COLTON
“Colt, stop being such an ass,” Clay snaps at me as I pass him.
There is no need to be a crybaby if your game sucks, loser.
“Stop being a pussy,” I hiss, skating away from him, gripping my stick tighter.
It’s Tuesday, and with each passing day my mood has worsened. I spent a few hours with Mom on Sunday, and it gave me a short breather. Once I was back in my car, my smile faded away, and the shittiest mood I’ve ever been in returned. I’m not sure I’ve smiled even once since fucking Thursday night. Everything became insignificant and frustrating. And I hate it. Hockey is my only salvation. As long as I’m on the ice, that’s it.
Our practice is about to end, and so far, it’s all good. Coach certainly knew what he was doing when he gave us hell the other day. Everyone is motivated, collected, and devoting a hundred percent of their attention to the game. I’m the same, and my bottled-up anger doesn’t hurt. I hit as hard as I can again, sending the puck flying into the net. If anything, my fury is my fuel. All my shots today are powerful and well-paced. I didn’t hear a word of scolding from Coach, unlike the rest of the guys.
I’m one of the fastest players on our team. I feel the game. I’m attentive to details, and I don’t let myself lose focus for even the slightest moment. I live for hockey; it is my whole existence. My purpose. Something I’m good at, and dear God, how much I need this validation after that disaster with her. Never in my life have I felt so miserable after being with a girl.
“Thompson.” I wheel around and focus on Benson. He eyes me with his brows pinched together and his stick lifted, ready to pass the puck to me.
I scan his posture to figure out the angle, nod curtly, and skate to where the puck is going to be. Cutting across the ice, I speed up just in time to see the puck lift into the air and land within my stick’s reach. I shoot and watch as it goes into the uppermost part of the net. I lift my fist in the air, content. “And that’s where mama keeps the peanut butter, man.” I burst out laughing, skating over to Clay. “Don’t sulk. It doesn’t suit you.”
Clay gives me a nasty look and keeps silent, his nostrils flaring in anger. Then he grabs his water bottle and storms away from me. He’s such a child sometimes. It’s not my fault he let me score so many times today.
I notice guys gathering around Coach, and I join them. Another pep talk. He does one after every practice. This time, there’s a bit of praise for our hard work, but he reminds us again to always stay focused and motivated, because otherwise we will lose the game.
I’m barely listening. I look around the arena and notice the cheerleading squad is practicing. All the girls are attractive, and some are even fun to hang out with, but they aren’t her. Congrats, moron, you let your mind go into the loop again. This is a fucking shit show. I have no idea what I can do to change her mind about me.
“You did great, Thompson.” I turn my head toward the voice and lock eyes with Moore. He leans on his stick, and a smug smile illuminates his face.
“Just did my usual,” I say, averting my gaze.
“Nah, man, that was not your usual.” He laughs, shifting to face me. “You looked like a madman for most of today. I have never seen you so aggravated during practice.”
“What’s your point?”
“Just observing. Like I always do.” Moore edges closer. “Rumor has it you were at the movies last Thursday. With a delicious-looking piece of ass.”
“Do you believe all the rumors you hear?” I smirk, not showing even the slightest change of my emotion.
“Not really.” He sweeps his eyes over my face. “You don’t date anyone, so hearing about you on a date with some chick felt weird. She must be someone special, Thompson, if you decided to break your own rules.”
Coach dismisses us, but I don’t move. I hate this fucker. If anything, he reminds me of my father—manipulative, believing that his money can buy anything and anyone. I want to prove him wrong.
“I didn’t break any rules because I have none.” I move closer, standing up to him. We’re almost chest to chest. “And it wasn’t a date.”
“But you were at the movies with a girl, and you never do that.” Shit. She’s fucked me up in the head. I’ve become brainless. “How about you introduce her to me? You usually don’t mind sharing, right? At least, it never was an issue between you and Rodgers.”
“What I do doesn’t concern you.” I take off my helmet, my sweaty hair falling into my eyes. “I tolerate you only for the sake of the team.”
“Aw, I love it when you’re honest, Thompson,” Moore snorts. “It’s such a pity you don’t want to tell me who she is. It would save me a ton of time, but whatever. I will figure it out myself. I want your special girl too.”
I shake my head, leaving him alone as I edge to the locker room.
Hopefully he will back off. I don’t want him spying on me. Hudson Moore is the last person on Earth who needs to know about Ava. It would only double his determination to win the bet. The fucking stupid bet she still has no idea about. Dammit.
