Chapter 11
Chapter
Lennon
I inhaled the cold, crisp, faintly chlorine smell of fresh ice, letting the familiar smells and sensations ground me. Nearly five months had passed, and I missed Vivian more with each passing day. I fucking hated February. Dark, short days with too many hours in the night to remember.
I’d been looking forward to this game, though. And I forced myself to focus on that. Montreal was a tough team, one we’d likely face in the playoffs. I closed my eyes and let the pleasure of the rink take me someplace good.
“How are you doing, Cruiser?” Naese asked as he skated up next to me.
“Fine.” I tapped my stick on the ice, shifting it back and forth, back and forth, warming up my forearms and shoulders.
“When are you going to call Vivian?” he asked.
“I’m not.”
He scowled. “Why not? She’s perfect for you?—”
“I’m not. Leave it alone.”
“Fine. Pull your panties from your ass. Jeez.”
He skated off, but Cormac took his place. “What was that about?” he asked, frowning. He followed my lead, copying my stick work.
“Nothing.”
“Hmm...”
“What?”
“You’ve been a grumpy bastard the last few months. Even Maxim noticed—said you’re acting like him before he met Ida Jane.”
“I’m fine,” I said, stressing the words.
“Hmm…”
“Don’t you have a team to see to?” I snapped.
“I am,” Cormac said. “But I can tell you’re not ready to actually deal with your problems, which means the rest of us will have to pick up the slack.” He pivoted on his skate and darted away.
Thankfully, no one else bothered me during warmup. I kept to myself, not interested in talking.
As I stood during the national anthem, I looked up into the crowd. I smiled, but my heart ached. Hana, Naese’s girlfriend, was there. Hana had arrived in November, and he’d talked her into moving in with him from the get-go—the bastard hadn’t wasted any time. I didn’t blame him. If I could have, I would have asked Vivian to move in with me that weekend we’d had in Michigan.
I couldn’t believe our weekend together had been almost six months ago now.
Six months.
I had the worst February blues ever, and it had nothing to do with a midseason slump. In fact, I had a damn fine looking stats sheet. I dropped my hand as the song ended. Stats meant practically nothing to me. Worse, I was too busy with hockey to connect K-9s with their former handlers. I missed that work, badly.
Amber thought that project was good for me, that I needed some positive outlet in my life. My mother had said the same thing.
The game was fast-paced and hard-hitting—my favorite kind because I had to be totally focused. Thankfully, we secured another win, and a good one, too. I managed to get an assist when I smacked the puck to Naese, who re-aligned his stick so the momentum carried the apple straight into the net under the goalie’s pads. It was a sweet move, and one I wished we could recreate. I had a feeling Coach was going to try to recreate it, but that was the magic of a live game. Sometimes the timing was just there.
Coach Whittaker eyed me as I took off my gear, his gaze lingering on the scar on my arm as I stripped out of my compression shirt.
“Lennon, a word,” he said.
I bit back a groan as I tugged on a T-shirt and headed toward his office. “Yeah, Coach?”
“I got a call I thought you might be interested in.” He gestured toward the seat in front of his desk. I sat, and he leaned against the desk. “But first, tell me how the sessions are going with Amber.”
I shrugged. “Fine.”
“You’ve been saying that a lot, you know.”
“Eventually, you’ll believe me,” I said, feeling irritable.
“I think it’s more what you want to believe, Lennon,” Coach said.
I gritted my teeth. “Why did you call me in here?”
“Well, I wanted to see how you were doing since Dieudonne put his hands on your neck in the game tonight.” He peered at me. “I was giving you space, but I’ve made a note of each time someone touches your neck and head. You freeze. It’s not long, but it’s worth noting because I’m not the only one who has. Players are making a point to do it, which means they know it’s a weakness of yours.”
The cold, icy feeling returned, along with a throbbing in my ears. I swallowed the reaction, just as I tried to ignore how much the moment had again reminded me of the attack—and of everything it had cost me. “It’s not. I’m fine.”
“Amber’s expecting your call tonight to discuss how that made you feel,” Coach said.
“I said I’m fine. Jesus. What do you want from me?” I swallowed hard, realizing how disrespectful I’d been.
