“Bullshit.” He huffs out a breath. “I grew up with you, remember? I know how your mind works, and I know you feel responsible for Davis’s accident.”
The urge to deny, deny, deny rises, but I stuff it down. D-Vo’s right. He knows me as well as I know myself. There’s no point in lying.
“Of course I feel responsible. Davis has been off his game for weeks, and I didn’t even think to ask him about it. Not once.”
Shame burns my throat, but I’m not looking for absolution.
D-Vo flicks his wrist. “None of us did. Not Hardy. Not me. Does that make me a shit friend and alternate captain?”
I hate it when he gets like this, all logical and annoying.
He doesn’t understand.
So make him.
“It’s not the same.” I turn to meet his stare, unyielding. “And you know it.”
He pinches the bridge of his nose, a sure sign I’m not going to like whatever he says next.
“You only think it’s different because you were forced to shoulder adult responsibilities while the rest of us were still playing video games and shooting spitballs at team parties.”
I open my mouth to protest, but he cuts me off.
“Don’t tell me I’m wrong. I was there, Knox, right by your side.” He pauses, searching for the words. “I get it, I do, but you can’t always protect the people you care about from experiencing the less savory parts of life. You can be there for the people you love, but you can’t expect to be everything to everyone.”
The hell I can’t.
“No one can,” he adds emphatically. “If you try, you’re going to burn yourself out, and then what good will you be to the team?”
I snort. “I’m nowhere near burnout.”
D-Vo shrugs. “It’s early in the season.”
He lets the words hang between us so long that I think he’s said his piece, but true to form, he’s got one last bit of sage advice.
“You’re a good captain, but you need to remember that sometimes the people who struggle the hardest hide it the best. You’ve got enough on your plate without taking on responsibilities that aren’t yours to shoulder.” He claps me lightly on the back as I consider his words. “We’re a team, and whatever comes next, we’ll face it together.”
We fall silent, and Coach stalks in. I didn’t notice him leave the waiting room, but he looks pissed.
Is there news? It must be bad.
No, that can’t be it. Frank’s been here the whole time and not a single nurse or doctor has come through the door.
Maybe the situation is getting to him.
It’s hard to imagine Coach breaking down—the man is unflappable—but stranger things have happened.
A few minutes later, my cell buzzes with a text. I slide my phone out of my pocket, and when I read the message, my stomach bottoms out.
Ava: Adam found out about us, and he’s furious. I’m sorry for bailing, but the focus should be on Ollie right now, and my presence will just be a distraction.
Fuck.
Fuckfuckfuck.
How did Coach find out? Is Ava okay? I should text her to make sure.
No, she’s probably driving. I should call her.