See You In Boston (CU Hockey 5.50)

“You okay?” he whispers.

“I need to pee.”

He laughs softly and gives my thigh a squeeze under the table. “Good luck, Ty. Here they come.”

And yep, now I definitely have to pee.

Mitch Callaghan and Lawrence Robson walk in with Rossi’s dad, who gives me a warm smile. They sit opposite us at the huge table, and even though the three of them have tried to make us all feel welcome and at ease, I don’t think I’ll ever feel comfortable around them.

I belatedly realize Rossi’s hand is still on my thigh, but no one seems to have noticed.

Thank fuck.

I need him.

They swap some small talk and ask about plans for the weekend, and Carla mentions she’s got some kind of celebrations planned for after this, and all my brain can focus on is was it me was it me was it me?

I need them to move this thing along for my own sanity.

It’s torture.

And then Callaghan clears his throat, and I want to take back all my internal whining.

No, nope. Don’t need to know now. Let’s all go back to what we were doing, nothing to see here.

“Well, I’m sure you all know what you’re here for. Let me start out by saying the three of us are extremely impressed with the dedication and knowledge you’ve brought here.” He grins. “Yes, even you, Gianni.”

Rossi chuckles.

Robson takes over. “On one hand, we’re grateful we only had to choose between two of you, but on the other … Whitney, Tyson, you did not make this choice easy.” He allows himself a little chuckle that I try to join in with, while super concerned my eye is about to start twitching. His voice deepens a little, and the regret comes through loud and clear. “I’ve said this before, but I truly mean it. I wish we had more than one role available, because you’ve both earned it in spades. And I want you to know that if you weren’t successful, it wasn’t because you didn’t deserve it.”

I hear Whitney murmur a thank-you, but all I can do is nod.

I’m waiting. Waiting.

Callaghan meets my eyes … and then his gaze swings to Whitney.

“Congratulations,” he says to her. “The junior position is yours.”

She lets out a small squeal, and I’m worried she’s about to start crying when she pulls her shit together. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

And I …

Deflate.

I have no idea if Rossi is even still touching me because I swear all the bones leave my body, and it’s physically exhausting to stop myself from sagging into my chair. Maybe melting through the floor. Evaporating from the room seems far more achievable than forcing this smile while I join the others in congratulating her.

Am I suffocating?

Is that sound ringing in my ears how it sounds when your hopes and dreams start crashing down around you?

Would it be unprofessional of me to cry right now?

Fuck, I still have to face these people tomorrow.

Somehow, I maintain my smile as everyone stands, and Callaghan approaches to shake my hand. “I truly am sorry, Tyson. Please know we’ll give you a glowing reference.”

“Thank you, sir. That means a lot.”

And well done me for not sounding totally pathetic.

Mitch pats me on the back and starts chatting to Rossi, but I can feel Rossi’s need to pull me away radiating off him. Everyone in the room knows I’m disappointed—that’s normal—but he’s the only one who knows what this means to me. How much I’ve sacrificed to make it happen.

If Mr. Rossi didn’t know I was his son’s friend, would I have been assigned to him to begin with? Maybe I would have been the one working with Lawrence. Maybe if I’d been with a partner, this whole outcome would have been different.

I want to kick myself for thinking that way. All I’m doing is torturing myself when the outcome won’t change.

Gathering every shred of empathy I have in my defeated body, I approach Whitney and try hard to be genuinely happy for her.

“Congratulations. You really deserved this.”

She doesn’t match my enthusiasm. “I’m so sorry. You did too, and I feel terrible.”

Okay, that makes me feel like a little bit of a jerk. “Don’t—it’s me, babe. I’ll bounce back. I always do.” Granted, the next time we cross paths, I might be waiting her table as I drown in student debt for a degree I can’t even use, but … I pull her into a hug to hide my pain. When I’d searched for jobs last weekend, there were two listed. Two entry-level positions with midsized companies.

Ouch.

I can’t believe I blew this chance.

We gravitate from the meeting room into the lunchroom, which Carla has decorated with streamers and banners and everyone is wearing those tacky little “congrats!” tiaras, which look absurd with their suits.

Aaaand now I’m sounding bitter. Great.

I hate this.

I try, I really, really try to join in with the conversations and make small talk, while the whole time I can feel Rossi’s stare burning into my back as I do my best to ignore him. I know he wants to talk. I know he wants to make sure I’m okay.