Puck You, page 12
I caught Bryce’s eye and waited for the impending “I told you so,” but he just shook his head and skated past me. I should have just gone to bed that night. Enacting my revenge on Grace was supposed to make me feel better. But the satisfaction was short-lived. It was a lousy prank, a stupid reaction because I couldn’t deal with my emotions. I hadn’t been in my right mind then, just as I hadn’t been a few moments ago when I’d laid eyes on Grace.
Dawson hadn’t joined us on the ice; he was speaking with Coach Riley. Her hands were braced on her hips in a way that didn’t bode well for him, though things seemed civil enough. After a moment, she looked out at the ice and pointed directly at me.
Shit. That couldn’t be good.
“Sebastian, pay attention!”
I slipped into the line for drills at the behest of our assistant coach. It was nearly impossible to concentrate when I knew she was watching. For the next twenty minutes, I worked through different skills, my mind shifting between the ice and the stands where Grace remained. Every inch of my body felt impossibly hot, like I’d been doused with a form of liquid embarrassment that left blisters in its wake. It wasn’t an emotion I was used to processing, which left me feeling completely out of my depth.
Thankfully, Coach didn’t pull me aside or lecture me in front of the team. Instead, he rejoined practice and instructed us to ignore what was happening in the stands, as if that were possible. A tense atmosphere settled over the rink. No one seemed like they wanted to be the first person to speak, so everyone stayed quiet until we started to scrimmage. Still, Coach never said a word to me. Every time I overshot a pass or missed a goal, I glanced over, ready to take an earful, only to be met with silence. He wouldn’t even look at me.
I was the first to the locker room after Dawson released us from practice. I refused to look toward the female players. Head down, I retreated to the showers, undressed, and settled beneath a blast of steaming hot water. Despite spending over an hour on the ice, I still felt like I was coming apart at the seams.
Over and over again, all I could hear was the venom in Grace’s voice. You don’t care about anyone but yourself, do you? She’d meant every word; I’d seen the conviction in her eyes, and part of me agreed with her. Deep down, I knew that Grace was right, but it was hard to see past my resentment. The women deserved a better training facility. All their anger was justified. But I needed to be selfish for the sake of my own future. Nothing mattered more than making my father proud. He’d given up his own dream of going pro to help raise me, and I was determined to get there for both of us. My only hope of getting to the NHL was to ensure I had the perfect season, and with Grace around, that seemed impossible.
I stood under the water, hands braced against the tile wall as I tried to find my center. Never in my life had I felt more off-balance, less in control. Even after the injury, I knew what had to happen next. Everything was straightforward.
Until Grace.
Only when my skin began to wrinkle did I turn off the water and exit the showers, a towel wrapped around my waist. Everyone around me was moving and talking, but I felt like I couldn’t hear a thing. The next few seconds seemed to proceed in slow motion. I stopped in front of my locker, opened the latch, and watched in stunned horror as a flood of pink glitter rained down over my head, a bucket’s worth spilling out across the floor. With my skin still damp from the shower, the particles clung to my body as if I’d bathed in glue. The locker room fell silent.
What. The. Hell.
Poking out beneath a mound of the egregiously bright glitter gathered at my feet was a small white note. Warmth rushed across my skin as I reached down and grasped the paper. There was a single question typed out in a bold font.
is it your problem yet?
There was no more anger left in me. Instead of a burning heat, I felt a dizzying sense of vertigo. The humiliation set in, a tingling that swept up the back of my neck and across my face, made no better by the silence of the locker room. I felt the overwhelming urge to flee when, out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Coach Dawson leaning against the wall. He didn’t speak, and his expression was unreadable. Slowly, he stood up straight and looked around the room.
“Nothing to see here, boys,” he said. “Just a little mess that Sebastian has to clean up.”
Another painful wave of embarrassment rushed over me as everyone packed up and trickled out of the room. Bryce and Kent hovered near the exit, but Coach looked at them and shook his head.
“This for Sebastian to deal with. I don’t want any anyone to help.”
As soon as they were gone, Coach confronted me with a look that could only be described as disappointment.
“You’re the leader of this team, Sebastian. You better start acting like it.”
>> <<
Grace
Mr. Castillo would like to speak with you, Grace. I turned the words over in my head, wondering if Coach Riley knew just how terrified I was to see the athletic director. The last time we spoke, he’d threatened to revoke my scholarship. The man had quite literally tossed me out of the men’s fundraiser. Even though Coach assured me it was nothing to worry about, insisting she’d be there for the entire discussion, I was still a nervous wreck when we met outside of his office at ten minutes to nine. It had only been two days since we’d stormed the men’s practice in protest, and I had no doubt this meeting was related.
My heart dropped to my stomach when the door opened to reveal the man of the hour. His eyes swept over me in a brief glance before he nodded for us to join him inside. I hung back, letting Coach lead the way. With a deep breath, I trailed after her, pulling my shoulders back to look more confident than I felt. But what little confidence I had immediately evaporated upon entering the room. Sebastian Evans and Coach Dawson were seated at a long conference table along the far wall. There were still six open seats around the table. Coach Dawson nodded in greeting while Sebastian pretended that I didn’t exist.
