Easy for him to say.
I drop onto the bench, elbows on my knees, and roll my shoulder, testing the damage. I immediately regret it. Pain shoots down my arm, burning like fire. Every inch of me feels like it’s protesting, but it’s nothing compared to the mess inside my head. I rake a hand through my hair, exhaling sharply.
Fuck.
Austin shoots me a concerned look. “You good, man?”
“Yeah.” The lie tastes bitter, sour.
“Could’ve fooled me,” Austin mutters under his breath. “Yeah, you got slammed into the boards. You’re not the reason we lost.”
I shake my head, the words scratching their way out like gravel. “We were already losing before then.” The hit was bad, but we were slipping before I slammed into those boards.
Cole rolls his eyes, his tone dry. “And that was on all of us. Stop whining about the loss.”
Nathan shoots him a sharp look, his brow furrowing. “Ease off, will you?”
Cole shrugs. “What? He’s acting like he cost us the whole game. We all played like shit.”
I exhale through my nose, pressing my fingers into my temple. I don’t have the energy to argue. Doesn’t change the fact that I could’ve played better. That Ishouldhave.
Cole stretches his legs out, joints popping as he leans back, then glances over at me. “Alright, I need a fucking drink. You in?”
“Pass.”
Austin raises an eyebrow, leaning against the doorframe. “Come on. One drink won’t kill you.”
“I said no.” My voice comes out sharper than I meant. The guys exchange looks, but they don’t push. One by one, they filter out of the locker room, their footsteps gradually fading until it’s just me. Alone.
The silence is deafening, pressing down on every inch of this room. I stay rooted to the spot, staring at nothing, my bruised shoulder and battered pride throbbing in perfect sync.
I sit there for a few more minutes, trying to shake off the heaviness, but then my phone buzzes on the bench beside me. I glance at the screen, seeing a text from my dad. My jaw tenses as I swipe it open.
Dad:
Not your best game. Hope that shoulder isn’t too messed up.
My fingers tighten around the phone. I know he means well, but it still stings. I feel a knot in my stomach, and the pressure in my chest grows.
I grab my phone, hesitating as my thumb hovers over Connor’s number. We don’t really talk much, and I don’t know why I’m reaching out now. Maybe it’s because I need someone to tell me this doesn’t suck as much as it feels. Maybe it’s just that I’ve got no one else.
I press the call button, and it rings twice before he picks up.
He’s quiet at first. Then, after what feels like forever, he finally speaks. “Yeah?”
I close my eyes, rubbing my forehead. My shoulder’s on fire, my ribs are a mess, and my brain’s still buzzing from the hit. But none of that hits harder than the sting of knowing I let everyone down. “Saw the game?”
“I did,” he says, a pause before adding, “You alright?”
I run my hand through my hair, trying to push the frustration down. “Not really.”
Connor’s quiet for a moment, like he’s deciding if he should say something. “Talk to me.”
I hesitate, unsure how to start. “I just—fuck, I don’t know, man. I feel like I keep messing up. Like I’m never gonna be good enough.”
He exhales. “Ryan, you are good enough.”
I let out a humorless laugh, bitter and hollow. “Doesn’t feel like it.”