Coach stood and moved behind his desk.
I clenched and unclenched my hands. “Sorry. That was uncalled for.”
“I think it’s the tip of the iceberg, actually. You’ll talk to Amber.” He pointed his reading glasses at me. “And you’ll let me know if there’s something we need to sort out.”
Much as I wanted to tell him to fuck off, I bit back the response. “Yes, Coach.”
“You’re not yourself, Lennon,” he said, concern darkening his eyes. “If you’d just be honest about what happened and how much that attack affected you?—”
I shot out of my seat and was out the door before I realized I’d walked out while my coach was still speaking. Unwilling to go back, I stalked to my locker, grabbed my wallet and jacket, and slunk out of the space, pretending not to hear Cormac calling my name.
Amber called me four times that night, but I ignored the phone. It was petty, stupid, and landed me in back in Coach’s office the next day.
“You’re not skating until you work your shit out,” he announced. “Go talk to Amber. And, Lennon, I know about Vivian. I know you’ve refused to see her since you came back.”
“How the fuck do you know about that?”
“Your mother came to see me. She’s concerned, as am I.” He waited until I met his gaze. “You’ve been more aggressive on the ice, more likely to hit first and hit harder—and worse yet, more often. The younger guys look up to you, Lennon. Right now, you’re not acting like the role model I expect you to be.”
“I’m doing my job,” I snarled. “I’m keep my offensive line safe.”
“No, you’re actually making it more likely that someone will get hurt.” Coach sighed as he settled back in his chair, swiveling to and fro for so long, I started to get antsy. My legs jiggled. “If you can’t work this out—whatever it is that’s bothering you—I’ll have no choice but to bench you.”
“Me? I’m putting up the best stats of my career?—”
“You’re on the verge of a complete loss of control.” Coach peered into my face for a long, uncomfortable moment. “Just talk to her , Lennon. Work out whatever the problem is so you can get your head back in the game.”
I wasn’t sure if he meant Amber or Vivian. I didn’t ask. I just nodded before heading down the hall to Amber’s office. At least he couldn’t fault me again.
“So…you want to tell me why you ignored my calls?” Amber asked in lieu of greeting. She was in her mid-forties with pretty, gamine features and a tumble of dark, natural curls. Her coal black eyebrows rose as she regarded me from behind her chunky, stylish spectacles.
“I was bus?—”
“Lennon, do us both a favor and stop lying.”
I stood in the doorway, hands fisted at my sides, feeling the way I had the one time I’d been sent to the principal’s office in elementary school. One of the kids had called my mother a dirty Mexican whore. I hadn’t known exactly that what last word meant, but I knew I didn’t like how he put dirty before Mexican , as if we were less than him because of our heritage and darker complexion. So, I’d pounded an apology out of him.
Never had to fight again—all the other kids remembered that little snot’s bloodied and bruised face.
“I’m not doing this,” I said, turning away.
“Before you go, I have just one question for you.”
I stopped, my back rigid. Amber waited until I turned to face her once more. She was smart, caring, warm, and tough—everything we needed in a team psychologist. She refused to let us hide from ourselves, so I braced myself for the question.
“When you finally choose to deal with the issue that has you so afraid you’re running from me, from your friendships on this team, from the woman you claim to love yet won’t even talk to, do you think those people will still be waiting for you? Follow up: Do you think they’ll all just forgive your behavior and go forward, as if nothing happened?”
An antsy, nasty feeling crept through my guts. Vivian . It had been months. What if…what if she was dating? What if she was happy with some doctor douchebag? What if she married him?
I stared at Amber as the possibility played out—Vivian driving her kids to dance class and…soccer practice because I knew she wouldn’t have a kid who played hockey. I’d ruined the sport for her. That wasn’t me trying to aggrandize myself; I just knew that when Vivian moved on, she’d cut every single tie to anything related to me from her life.
“I…”
“Sit down, Lennon,” Amber said gently as she rounded her desk. Her expression switched to concern from the cool, implacable mask it had been. Her strong fingers wrapped around my wrist, and she led me to the couch that sat against the far wall of her office.
Once she had me settled, she took the seat in a chair between me and the door, effectively blocking my exit.