“Please take a seat and we can get started,” Mr. Castillo said.
I didn’t hesitate to sit down, opting for the chair furthest from Sebastian. When everyone was situated, the athletic director cleared his throat.
“I’m sure you all know why we’re here,” he said, placing his hands palm down across the top of the table. “This unpleasantness between the two of you—between the men’s and women’s hockey teams—needs to end.”
No one spoke.
“After further evaluation of the women’s facility, and taking into consideration the recent issues,” said Mr. Castillo, eyes hardening on Sebastian, “we’ve made the executive decision to move the women into DuLane Arena. They will have access to the second rink except for Wednesdays, when the space is utilized for figure skating classes at the school.”
Disbelief crashed over me like a stack of books. Am I hearing things, or did Castillo just say we’re moving to DuLane Arena? I turned toward Coach for confirmation, and she gave me a proud nod.
“And what about Wednesdays?” Sebastian’s words were sharp enough to cut the tension in the room.
“Your coaches aren’t keen on losing ice time. They’ve decided that a shared skills practice is the best solution.”
Combined practice with the men’s team? Once again, I looked at Coach Riley for confirmation. The situation wasn’t ideal; the last thing I wanted was to be forced into spending time with Sebastian. But putting up with him was better than not having access to a rink.
“You seriously expect us to share a rink?” Sebastian said.
“It’s decided,” Coach Dawson cut in, his tone leaving no room for argument.
Sebastian slumped back into his chair, slowly shaking his head. Several times he opened his mouth as if to say something. No words were spoken.
“Now,” Mr. Castillo said, looking back and forth between us, “I don’t want to hear about any further pranks. I don’t care how essential you are as players on the team. I will not hesitate to suspend you both if these issues persist.”
I tensed at his threat, fists clenching in my lap. This moment should have felt better. Our efforts had finally forced the administration to make a change. If anything, we were owed an apology from Sebastian and the university, not a scolding. But I was willing to swallow my pride to ensure the the athletic director kept his word.
“Are there going to be any more problems?” he asked.
I shook my head immediately. “No, sir, no problems here.”
We turned our attention to Sebastian. He was still slouched in his chair, lips pressed into a thin line of irritation. Coach Dawson gave him a gentle elbow to the side, and he nodded begrudgingly.
“I’m glad this is settled. Moreover, I hope that this will be our last time discussing the issue,” Mr. Castillo said. “You may go.”
I tried to process the news as I followed Coach Riley out of the room. As soon as the door closed behind us, she and Coach Dawson stopped. I felt Sebastian at my back, heat radiating from his body.
“You two need to, oh, what’s the saying? ‘Kiss and make up’?” Coach Dawson said this with a serious face, as if the suggestion wasn’t completely absurd.
From behind me, Sebastian let out a choking sound.
Coach Riley registered the look of incredulity on my face and smothered her smile. “Maybe a better phrase is to ‘bury the hatchet,’” she suggested. “Moving forward, you’ll be seeing a lot of each other. We’d like to avoid any further conflict.”
I would have liked to bury a hatchet right into Sebastian’s smug face, but Riley was right. Endeavoring to be the bigger person between the two of us, I turned around and held out my hand in an offering of peace.
Sebastian looked down at me like I was offering him my dirty socks after a grueling practice on the ice, clear refusal to touch me written across his face. “The hatchet is buried. Scout’s honor.”
The words had barely left his lips before he pushed past us and retreated down the hallway. We watched him disappear through the exit, the door slamming shut behind him. The hatchet didn’t seem all that buried to me . . .
“I’ll have a talk with him,” Dawson assured Riley. Before he left, he looked at me. “He might be a cocky bastard, and he’s done some questionable things, but Sebastian’s had a difficult year. Try to give him a little grace. He’ll come around, I promise.”
Chapter 10
Sebastian
The month of October was cursed, and in more than just a spooky, All Hallows’ Eve way. In just a few weeks, my blueprint for the hockey season had been shredded to pieces, my two-year relationship was dead and in the ground, and the press was eating me alive. Despite Dallard’s statement declaring a mutually agreeable solution had been reached, one that involved the men’s and women’s hockey teams working together, people around campus were still sending me dirty looks or whispering to one another when I passed by. Worst of all was knowing that most of it was due to my own stupid, reckless actions.
Be that as it may, I was still happy to cast blame on Grace for her part in it all. I might have lit the spark that started the fire, but she was the one who’d poured gasoline atop the entire thing. And the most frustrating part? The undeniable, all-consuming attraction I felt for her that existed in contradiction to my frustration. I’d never actually hated Grace, at least not in the beginning. All that manufactured loathing had been an excuse to keep her far away. I didn’t want to be friendly because I’d desired more from her the very moment I’d laid eyes on her. Even after the article was published, I couldn’t deny that I wanted her. But now, that need was more complex. I was angry that she’d tricked me and frustrated that it hadn't changed how much I craved her attention.
