“I fucking swear, Colter, if you get in my lane one more time, I’m flattening your ass.”
“Oh, fuck off, Wright.” He skates right up to my face. “You’ve been screwing up all morning. This isn’t me.” He shoves at me. “It’s you.”
I shove him back. “Bullshit it is. You can’t keep your shit straight, shooting pucks all over the ice like some rookie.”
“Hey!” Miller protests.
We ignore him.
“Some of us are over here trying to fix shit.”
“I bet it’s your fault,” Colter sneers, “this losing streak we’re on. You fucked it up, didn’t you?” He presses his nose to mine. “What happened? Your little piece of tail run off on you? No more good luck charm for you. You didn’t fuck her good enough, did you?” He laughs. “You should have sent her my way. I’d have taken care of her.”
For the second time this season, I attack my own teammate.
Only this time, he doesn’t get a lick in at all.
I rain blow after blow down on him, hitting him for all the times he’s pissed me off in the past. My knuckles are starting to hurt, and I don’t even care. The bite feels good because anything is better than the way I’m feeling right now.
An arm wraps around my waist and hauls me off of my downed teammate. He’s bloody and swollen and I don’t even give a shit.
“Don’t fucking talk about her! Don’t go near her!” I yell as Lowell drags me off the ice. “You fucking hear me, Colter?”
“That’s enough,” Lowell says lowly into my ear. “You’re done.”
He doesn’t let me go until we’re off the ice and down the tunnel.
“Fucking shit,” he says to my back as he follows me into the dressing room.
I crash onto the bench, putting my head in my hands, trying to hide how much they’re shaking.
“What the hell was that, Col? You were relentless.”
“Yeah, well, the dude has been on my ass all season.” I sit back, sucking in a breath, trying to calm my racing heart rate. “I’m tired of it.”
“No. You instigated it this time. There’s more to it than that.” Lowell stands over me with his hands on his hips. “What’s going on, dude?”
What’s going on?
What’s going on is that I’m fucking miserable.
I haven’t seen or talked to Harper in a week. I can barely sleep, my stomach is all tied up in knots, and any time I do anything to try to get my mind off shit, it’s pointless because it always somehow comes back to her.
I feel like I’m back where I was at the beginning of the season, the weight of everything crushing me, pulling the air from my lungs and suffocating me.
The worst part is that it’s my own stupid fault again.
But I don’t tell him all that.
In fact, I don’t say anything at all.
He takes a seat next to me, sighing. “Is what Colter said true? Did you and Harper break up?”
“We were never together.”
He lifts a brow. “Certainly seemed that way to me.”
Yeah, me too.
“Nope.”
He just nods. “All right. I’ll let you sell that story if you want.” He scrubs a hand over his face. “Fuck, man. You really laid into him.”
“He had it coming.”
Lowell’s lips twitch. “Maybe.”
The dressing room door slams open and I inwardly groan as Coach comes barreling in.
“You.” He points at me, his finger shaking, probably from anger. It’s radiating off him like he’s fucking Godzilla all charged up and ready to blast. “You’re benched.”
“What?!”
“Boy!” He stalks across the floor, getting right into my face. “That circus out there was bullshit, and I will not tolerate it from anyone. I don’t give a shit how many points you’re putting up. I don’t care how much you don’t like your teammates. I don’t give a rat’s ass about what’s going on in your personal life. When you’re on my ice, you check your shit at the door. I gave you a pass the first time but I will not let you disrespect my game again. Do I make myself clear, son?”
I grind my teeth and give him a curt nod because deep down, I know he’s right.
“Clear, Coach.”
“Good. Now get the hell out of my sight.” He looks at Lowell. “Get back out there.”
Then he’s gone, the door slamming shut behind him just like it did when he walked in.
“Fuck!” I shout, ripping my sweater over my head, throwing it across the room. “Son of a bitch!”
Lowell shakes his head, a disappointed frown marring his face. “I’ll make sure Colter doesn’t get off easy either.”
“No,” I tell him as I begin stripping my gear off. “You said it yourself, I instigated it.”
He snorts, pushing off the bench. “Yeah, but the shit he said didn’t make matters better.”
He heads for the door, then hesitates.
“Hey, man, listen. If you need anyone to talk to…”
“You’re there. Yeah, I know.”
