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Coach calls for a shift change, and we head out on the ice. Like a bat out of hell, Johnson, Albrooke, and I take off, racing for the puck. I slam into Fenwick, and he grins at me.
“Surprised I didn’t hear your dumb-ass sounds across the ice. You still squawk?”
Goddamn it.
A tingling starts in my chest as embarrassment and shame heat my blood.
My body moves across the ice, but my head isn’t in it. I don’t know what I’m doing, too lost in overthinking everything I’ve ever said. Minnesota gets a goal, and we head off the ice for a shift change. Have we been out here long enough to call a line change? I’m in a daze as I follow my teammates to the bench, barely recognizing that I handed my hockey stick to the assistant. My body moves on muscle memory alone at this point, not needing any direction from my brain. I feel dizzy and heavy, like I have a spotlight on me. Has Chad or any of his lackeys told anyone what happened that day? Does anyone else know about the abuse and the tears and humiliation?
“Dude, what the hell is wrong with you?” Paul leans over to look me in the face. “Are you sick or something. You look pale.” He pulls a glove off and touches my face.
“What’s the deal, Oiler? Why’s Johnson babying you?” Coach leans over my shoulder, his eyes roaming over my face.
“I’m fine.” I shrug them both off and reach for a water bottle just to give myself something to do.
Coach pats my helmet and walks away, but Paul isn’t giving up.
“You may be able to fool everyone else, but you can’t fool me,” he grits out quietly before putting his glove back on and sitting up.
Right now, his irritation is the least of my worries. Maybe this is the final straw and he’ll walk away from me.
For the rest of the game I’m not on the ice with Fenwick, so I can breathe. He’s probably been a bully his whole life. Has he hurt anyone else? I have to assume he has. Someone like that wouldn’t be a one and done.
That fucker is just trying to get in my head, and I’ve let him.
I crack my neck and try to get my head on straight.
Paul gets a shot on goal with an assist from me and lights up the lamp, Riggs somehow manages a breakaway in the third, and it isn’t until the end of the game that I notice a coach on the Minnesota bench staring at me.
Coach Craig Williams.
I’m frozen in place, eyes locked with the man who allowed me to be belittled for years. I can feel the blood draining from my face, the air in my lungs being sucked out by some invisible vacuum, and I could swear I was sixteen again. Weak. Vulnerable. Humiliated.
He can’t be here. Mom said he was coaching for Michigan. Did she tell me the wrong school? I purposefully didn’t look it up because I knew I would obsess over it and count down the days until I had to see him again. Not to mention, Minnesota’s coach is some dude named John. What the fuck is he doing here?
Someone pushes on my back, and I stumble, turning my head to see Jeremy with a big grin on his face. He wraps his arm around my shoulders in excitement. Our entire team is on the ice, celebrating our win while I stand here stuck in my past.
“Come on!” He pats my back and ushers me toward the line of our guys so we can shake hands with the opposing team. I don’t want to do this. I don’t want Fenwick to touch me even through the gloves.
As the handshakes start, and the mumbling of “Good game” surrounds us, Fenwick’s sneering face fills my vision.
“Squawk for me, birdy,” he says, holding on to my hand while the guys around him laugh.
My body trembles and saliva pools in my mouth a second before nausea rolls through me, and I lean over and puke on the ice. I brace my hands on my knees as everything I’ve had to eat or drink since the start of the game is splashed at my feet.
Fucking hell.
My face is sweaty but not from heat, and my hands are so shaky anyone who touches me will be able to feel it. I’m not okay. Laughter fills my ears, and I’m not sure if it’s in my head or outside of it.
“Oiler!” Coach hollers as he comes toward me. Paul and Jeremy flank me as we head toward the shoot to get off the ice and head to the locker room. “Go see medical. Did you hit your head? Food poisoning? What’s going on with you?”
“I’m fine, Coach.”
He doesn’t look like he believes me, but he lets me head down the hallway anyway.
I knew I would have to face them at some point, but I didn’t think it would be together. Not only did Williams not stop Chad from fucking with me, I’m pretty sure he encouraged it.
When we get to medical, Dr. Butler is there and waiting for me.
