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“Cam, want to fill me in on what the fuck your captain is doing?” My coach yells in frustration when I don’t respond.
I could very well get kicked off the team for this, not to mention having my captain’s patch stripped, but I don’t care anymore. I don’t care about anything.
Cam looks down to a bloody Patrick lying flat on the ice before responding. “Long overdue and well-deserved,” he plainly states.
Our coach exhales a heavy sigh. “Practice is over. You guys need to get your shit together. I’m tired of the bullshit. And if any of you pull anything stupid tonight for New Year’s Eve, you’re off the team. Don’t test me.” He skates off towards the players’ tunnel in frustration.
Chapter 2
Eli
The swelling in my hand won’t go down. That’s my only regret. I thoroughly enjoyed pummeling Patrick into the ice at practice today, but if I can’t grip my stick by Senior Showcase, I’m fucked.
I’ve been sitting on the couch at my parents’ house just off campus with a bag of ice on my swollen hand. I should just call it my house at this point—I’ve been living here for three weeks. And the ice isn’t doing shit. My knuckles are throbbing, and I’m a little concerned I may have broken something.
When my phone dings on the coffee table, my heart begins to race as it always does, hoping it might be Logan, but it’s just a new text from my brother.
M: Heard you finally kicked Patrick’s ass.
E: Yeah, it fucked up my hand, though. I awkwardly text with my opposite fingers.
M: Bet it felt good, regardless. What made you finally do it?
I’m not sure if Marc knows that Patrick is the guy that Lauren was cheating on him with, and I don’t want to inform him over text. So, I decide to just vaguely throw it out there and see how he responds, knowing that I could quickly change the subject if it doesn’t make sense.
E: Did you know it was him?
He doesn’t reply for a couple of minutes, and I’m a bit concerned I may have just dropped a bomb on him.
M: I had an idea, yeah, he finally texts.
E: Partly that. Then some shit about Logan.
Again, he doesn’t respond for a couple of minutes.
M: How are you doing, man?
I lean back on the couch as I collect my thoughts. Marc has asked me this almost every day over the last three weeks, and the answer hasn’t changed. Sometimes I lie to him and tell him I’m alright, but then he calls me out on it almost right away, so I’ve learned there’s no use in trying to pretend like I’m okay.
E: I’m fucked up. I’m not going to lie.
M: I’m almost back in town. Do you want me to come to the house? We can hang there tonight?
E: Nah, man. I’m okay. I know you’re looking forward to the hockey house party. Don’t text and drive.
M: You could come with? And I’m not. Just stopped for gas, Mom.
E: I don’t want to see anybody, and I’m trying not to drink before Showcase.
M: I’m only going because I’m trying to drink.
Marc has been having a hard time without Logan too, he feels guilty. But I’m not sure if he’s trying to get drunk tonight to make that feeling go away, or if he’s trying to drink away the fact that he has feelings for Ali and she didn’t invite him to New York for New Year’s Eve like he was hoping.
E: How are you doing?
M: Not great. I miss her.
E: Ali or Logan?
