Page 6 of Unforgettable Player

I clear my throat to give myself a moment before answering. “He’s fine, thanks.”

I’ve barely been home since Scout picked me up from school for the summer break. And even then, I just popped in for some clothes and books and to check he had food in the fridge. I didn’t stick around.

Richard changes the subject, asking Connor about his job in Palo Alto.

I only need to be half tuned into the conversation to be confused about the topic. Scout told me that Connor was taking a break from Harvard to do something in California, but I’d assumed it was hockey-related. Why is he working in sales for some tech company? Connor is a hockey player. Ever since I can remember, Connor has been obsessed with hockey. That’s always been his thing. Skating on the frozen lake at the back of the house until his mom had to practically drag him inside. All those youth league games we froze our asses off watching at Coach Garvin’s rink. The summer camps. The private coaching. How many hours have been spent planning Connor’s hockey career over this very dining table? And now he’s letting it all go? Why? Because he wasn’t signed by his draft team? So what? He could still make the NHL happen. He doesn’t have to give up. I look over at Scout, trying to figure out why she didn’t tell me that Connor’s break from Harvard was more serious—and permanent—than she let on, but she’s too busy shoving pasta into her mouth.

I keep glancing at Connor while he speaks about Palo Alto and the office he works at, the business trips he gets to go on and the cool people he’s met, to see if I can spot that mask slip again. But all I see is Connor being his confident, cheerful self. Answering his parents’ questions about his plans for the future. None of which involve hockey.

CONNOR

I try to ignore how distracted I am by Elliot sitting at the other side of the table and act normal, despite the fact I can’t stop staring at his pretty hands on the tablecloth or admiring the way he eats. He’s a part of the family and one of our oldest family friends. Scout might be grumpier than a feral alley cat with me these days, but Elliot is still my friend, too. I catch him glance at me a couple of times and try to throw him a friendly smile.

By the end of dinner, my face is aching with trying to keep up the charade.

I take my plate to the sink when I’ve finished eating and offer to wash the dishes.

“No complaints here,” Dad says, pouring himself a glass of wine before steering Mom toward the living room.

“I’ll help,” Elliot says.

“Let him do it.” Scout’s tone is growly.

I stick my tongue out at her and she snarls at me.

“You can dry, Eli. Scout, you put the dishes away.”

Elliot’s rolling his sleeves up and grabbing the dishcloth, so Scout sighs and rests her weight against the counter while I fill the sink.

“How’s school going, Eli?” I ask as I dip the first pasta bowl into the sudsy water.

His cheeks tint. Did I say something wrong? Elliot is the smartest person I know. He’s always loved school. Always been in his element when studying or reading a book.

“It’s okay,” he says. “I failed a class last semester, so I have to take a summer class online.”

Elliot failed a class? How the fuck did that happen? His mom passed away suddenly from an aneurism in his sophomore year, and he didn’t even take the compassionate leave they offered him. He just went on studying, saying it helped, and I’m assuming he passed the year because he moved onto his junior year just fine.

“He doesn’t need to catch up,” Scout says from the other side of the kitchen. “It’s just one class, and he’ll pass once he retakes it.”

Elliot’s looking down at the dishcloth, wringing it in his hands. He forces a smile when he catches me looking at him. I know that feeling. I try to communicate that he doesn’t have to hide anything from me with just my eyes, but I don’t think we have that kind of relationship. Not enough for him to understand.

Did something happen with this particular class? Is his professor a bully or something? I know Elliot well enough to know he isn’t a quitter. He wouldn’t drop a class unless he had absolutely no other choice. Is he forcing himself to do something that’s making him miserable? Is he blaming himself for not being good enough? A wave of protectiveness washes over me. I reach out to squeeze his shoulder, but Scout barges between us and grabs the dishcloth from Eli.

“I’m bored. Can I help dry?”

3

ELLIOT

Connor coming home yesterday makes Scout’s parents’ house that little less comfortable. It pushes me to finally go home and check on my dad.

Scout pulls up outside the house and turns the music down.

“Want me to come in with you?”

I take hold of the panic that seizes me and calmly tell her, “No, thanks.”

She chews her lip, like she’s thinking about coming in anyway—it wouldn’t be the first time. “Okay,” she says finally. “I’ll just pick you up when you’re ready?”