“Oh, you think I want to talk to you? No way. I was gonna put that shit on Rhodes. He’s such a good listener and all.”
For the first time in what feels like days, a smile tugs at my lips.
“And for what it’s worth, I’m sorry it didn’t work out with Harper. I really liked her.”
Me too.
Instead, I swallow the lump in my throat and say, “Thanks, Lowell.”
“Of course.”
He disappears back down the tunnel, and I’m left in the dressing room feeling as defeated and broken as I did just six months ago.
The only thing worse than being on the ice losing is watching your team lose from the sidelines knowing you could be down there helping them.
“Fuck. This blows so much.”
“Feel like an ass for letting your team down yet?”
I glare at Shep, who is sitting in the private team box beside me.
When I told him I wouldn’t be playing tonight, he insisted on coming to keep me company. I think he just wanted to make sure I wasn’t going to jump from the box or something.
“I really hate you sometimes,” I tell him.
He just laughs, not giving a shit at all.
The second period winds down, and I cringe when I look at the scoreboard. It’s 3-0, and with the way they’re playing, I can’t see how it’s going to get any better.
As Lowell promised, Colter’s out tonight too. I think it might have more to do with how swollen his eyes are, but still.
“So,” Shep says, “you ever going to tell me what happened?”
“I told you. Got into it with Colter. Coach wasn’t happy. The end.”
“Right. Sure. And the reason you got into it with him was…”
I shrug. “You’ve met the guy. You tell me.”
Shep laughs. “Fair enough.”
He folds his hand over his stomach, stretching his legs out in front of him. He purses his lips, looking around the swanky box, whistling a soft tune that’s getting on my nerves more and more by the second.
I ignore it.
He gets louder.
“Fuck, man.” I throw my hands in the air. “Enough, okay? I’ll tell you.”
He grins victoriously and waits for me to spill all the sordid details.
“There’s not much to tell. I was seeing a girl and—”
“The one who had you all smiley and shit?”
“Yeah.” I clear my throat, trying to keep all emotion out of my voice. “It didn’t work out. We…uh…wanted different things.”
I scratch at the beard I’ve been growing out the last week. And by growing it out, I mean I’ve been too fucking lazy to shave. What’s the point? It’s not like I’ll be burying my face between thighs anytime soon.
“And?” Shep presses when I don’t say anything else.
“And what?”
“That’s it? That’s the reason you’re sitting up here tonight? Because some chick you were banging decided to move on?”
My eyes narrow at his choice of words, and slowly, Shep’s brows rise higher and higher.
“Oh.” He nods once. “You’re in love with her.”
I shift in my seat at his statement.
He sits up. “You’re like really in love with her. And she doesn’t love you back.”
I toss my head back. “Yes, because that’s just what I needed to hear right now.”
“What happened?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, what happened? Why is she not reciprocating your feelings? Is it because your dick is small?”
“Fuck you,” I mutter, and he chuckles. “No. It’s actually because I’m too perfect.”
His face screws up. “Say what?”
I explain to him what happened at the art show and everything she said on the recording she doesn’t know I heard.
When I’m finished, he doesn’t say anything for a long time.
Then finally, he says, “This might not be what you want to hear, but I get where she’s coming from.”
“You do?”
“Yeah. I mean, she spent her whole life thinking her parents had this perfect marriage, and that was shattered in a big way. She’s scared. Sometimes fear makes you do some really stupid shit.”
“Why does it sound like you’re talking from experience?”
He laughs somberly. “Because I am. Because I’ve been Harper before. I’ve pushed the people I love away because of fear, and I regret those years I missed every single day.” He pats me on the back. “She’ll come around.”
“And if she doesn’t?”
“Then you can either stay angry at the world and let it ruin everything you’ve worked hard for, or you can channel it into something big that weighs, oh, say, around thirty-five pounds.” He lifts a brow. “You know what I’m saying?”
“I hear you.”
Focus on the season. Don’t let this get in my way.
“Good. But, Collin?”
I glance over at him and he’s looking down at the ice, watching the Zamboni driver clean up.
“Real love doesn’t come around often. Hell, sometimes it never comes around at all. But when it does…it’s worth waiting for. Trust me.”
For Harper?
I’d wait forever.
