Page 9 of On the Breakaway

He doesn’t score, but he does get by me.

Drew coasts to a stop a few feet behind me, breathing hard.

I turn, nodding once. “There it is.”

His eyes light up. “Yeah?”

“Again.”

We go on like that, rep after rep, until Drew’s movements are sharper. I skate toward the bench, resting my arms against it as I catch my breath. Drew follows behind me, pulling off his helmet.

“Thanks,” he says. “You didn’t have to do all that.”

I shrug. “It’s part of it.”

He shakes his head. “Still. You’re a good guy, you know that?”

A good guy.

It doesn’t feel like a compliment. It feels bland. Boring.

3

Avery

I should’ve known better than to answer my mom’s call, because now I’ve been sitting in the grocery store parking lot for almost half an hour with the engine still running. My hands are gripped tight around the steering wheel while she launches into yet another story that somehow started with her neighbor and has now circled all the way back to my dad like it always does.

“I’m just saying, Avery, if he had listened to me instead of acting like he knew everything…”

“Mom,” I cut in, glancing at the automatic doors sliding open and closed as people move in and out with carts full of things I don’t feel like buying. “I really don’t need to be in the middle of this today.”

There’s a pause on the other end, just long enough to make me think that maybe, for once, she’s going to let it go.

She doesn’t. She never does.

“I’m not putting you in the middle,” she says, in the same tone she always uses when she absolutely is. “I’m just talking. You’re my daughter. I should be able to talk to you.”

I press my lips together, already feeling that familiar mix of guilt and irritation settling into me. She’s not wrong, not technically, but that doesn’t make it any less exhausting to be the person who hears both sides of an argument that never ends.

My parents have been divorced since I was ten. Most kids are upset when their parents split, but all I remember is the overwhelming sense of relief. It was supposed to be the end of the yelling and silent treatments. A chance to stop walking on eggshells, avoiding the passive-aggressive battle between the two of them.

Divorce was supposed to be better.

Except neither one of them can seem to let it go. Their hatred runs deep enough that I’m still hearing about it over fifteen years later.

“You said the same thing last week,” I remind her, leaning my head back against the headrest. “And the week before that.”

“Well, maybe if he had just–”

“Yeah, well, he didn’t.” My voice comes out sharp, but she doesn’t even notice.

“Did you tell him I was coming to town next month?”

“No, Mom.”

There is literally no reason I would need to tell him this. If I did, he’d immediately plan a trip of his own to come see me to prove he loves me more.

“You should probably tell him. I know he hasn’t visited in a while. It’d be good for him to know that at least one of your parents is keeping an eye on you.”