Not So Perfect (West Coast Campus Book 4)

Chapter 3

Mike

"That's fucking boring! Boo!" Cam cups his hand over his mouth and continues to shout at me as I grasp the front door. "Do you hear me? Fucking boring!"

My eyes roll. Even if I wasn't about to head to the arena, his shouting alone would have me evacuating the building. "Just because you don't like to train, some of us do and have to." Especially when you can barely stand on the ice.

Our captain, Noah, has offered to stay after practice with me multiple times since he can see how much I'm struggling during training but I know he gets limited time with his girlfriend who just spent almost three weeks in Toronto and Paris competing at the Olympics.

Cam opens his mouth to say something but his girlfriend, my second roommate in this tiny ass apartment, pokes him in the shoulder from where she sits beside him on the couch. She signs something and they both snicker.

Fuck, I really need to learn sign language and fucking soon. It's like the two of them have their own language and could be shit talking everyone around them. Even though I've been getting help from Allie and Ava, Cam's girlfriend, I've barely learnt the basics.

"Ava wants to know if these late night skates at the rink have anything to do with the woman you came bursting in here yesterday about?"

"Tatum? Hell no." Cam and Ava laugh again and I throw my hands up in defeat. "She called me Micheal. Micheal. That's not my fucking name."

"And big guy. Bet you and Mike Junior loved that, huh?" Ava writes on the whiteboard and I roll my eyes for the second time. I swing the door open wider.

Done with the two lovebirds who I swear have made it their job to make fun of me whenever the hell they can, I hustle down the complex's stairs, grinning when Uncle Ben's name flashes on my phone.

"Squirt. Are you headed to the arena?" God, that fucking nickname. He's called me squirt since I was born and won't stop until he takes his last breath. His words, not mine.

"Maybe."

He groans tiredly and I can picture him shaking his head at me. "Mike..."

"Yes, yes, I know. I won't push it." I will. "And I haven't been." Another lie that slides easily off my tongue but I know Ben isn't buying my pathetic attempts.

"God, kid. I thought I grew all my grey hairs when you were a teenager but I feel more growing at this exact moment. As we speak," He sighs dramatically and I snort, turning into the parking lot.

"You're only gonna grow more from here on out," I tell him and we both know he doesn't have a single grey hair on his head.

I try the handle and pause when the arena's door is already unlocked. I don't think anyone else on the team would be here this late, all out partying and drinking but they surprise me everyday with their bullshit.

"Kid? Are you still there?"

"You do realize you're only eleven years older than me, right?" Ben adopted me when he was twenty years old since he was the only family I had left and he's done an amazing job of raising me.

Ben sighs but I can hear him smiling. "I know. Come by for dinner tomorrow? We'll have your mom's stew, alright?"

My mouth is already watering. "I'll be there. Love you, Ben."

"Love you more, kid. Don't train too hard, you hear me? I'm proud of you no matter what you do."

Pocketing my phone, I carry myself down the dark hall, nodding at the janitor as he passes me. I assumed there would be music blaring since that's how some of the guys like to practice but nothing. Utter silence.

Thinking nothing of it, I take my time sweating and shaking as I try to haul on my pads and jersey without throwing up, remembering that I have the amazing job of breaking in a new stick and blades for the next couple days.

Maybe I should take Tatum up on her offer to help. Nothing else has.

Fuck, my body feels like it's on fire at even the thought of stepping a foot onto the ice but I force myself down the tunnel, inhaling the cold and musty smell of sweat and popcorn that drifts through the air.

I take my sweet time setting up my net, spending extra time just staring at it, wishing my injury never happened last month but unfortunately, I'm not Doctor Strange who can go back and change time and space. What I would give to be in a Marvel comic or movie.

I do some wobbly laps around the rink, using the plexi glass as support for most of it. How do I bounce back from something like this? I go to the gym five times a week, I train with the team five or six days but still can't manage to put one foot in front of the other.

God, why did it have to be a mental block? Of all things, why a fucking mental-

A loud cry from by the benches has me stretching my head to try and see past the boards but it's dark and there's hardly any light over there so I push forward on my weak knees and take my time as I drag myself towards the benches.

"Tatum?" Her eyes are red and puffy, cheeks stained with tears. Her shoulders are caved forward and she jolts, startled. I wince. "Sorry."

She sniffs, trying her best to wipe her eyes and slap on a weak smile but it's watery and vanishes when I take the seat next to her. I hesitate, not sure what to do. "Are you...okay? Did someone tell you your third favourite cat died?"

Tatum snorts, sighing softly. She glances out towards the ice with sadness and longing in her eyes. "What happened to the first two?" She repeats from yesterday and a chuckle bursts out of me which seems to surprise her.

"So the big guy can crack a smile," She jokes, "Who knew?"

The AC is the only noise as we sit in awkward silence for a long time. "So. Why are you sitting here all alone on a Friday night?" Crying all by yourself?

"I could ask you the same thing. Why are you practicing your ass off instead of resting at home like you should be?"

My shoulders shrug. "'Cuz I can't skate for shit. And if I don't-"

"You're gonna lose your spot on the team and end up being the back up, yeah I know. Have you tried speaking to someone?"

"Speaking to someone?" My brows dip. "Like a sports psychologist?"

"Or a therapist. I think Ava talked to one after her brother passed but I could be wrong. Wasn't really present at that time." Her voice grows small and I decide to change the subject.

"So you still train?" I jut my chin down to her skates.

"Just to keep in shape. I've been done with figure skating for a while now but honestly, if I'm gonna continue coaching, I feel I should understand what I'm making my athletes do and how much their bodies have to endure."

Not too many coaches think like that. Closer to none, actually.

"You still haven't told me why you're sitting here crying," I point out, her eyes still puffy and red.

She sighs, her hands fidgeting in her lap. "You really wanna know?"

I don't notice the tremor in her voice as I start untying my skates since I know I'm not gonna get anything else done. At least I can say I skated a few laps and stretched a little bit. "Sure. Should probably learn a thing or two about each other if you're offering to help me."

"I guess..." Her eyes glaze over the ice. Her shoulders hunch but I stay silent, pulling off my leg pads and placing them beside me.

"You know, you don't have to tell me. We don't know each other and-"

"I was diagnosed with cancer." She blurts, cutting me off before wincing like she didn't mean to say that.

My mom, laying so very still like you'd think she wasn't breathing, her skin the same colour as the blanket that's draped over her thin body-

"Are you okay?" Tatum cuts that memory off and I breathe a sigh of relief. "You'd think I just told you that you were the one with cancer based on that reaction," She jokes but I'm already on my feet, hauling my equipment into my arms.

"I-I'm sorry. Really. But I gotta go," My voice is small and it takes her back, eyeing me carefully as I skate away like a complete jackass.