Walking into the locker room, I notice Clay with a towel wrapped around his hips. He’s broody and doesn’t look at anyone, focusing instead on getting dressed. He goes through phases when he silently hates everyone, including himself. When he’s like that, I give him space and don’t try to cheer him up.
I take off my gear, quickly hop into the shower, and then put on my clothes. Benson and I are the only two guys in the locker room. We talk about practice, discuss Friday and Saturday’s games, and joke. I’m glad things have gone back to normal between us. I like the guy, and being his enemy isn’t something I want.
My phone buzzes, and I pick it up from the bench. My father wants to talk. About what this time? I hope it’s not another shitty excuse to lure me home.
“Are you leaving?” Benson lingers by the door, and I shake my head no. “Okay. Bye.”
I press my phone to my ear. “Hello?”
“Colt, hey.” The fuck? “It’s Helen.”
I keep quiet and hear her heave a sigh.
“Can we talk like adults for at least five minutes? It won’t take long.”
“I was pretty clear with you last time. I don’t want to talk to you.”
“Oh, I remember.” She pauses for a second, clearing her throat. “Yet this is my job, and there are some things I need to do, no matter what I want myself.”
Fucking asshole kept her close, and when things calmed down, he brought her back. Promotion, new job title, big paycheck. He gave her everything. At the same time, he ghosted my mother, never paying attention to her needs or her current state. He pays her bills, nothing else.
“I’m calling you from your father’s phone because I knew you wouldn’t answer if I used my own. It’s important.”
I zip my bag, grab it from the bench, and drape it over my shoulder. The room suddenly becomes small, as if the walls are closing in on me. My forehead is sweaty, and I thread my fingers through my still-wet hair. “What?”
“Your dad is throwing a big party next month. He will need you there—”
“Not interested.” I cut her off, taking an apprehensive step toward the door.
“All your future partners will be there. You need to make acquaintances.” I shut my eyes, because listening to her voice brings everything back. All my memories are bubbling to the surface, as if I haven’t spent all these months trying to erase them. “You are graduating soon, and if you think it will be easy to just dive into your responsibilities, you’re wrong. You need to start now—”
“There’s a good chance I’ll go pro, Helen,” I grit through my teeth. “If that happens, my dad can kiss all his plans about me inheriting his empire goodbye.”
“Eric is sure you’re going to join him. He has no doubt.”
Chuckling to myself, I shake my head. That’s the thing about my dad. One second, he assures you he wants you to go pro, but the next he shows you his plans for the next five years, which include your active participation. He’s delusional if he thinks I will give up on my dreams. Even if worse comes to worst and the California Thunders don’t sign me, I can be traded to another team or become an unrestricted free agent. I will do anything to land myself a contract.
“Well, I don’t share the sentiment. As soon as the school year is over, I’ll be out of this state.”
“Don’t bite off more than you can chew, Colton,” she fires back, losing her patience. “I will send you the details. Make sure you mark it on your calendar. You must be there.”
“Only if it’s not the same day as a game.”
“Don’t worry about that. Your father knows your schedule.” I highly doubt that, I want to add, but I keep the words to myself. I want this call to be over with.
“Anything else?” I put my hand on the doorknob.
“She has grown so much…she misses you.”
“Bye, Helen.” I end the call and shove my phone into my pocket. I refuse to play her games. Not anymore. Not ever.
I trudge out of the locker room and down the hallway as my thoughts race in a vicious circle. That woman added another pinch of frustration to my anger, making me unmotivated. Your relatives are supposed to be your biggest supporters, but mine knock the air out of my lungs. My father pretends to care about my future as a hockey player, but in reality? He’s already planning my involvement in his business because he doesn’t believe in me. Sadly, it doesn’t even surprise me.
Opening the door, I saunter out of the building and inhale deeply. Everything is going to be alright. It’s just an unfortunate coincidence. Nothing else. I just need to go home and—
I freeze when I realize what I’m staring at. My blood boils, my skin becomes hot, and a vein in my neck pulsates so hard it’s deafening. She’s here. Ava is here, and not for me. She’s here with Benson. They stroll to his car. He is carrying two cups from a local coffee shop, and she has what looks like a box of donuts in her hands. They are going to his place, aren’t they?
Storming to the parking lot, I keep my gaze trained on my car. She doesn’t exist anymore. She’s just like everyone else. Nothing special.
I open my car door, jump inside, toss my bag on the backseat, and start the engine. My whole body is tense, and my hands are trembling. I curse, grip the steering wheel hard, and take off. My eyes meet hers for just a moment as I pass Benson’s car. Her lips part, and she frowns. I look crazy, but I don’t care. She’s no one, and there is no way in hell I’ll let myself think about her again.
