The Dixon Rule (Campus Diaries, 2)

I’m not giving you up

I CAN’T DO THIS.

The odd, frantic thought first infiltrates when I’m dressing for tonight’s game, my first one back since Dad died. I ignore that thought because it’s inane. Of course I can do this. I’ve been doing this more than half my life. Hockey is in my blood.

So I push it away and go about my business. I throw on my pads, my uniform. I lace up my skates. I join my team on the Briar bench. And I play hockey.Content from NôvelDr(a)ma.Org.

I can’t do this.

It pokes at me again halfway through the first period. As I weave through opponents and teammates alike, it gnaws at my insides like a dog chewing on a stick. And I can taste resentment in my mouth. It’s not the first time I’ve experienced this bitterness since Dad died, but tonight it feels different. The cheers of the crowd, the adrenaline rush of the game, the familiar scent of the ice. Where it used to be freeing, it suddenly seems suffocating.

Maryanne is at home with Diana, and I’m here in this rink. I’m playing a stupid, pointless game when I should be taking care of my little sister.

I can’t do this.

By the second period, it’s a mantra in my head.

“Change it up,” Jensen barks, and Beckett smacks my shoulder.

I bolt off the bench and heave myself onto the ice for my next shift. I’m not distracted. I’m not playing poorly. But I am operating partially on autopilot as I get checked into the boards, the cold surface biting through my jersey. The sounds of skates slicing through the ice and sticks clashing echo all around me. I gain control of the puck, surging toward the Harvard net. When the opposing defenseman lunges forward, I flick the puck backward to Austin, who slaps it into the net like a rocket.

Goal!

Our teammates roar their approval when we change lines again. Will slaps my arm, congratulating me on the assist.

I can’t be here.

I barely hear the final buzzer over the incessant buzzing in my own brain. My mantra has evolved.

After the game, I hurriedly change into my street clothes and then track down Coach Jensen, asking to speak in private. I think he knows what I’m going to say before I even say it. He sees it in my eyes.

“I have to go home, Coach.”

He’s quiet for a beat. Then he sighs. “For how long?”

“I don’t know.”

“What do you mean you quit the team?” Diana’s face is awash with worry as she follows me around my room, watching me throw items of clothing into a suitcase.

“I didn’t quit. Well, I guess I did.”

“Shane. You’re not making any sense.”

I walk to my dresser and open the top drawer, grabbing a handful of boxer shorts. My sister’s stuff is scattered all over the bedroom, which she’s been using since she came to stay. She’ll need to pack too, but I wanted to speak to Diana about this first, so I planted Maryanne in front of the TV with a documentary about asteroids.

“I have to go home, Dixon. I can’t be here right now.”

“Okay.” I hear her take a breath. “I get that. But…this is hockey. Hockey is your life. What if you make it to the playoffs? You can’t desert your team.”

Pain stabs into my chest. She’s right. I can’t.

But I am.

Exhaling a hiss of air, I drop the boxers in the suitcase and then sink onto the edge of my bed. Diana joins me, angling her body so she’s facing me, searching my expression.

“What is this about?” she presses.

“I promised him I’d take care of them,” I say gruffly.

“You are taking care of them.”

“How? My mom is home alone struggling to sell the house before Christmas, so she doesn’t have to spend the holidays with his ghost. Not to mention dealing with lawyers and accountants and executors to settle Dad’s massive estate. And Maryanne is here, being passed around between you and Gigi while I’m at practice or in class or in the weight room. How am I taking care of either of them?”

Diana strokes my cheek. Her touch is so warm and comforting that I lean into it. I sag against my girlfriend, and she wraps her arms around me, holding me tight. Dixon has been my rock since the nightmare began. She’s the only light in this pitch-black, claustrophobic tunnel I can’t seem to find my way out of.

“I made him a promise.” My voice is rough. “I can’t keep that promise and stay on the team. I need to go back to Heartsong for a while.”

“What’s a while?”

I pull back and see the deep furrow in her forehead. I reach up and gently rub the crease away before pressing my forehead to hers.

“At least until after the holidays. Maybe longer. Maybe I’ll have to take next semester off, depending on what my family needs from me.”

Diana bites her lip. “You won’t be able to graduate if you miss the semester.”

“Then I’ll come back in the fall.” I take her hand, needing her warmth. She knows it and laces our fingers. “I won’t be gone forever. Just until they no longer need me.”

“I wish I could do more,” she says with a sigh.

“You’re already doing so much.” I cup her cheek, leaning in to kiss her. It’s a peck, a brush of reassurance. “You’ve gone above and beyond in helping me take care of Maryanne. But you have a life too. You have your own sport to focus on, and your own classes. It’s not fair to ask you to do that.”

Her throat bobs as she swallows. “Okay. I have to ask this. Are you breaking up with me?”

My jaw falls open. “What? Fuck no.”

Relief floods her gaze. “All right. Good. Just making sure.”

I chuckle softly. I’ve laughed very rarely these past few weeks, but Dixon always manages to bring some levity.

“I love you,” I say in a strong, empathic tone. “I’m not giving you up. Ever.”

“Ever, huh?”

“Well, as long as you’ll have me.”

She smiles at that.

“And if you’re cool with it, I figured you could drive me home and then keep my car while I’m gone. I’ll have my dad’s—” My voice cracks. I can’t think about him without breaking down. “My dad’s truck. And Mom has her own car. The Mercedes will just be sitting in the driveway, so I figured you might as well use it here.”

“Don’t do this, Lindley. If you lend me that car, I’ll never give it back.”

“Oh, you’re giving it back.” I grin. “I love you, but not that much.”

She crawls into my lap, locking her hands behind my neck. “Are you sure you want to go?”

I nod. “I have to.”

She nods too. “Okay. I support whatever you decide. And now that football season is coming to an end, I’ll be able to drive up every weekend to see you.”

“I’m holding you to that.”

THE BOYS ALL CAPS

BECKETT DUNNE:

Miss you

LUKE RYDER:

You doing ok?

SHANE LINDLEY:

Yeah, all good

SHANE LINDLEY:

We found a new place, so I’ve been busy packing up the house

LUKE RYDER:

When are you coming back?

BECKETT DUNNE:

Miss you

WILL LARSEN:

Dude. Stop being weird