“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means that this isn’t just about you and your problems, Troy. Your team and the fans are counting on you.”
“Sounds like they’re counting onyou.” I heard the resentment in his voice. I didn’t have to know what that meant. He was only in his second year. This could ruin him.
“What are they talking?”
“My guess? They’ll cut me and send me down to an AHL team,” he answered.
Neither of us said a word for a minute, then I finally asked. “You alright man?”
Troy released a heavy breath. “They said that they’ll keep this between us if…if you play enough games to get us to number one in the league.”
“How many games is that?” I asked, surprised I didn’t shut him down instantly.
“We’re not too far off. Four, maybe five games. I’m suspended until Monday, so it might just be three if we win one before you’re back.”
I didn’t respond. I looked down at the stacks of accounts in front of me that needed all of my focus. But it was tempting as hell to get back on the ice.
“It’s only a few weeks, August, I’ll be ready to go back by then.”
“I don’t know Troy.” It wasn’t a lot to commit to, but not being given a choice was tough.
“Wait, you’re considering it?”
“Maybe.”
His sigh of relief eased my tension in a way that reconstituted my purpose. “Come on bro, I need this. I came through last year, didn’t I? All by myself.”
“Yeah,” I said absently. “What are we going to do about Dad? He’s coming to the one next Friday. I think he might be suspicious.”
“I’ll come next week and we’ll switch places after the game and meet them outside.”
That actually wasn’t a terrible idea.
“They won’t know the difference. Not at that distance anyway,” he went on.
That was true. Not only that, but there was only a very slight difference between Troy and me that even my parents sometimes missed. Like me, Troy had a dimple on his left cheek, but it wasn’t as deep as mine.
“Fine—one condition. You’re not sitting at home and drinking your life away. If I go to the games, you start going to practice. Each one. Because I’m not.”
“What about you?”
“I’m not the one who needs it,” I barked and hung up.
16
“Andthiswaswhen?”Nicole asked over dinner at what’s become our favorite restaurant to go to after work, especially on a Friday, when Frankie let us close early.
I shrugged. “Tuesday.” It was the first time my best friend and I had a chance to sit and talk without milk frothers and the noise of the bustling lobby in the way. And being disrupted by demanding coffee consumers.
After listening without interruption, she lifted her wine glass and poured down nearly half its contents down her throat. “Are you crazy?” she finally hissed across the small round table.
I bit my lips. “This is bad, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, it’s bad, Harp. So bad.” She took another sip before setting it back down. “Harp you can’t undo letting him believe you think this is his brother.” She shook her head. “There’s no fixing this.”
“There has to be,” I whispered. “I really like him, Nic.”