All things considered, I was more than ready for the month of October to be a thing of the past. And after suffering our first loss, against Ohio State, I wasn’t going to risk stepping outside until midnight hit and we were officially into November. Unfortunately, that didn't stop my roommates from hosting the Halloween pre-game in our kitchen. Even in the privacy of my bedroom, I could hear the chorus of muffled voices and shitty party music. It was so loud that I barely noticed Bryce as he poked his head into my room. He was dressed in a giant pickle costume that looked a little too tight for his bulging muscles.
“Hey, man,” he said, one brow arched as he took in the mess of clothes strewn across my floor. It was unusual for my room to be anything other than spotless, and usually I wouldn’t be lying around in my bed unless I was having sex or going to sleep. I’m sure the sight of me reclining in front of my computer screen was slightly concerning. “You going to sulk up here all night?”
My only response was a curt nod.
“Come on, it’s Halloween. You can drink yourself into forgetting yesterday’s game,” he suggested.
When I remained silent, Bryce stepped further into the room and studied me from head to toe as if just realizing something strange. “Where’s Kate? You guys always do a couple's costume.”
“We broke up. She dumped me, actually. And no, I don’t want to talk about it.”
His eyes went wide. In all honesty, I still needed to process the breakup myself. So much had happened following the incident in the study room that I’d barely had a moment to think about it. Some days, it didn’t feel real.
“Maybe going out would be a good distraction,” he suggested.
“I don’t want to be around a bunch of drunk idiots.”
“You could be one of those drunk idiots.” He held his drink up to emphasize his point, taking a long sip of whatever concoction he’d mixed up in his Solo cup. If I had to guess, it was whiskey and Coke.
“You know I don’t drink anymore.”
“Okay, sorry for suggesting it. I thought it might help . . .”
I wasn’t in the mood for one of Bryce’s motivational talks, especially since he was more than a few drinks deep. I’d regret being so short with him in the morning, but right now I couldn’t help myself.
“You going to be okay for practice next week?” he asked in a complete one-eighty.
I didn’t intend to sound so defensive as I shot back, “What do you mean?”
“You’ve been weird since they told us we’re sharing DuLane with the women’s team.”
Yeah, and everyone else should be just as concerned . . .
“I’m worried about how this will impact our training. The entire dynamic we’ve built these past couple months is about to shift.”
He examined me with careful eyes before he asked, “Are you worried about our training schedule or are you worried about Grace?”
I shot him a warning look. Bryce was my best friend, but I wasn’t willing to talk about her. Not now, when everything was so fresh from my breakup with Kate that I still felt guilty wanting someone else. Especially someone who’d had a part in derailing my life.
“Don’t play psychologist with me. I’m not in the mood,” I said dismissively.
After a long moment of silence, he nodded his head. “Have it your way.”
Thirty minutes later, when I was confident the pre-game had ended, I went downstairs to remedy my rumbling stomach. The house was quiet as I stepped into the kitchen and surveyed the mess of empty beer cans and plastic cups scattered across the different surfaces of the room. I didn’t have to touch anything to know that every inch of the counter was sticky. With a shiver, I searched the pantry from top to bottom. There wasn’t much. Usually, Bryce was the one who stocked the kitchen. He must have abandoned his weekly-scheduled Sunday shopping trip to join the festivities around campus. My stomach let out a low rumble of protest. Given the late hour, I had limited options for food. There was a pizza place downtown that might be open, but my best bet was the gas station on the edge of campus.
I slipped on my jacket and set off down the block, securing the hood over my head. Not only was it cold, but I wanted to avoid being recognized. Booze had the power to make anyone fearless, and people might do more than point and whisper with the fuel of alcohol. Unsurprisingly, the streets were filled with costumed students stumbling on drunk feet. Most ignored me, but a few hollered drunk questions my way. By the time I reached the gas station, I’d already encountered three people bold enough to shout, “Who are you supposed to be?” Head low, I grabbed some snacks and a frozen pizza from the back. It wasn’t a typical meal for me—I liked to avoid preservatives and eat a clean, high-protein diet. But nothing else was open, and my stomach was aching from hunger.
I only managed to cross the street before I heard her voice. It was impossible to mistake that raspy tone for anyone other than Grace. She was sitting on the stoop of an unfamiliar house with a phone pressed to her ear. After several long moments, I realized she was dressed as Bob Ross, her dark brown locks hidden beneath a rather large wig of curly hair. She’d even gone to the trouble of putting on a fake beard to match the wig. Despite all my conflicting feelings about Grace, I couldn’t help the snort of laughter that escaped me. When I pictured Grace dressed up for Halloween (and I pictured it a lot), her costume involved zero facial hair and far less clothing.
“Answer your phone! It’s really not that hard. You just”—she hiccupped—“press the stupid button and say, ‘Hi, so good to hear from you I miss you so much and love you.’”
There was little question in my mind that Grace was drunk. If the hiccups didn’t give her away, the slurring did.
“Ugh, you suck!” She slammed her phone down onto her lap and let out a scream of frustration. After a moment’s consideration, she picked up the device, typed something in, and held it up to her ear once again.
“Stop ignoring me, you gremlin. I’m your—”
