The Play
Hollis is already awake. He needs to make the drive back to New Hampshire today. Sometimes he leaves on Sunday night, but some weekends he simply can’t sacrifice one single second with his fair maiden Rupi and leaves early on Monday. I guess this was one of those weekends. But he’s in for a bitch of a commute at this hour.
“Hey,” I say as he staggers into the kitchen.
He grunts in response.
I head for the coffeemaker. I need a dose of caffeine to jumpstart my brain. “Want some?” I offer.
That gets me another grunt.
I decide to treat it as a yes. A couple minutes later we’re drinking our coffee while I scroll through my phone to check the meal plan for the week. Our nutritionist Karly has the team on a strict diet. Granted, we break it all the time, but as Karly always warns, ignoring her meal plans only does ourselves the disservice in the end.
I skim the options on the list and decide on an egg white omelet loaded with veggies. “You want breakfast?” I ask Hollis. “Omelets.”
He nods. “Yeah, one for the road might be nice. Actually, make that two.”
“You want two omelets.”
“I’m hungry.”
“I’ll start with one and then we’ll see if there’s time left. Coach will be pissed if I’m late.” I slide a cutting board and a knife across the counter. “Get dicing.”
Hollis chops mushrooms and green peppers while I prep the eggs. As we cook, the rest of the house remains eerily quiet and the sky’s still dark beyond the kitchen window. The darkness makes it feel like nighttime, and my brain is unwittingly transported back to Saturday night.
Fuck.
Nico absolutely slept with that chick I saw him exiting the bedroom with.
Or at the very least, he had his pants off with her.
And when you have a serious girlfriend, your pants should never come off in the presence of another woman.
The thing is… I didn’t actually catch him red-handed. I caught the potential aftermath. And I’m not about to stir up trouble in the relationship of someone I barely know. Demi doesn’t trust me enough yet to take my word for it. If I went up to a friend, like Dean, for example, and said, “Hey, Allie’s cheating,” he would believe me. Because Dean knows I’d have no reason to lie or play games. But Demi doesn’t know that. She would question my motivations, maybe even suspect me of trying to sabotage Nico so I could have her for myself, which isn’t the case.
“Hey Mike,” I say as I pour the first omelet mixture into the hot pan.
“Mmmm?” He’s busy chopping up a red pepper now.
“I’ve got a hypothetical for you.”
“All right. Hypothetical me.”
“What?”
“You know, like hit me, only with the word hypothetical instead of—whatever, just fucking say it.”
“All right. Let’s pretend someone you know is in a long-term, committed relationship, and you caught their boyfriend or girlfriend cheating on them. Well, possibly cheating. You’re not a hundred percent certain, but the circumstances were very suspicious and…” I set down the spatula on the counter. “You know what? Screw it. I am a hundred percent certain. I know when a dude just got sucked off. I literally saw Conor ejaculating three seconds before that.”
“Davenport.” Hollis speaks in a voice so ominous that I’m almost nervous to turn to face him.
“Yeah?”
“Are you trying to tell me that you saw Rupi sucking Conor Edwards’ dick?” Hollis rumbles like an angry bear, his face redder than the pepper on his cutting board. “When the fuck did it happen? Was it at the party? Was it when she went to fix her hair—”
“Relax,” I interrupt. “I’m not talking about Rupi. Are you insane? That girl would never cheat on you. She’s obsessed with you, Hollis. She’s your stalker. You’re dating your stalker.”
“That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”
“I’m talking about a friend from class, okay? I’m pretty sure her boyfriend cheated on her. The question is, do I tell her?”
“Nope.” Zero hesitation from Hollis.
“Why not?” I use the spatula to transfer the first omelet from the pan to Mike’s plate, then get to work on my own breakfast.
“Because you don’t want to stick your nose in other people’s biz. Trust me.”
“But he’s cheating on her.”
“So? That’s his biz, not yours.”
“It’s also her business,” I point out.
“It can’t be her business when she doesn’t know about it,” Hollis counters.
I pause. “So you subscribe to the whole ‘what she doesn’t know won’t hurt her’ camp? Really?”
“I’m just saying, is some rando from class worth you getting involved in a third-party relationship? Child, please.”
“Please don’t say child, please.”
He ignores me, taking a huge bite of the omelet. “Look, if it was one of us,” he blabbers with his mouth full, “then I’d say hell yeah, you have a duty to say something. But how well do you know this chick?”
“Not well. We’re still getting to know each other.”
Hollis finally swallows his food. “There you go. So even if you do tell her, she won’t believe you, bro. If someone I’m ‘still getting to know’”—he uses air quotes—“accused Rupi of cheating, I’d say child, please—”
“I’m begging you to stop saying that.”
“—and I’d think they had an ulterior motive.”
Mike Hollis, of all people, is rationally confirming my own doubts. But maybe men are naturally cynical? I’m sure if I polled any of the women living in this house whether they’d want to know, the answer would be YES! In a heartbeat.
“You don’t want to get involved,” Hollis warns. “Trust me, man. Stay as far away from this situation as you can.”
Morning practice is fast-paced. I’m sweating like a dog, and panting like one as I skate hard toward the net. We’re running two-on-ones, designed for the defensemen to attempt to stop a forward on a breakaway. But I’m way faster than Kelvin and Peters. During the entire drill, I’ve managed not only to outskate them, but to score on net every time.
Until now. I wind up my slapshot and unleash the puck, only for the goaltender to pluck it out of the air with his glove. It’s Trenton, our backup goalie.
He lifts his mask and flashes a toothy grin. “How do you like them apples, captain?”
I whistle in admiration. “That’s a wicked glove you got there. If you were a bit faster with the pads, you’d be giving Boris some real competition for the starter job.”
Rather than look defeated, Trenton’s eyes gleam with fortitude. “Then I’ll get faster,” he vows.
Oh yeah, he’s got that hunger. The kid’s gonna be starting games in no time.
I skate toward the bench. Coach blows his whistle, signaling practice is over. Our defensive coordinator O’Shea asks a couple of D-men to stay behind to run one more drill, but the rest of us are free to go. Good, because my stomach is grumbling. Time for second breakfast. But first I need to wash all the sweat off me.