“Just so you know, I cleared my entire schedule. I’m here for as long as you need.”
That turned out to be a good thing because I needed a long time to start talking. Too long, but I’d kept all the thoughts and fears in my head for so many months that they’d tangled and morphed and turned into something more sinister.
Finally, my stomach growled, rousing me from the daze I’d settled into. I noted Amber staring out her window at the Houston skyline. Skyscrapers dotted the view to the horizon, which was bloated with thunderheads. A storm brewed. Nothing new. I had one inside of me as well. I took a deep, painful breath and blew it out slowly. “I’m afraid.” The words cut into my mind, my pride, seemingly my very flesh.
Amber handed me a bottle of Gatorade. The blue kind, my favorite. “Most of us are—of something,” she said. “What is your fear?”
I took a long drink and set the half-empty bottle on my knee. Okay, I could do this. I was an adult. I was in touch with my feelings. I was the sensitive one of our group. “I’m afraid that if I see Vivian again, she’ll be hurt like I was.”
“Is that likely?”
“I think so.” I explained what I remembered the assaulter saying to me.
“Hmm…”
“What does that mean?”
She raised an eyebrow at me. “It means I’m considering your response, but it created a new question: Is your fear rational?”
My session with Amber left me feeling shaky but also more at ease—not my body, but my mind.
The weird and terrible truth about our minds, Amber had told me, was how often they lied to us.
The thing that made me me had lied to me. How fucked up was that?
I wasn’t cured after talking, but I was less burdened.
Yet that might well be a curse, because now I worried about Vivian more than I had before, when I’d shoved all thoughts of her aside. Of course I wanted her to be safe, but I wondered if I could ever make her happy. If she’d ever trust me. If she’d started seeing someone else, if I had the right to contact her and mess up her life again.
So many thoughts jumbled together, but at the center was my fear of that main attacker, threatening to hurt Vivian because of me. That I still couldn’t shake.
What if Amber was wrong and my fears were founded? What if…
There were so many possibilities my mind spun. But first thing was to apologize to Coach Whittaker.
He looked up when I entered his office. “Lennon.”
That was the tone he used for naughty rookies and dumb shits who got out of control. Silas Whittaker didn’t suffer fools. Unfortunately, money and youth created more foolishness than just about any other scenario.
“May I sit?” I asked.
He gestured to the chair, and I eased into it. I cleared my throat. “I behaved poorly last night and this morning. I’m sorry.”
“Thank you.” He waited.
I stared back.
The silence grew.
“I talked to Amber.”
“I know.”
Again, the silence. I hated it—it made my skin itch. He knew; that was why he did it.
“I have something on my mind that’s gotten in the way of my performance on the ice and with my teammates.”
“I know.”
“I’m working through that,” I said.
Coach heaved a frustrated breath. “Look, Lennon, I respect you as a player and as a man, but right now you’re acting like an idiot. Just call Vivian.”
“It’s not that easy. I…left things on poor—no, I just kind of quit talking to her.”
“Then call her, ask her to listen, and explain your fear. I don’t know a lot about her, but if she cares about you like you care about her, the truth will help a lot.”
“I…”
“If you try to bottle this up, you’ll end up in this exact spot again. And again. And I will lose patience. So will your teammates. And when they do, the chemistry will be off. Who will you have to blame but yourself when you end up on the second or third line or traded?”
I sat back as Coach’s statement hit me square in the chest. “That bad?” I croaked.
He met my gaze. “Yes.”
Silas Whittaker didn’t bullshit us. Still, I didn’t like swallowing the truth. I nodded. “I’ll fix it.”
“I hope so, for all our sakes. Because without you, our chances to win the Cup plummet.” He raised an eyebrow, then took off his reading glasses. “Now to the other news I mentioned. I received a really interesting call from Camden Grace, the country singer.”
I shifted in my seat. I knew the man. He’d been my older brother Ruben’s commanding officer before he died.
“He wants to connect with you,” Coach said.
“Why?”
“To talk about your K-Nine program.”
For the second time that day, I was gobsmacked by emotions. They uprooted and twisted in my chest. But these? These felt good.