Meant For You

thirty-nine.

Miles Dempsey

I've been trying to figure out a way to tell Coach I won't be playing against Winnipeg and St. Louis but it hasn't come to me. Coach has known me for six years and he's not a stupid guy, fooling him won't be easy. Hockey is my career, one that I can't just request paid-time off for.

As much as I want to be honest with him and tell him the reason why I'll be absent, I know he'll laugh in my face. Because like I said, hockey is my job. Picking a girl over your million-dollar-paying job would be ridiculous. Maybe that's why he's still single.

Anyway, I've decided that telling him the truth isn't an option. JT hasn't been much help either but said he'll have my back in whatever lie I come up with. I've been showing up to practices and games but as the day gets closer, my time starts ticking.

"MILES, GET YOUR ASS MOVING!" Coaches voice booms through the entire practice facility as me and every other player come to a halt on the ice. We know him yelling that loud means stop. "What the hell is your problem?" he yells, directing his words at me.

I haven't been one hundred percent today and it's because my body has been aching for days. There's not much time in between games for rest. These past five games, I've been treated like shit on a shoe by the other team. It feels like their guys have been using all the strength they can muster up to hit me. Every other guy on the team is fine while I'm a walking punching bag.

Keeping my mouth shut - because if I know one thing, it's that most of coaches questions are rhetorical - I wait until Coach claps again, signaling us to keep going. Practice runs for another hour and that's not my last time getting my ass chewed by Coach.

I'm the first guy heading toward the locker room when Coach blows the whistle for us to hit the showers. I remove my practice equipment before falling back into my locker and groaning. My legs feel damn near numb. I sniffle, clearing my nose a bit. The seasons are changing, meaning my allergies have started acting up.

"Wipe your nose, Demps." Tate throws me a roll of toilet paper I have no idea where he got from. I toss it into my duffel bag, not using it. "I'm fine," I say. Everyone else hits the showers but I wait until almost everyone is gone to take my turn. When I do, I set the water to the coldest setting possible. The water feels amazing against my warm skin and I bask it all in until a voice distracts my me time.

"Wanna have dinner with Kait and I tonight? The kid can come too," Tate says. My eyes open slowly and I'm met with Tate's blue ones. There's a tiled wall that covers our private areas but I can see his chest and up. "What's she making?" I question. "Lasagna and salad." My best friend tilts his head to the side like I should have known that. Kaitlyn's specialty.

"I want some," another voice chimes in and hops into the shower on the other side of me. It's JT. "You're invited too," Tate tells him. JT smiles at him as he squirts shampoo onto his hand. "Thanks."

As much as I didn't want to go anywhere but home tonight, I wouldn't mind being cooked for instead of doing the cooking. I'll just have the kid drive us over. It's not too far anyway and I'll be supervising his driving. Tate grabs his towel, wrapping it around his waist. "See you tonight." He slaps my back and is out of the shower quickly.

***

"Hey, are you getting sick?" JT asked when we came back from dinner at Tate and Kaitlyn's. I sniffled then and shook my head. "Just allergies. I'm fine," I tell him. He slipped off his shoes at the front door. "Well, Coach noticed. I overheard him talking with Coach Thomas about it. You should use that as your excuse to miss those two games," he says.

My eyes widen a bit and I try to think about that idea. It's not a bad one. "Not bad, kid. I'll think about it." There's still about a week before Nola competes at Worlds. If I fake feeling more sick these next few days, I'm sure Coach will believe me. He'll call me a pussy for not being able to play but hey, as long as I get to see Nola skate at Worlds, I'm okay with whatever he wants to call me.