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I already know this. While fighting might be part of the game in the professional league, it isn’t tolerated at the NCAA level. I knew the referee was going to eject me the second I flicked my gloves off, but I didn’t give a shit. I’d had enough.
Fuck hockey!
Fuck this whole damn place!
I thump into my seat, swearing up a storm and throwing my drink bottle onto the floor before Coach barks, “Go cool off!” He points to the exit. “And don’t even thinking about showing your face again until you can sit here and support your team. You let everyone down!” he roars at me.
The crowd behind us has gone kind of quiet, ignoring the current play as I stalk away from my team and head for the locker room. He sends one of the assistant coaches after me, but I spin around and growl, “Fuck off!” before storming down the tunnel.
Shouldering the locker room door open with a roar, I stalk into the room, pacing for a minute before smashing my elbow into my locker and hitting my funny bone, which isn’t fucking funny!
My fingers tingle and burn while I grab at the pain, hissing out a bunch of curse words just as the door swings open.
“I said fuck off!” I shout, then deflate the second I see who’s standing there. “Oh.”
“Hello, son.” Ethan’s dad steps into the room.
I don’t know how he got permission to be in here, but I also don’t give a shit. The second I see his kind face smiling at me, I feel like maybe I can survive this shitstorm.
“Having a bad night?”
I scoff and shake my head, nearly laughing at his mildly spoken question.
He grins and takes a seat beside me when I plunk down in front of my locker.
He lets me wait it out in puffing silence for a few minutes before finally saying, “I’ve got a feeling that whatever’s going on for you right now is a lot more than a blind referee.”
A snort comes out my nose and I glance at him. “You saw it too? The fucker tripped me right up.”
“Yep.” He nods. “You had every right to be pissed.”
I deflate, slumping forward and resting my elbows on my knees. “I doubt Coach sees it that way.”
“Oh, he will. But then he’ll go on to tell you how controlling your emotions is part of being an elite athlete.”
My head droops forward.
“The thing that’s a big red flag for me is that you’re usually pretty good at keeping it cool out there on the ice. You’re focused. It’s like you enter another dimension when you’re playing. But tonight…” He clicks his tongue.
I steal a sideways peek at him.
“I could tell the second you skated out, something was off.” He catches my eye. “Wanna talk about it?”
“Not really,” I grit out.
“Okay.” He nods, then nudges me with his elbow. “Do you need to talk about it?”
I sigh. “Probably.”
“I’m all ears, kid.”
Wincing, I cup the back of my head and spill the truth as quickly as I can. It only takes me about ninety seconds because I’m talking so damn fast, but he gets the gist.
“Wow.” He leans back against the lockers, blinking into the empty room and obviously struggling for the right thing to say. “That’s kinda big.”
“Yeah.” I shake my head, scrubbing a hand over my mouth. “Maybe it’s for the best anyway. I can’t be a father.”
“So, she’s definitely keeping it, then?”
