but it has. I’m still struggling to get back into the swing of things and find myself having to actually take notes and study now. During my sophomore year, I was lucky if I remembered to bring a pen.

“Sorry, what’d you say?” I ask after way too long.

“If you were a dog,” Reid remarks. “I’d put you down, just to put you out of your misery.” He slaps me on the back.

I throw out my hands, looking at him with a what the fuck expression on my face. He seems to realize it because he says, “Oh, fuck. Not like that. Shit. You know what I meant.”

Morgan Reid.

The man has a way with words.

The thought alone makes me roll my eyes. But I don’t think much about it. I know he didn’t mean it literally. Just meant he hates seeing me this way.

Trust me, I hate being this way.

“Melbourne’s tonight?” he questions quickly, changing the subject. “It’s three-dollar beers and pong night. I need my partner back. I’m sick of getting my ass kicked by Brennan and Cohen.” He shrugs, giving me a pointed look. “You should come.”

I cock my head, considering his offer.

I haven’t been out with my friends since the incident. A far cry from my sophomore year, Brennan and Reid’s freshman year, when the three of us went out every night.

But that was before.

This is now.

And now…Now, I don’t drink.

It’s not like I had a problem or anything. But after what happened, I don’t have the desire to. I mixed alcohol with the wrong thing just once, and it nearly killed me. That’ll quench your thirst real quick.

Soon, we reach our crossroads—Reid heading toward the arena for practice and me toward my final lecture for the day.

The preseason for the hockey team is coming to an end, and prep for the regular season is in full swing. I know when the season starts, Brennan, our mutual friend and roommate, and Reid will be busy with classes and a demanding training schedule. Myself included, with double the average number of classes, plus practices and games with the team.

My stomach turns as I think about what awaits me soon—working with the team, sitting on the sidelines, handing out ice packs, all the while I’m desperately wishing I could be out there with them.

Fuck. This semester is going to suck.

Then, because I apparently enjoy making things harder on myself, I mutter: “Alright—I’ll go.”

Reid freezes. He shoots me a wide-eyed glance, and I know it’s his way to ensure I’m really okay with it and not just doing it for him. I let out a deep sigh, flipping him the bird when I see how excited he gets as I nod my head.

But in his defense, he’s been trying to get me out for a long time.

Thankfully, he and Brennan haven’t pressed me too much. They know it’s a complicated situation.

I met Reid and Brennan two years ago, when they were the new freshmen on the team. While I wish I could say we hit it off instantly…well, then I’d be lying. Each of us had an ego bigger than the next. It was an interesting mix on the ice.

When Coach insisted we room together to work out our problems, I was convinced we were going to kill each other. But I suppose there is a reason Bowen is the youngest Division I coach in the conference; the 26-year-old knows his stuff. It was only a month before the three of us were practically inseparable on and off the ice.

Reid slaps me hard on the shoulder, “It’s good to have you back.” Then, he takes a left toward the practice arena.