Chapter 36
BENNETT
The loss against the Sounders hits hard.
The New York crowd’s ruthless, booing us as we leave the ice. Calling us traitors, saying we earned the ‘L.’
The press is worse.
Weston fields one asshole comment after another until Harbor finally steps in and shuts down the post-game interview.
Keller’s reaction is icy-cold silence. No “we’ll get ‘em next time” or “you boys played hard.”
Not here.
He gathers us all together in the locker room, shakes his head in bitter disappointment, and walks out without a word.
Fuck.
I’ve lost plenty of games in my career, but this one feels the worst.
Because you let Tori down.
She warned me about staying in control. And I still went out there and got reckless.
We lost the game because of me. I had a chance to make the shot and I choked. I’ll be lucky if I’m still top line by the time we get back to Florida.
I have a helluva lot to prove next practice.
The bus ride back to the hotel is silent. No one dares to talk and add fuel to Keller’s quiet fury. The familiar Manhattan landscape zips by in a flashy blur until we finally roll up to the hotel.
“Lights out by eleven. The plane leaves tomorrow at 9 AM sharp.” Keller makes the announcement, then steps off the bus without a second glance.
We all file out behind him, a few guys brave enough to murmur to one another. I head straight up to my room, turning down Morrison’s invite to hit the bar.
I don’t expect to see Tori tonight.
Not after she left the arena mid-game.
Doesn’t stop me from checking my phone every two minutes, like a fucking obsessed teenager.
The silence is louder than anything she could say.
I strip out of my suit, throwing on a pair of boxer briefs and collapsing on the empty bed.
Emphasis on empty.
I’ve spent plenty of time alone in hotel rooms, traveling with the team.
But I’ve never felt so lonely.
I stare up at the smooth white plaster ceiling, the lone beam of light from the bedside lamp casting a glowing circle. Every inch of my body hurts. From the hits, the skating, the fight.
The spot that aches the most, though, is my chest.
And it’s not from the puny shove 32 sent my way.
No, this has Tori Prince written all over it.
I check my phone again, staring at her gorgeous face on the screen.
Sunshine.
Guess I earned the cold shoulder.
My fingers tap out the text I should have sent last night: I’m sorry.
With a shaky inhale, I hit ‘send,’ the whoosh loud in the spacious room.
I hawk the phone for five minutes, ten.
After fifteen, I give up and click the light off.
Tori’s not going to text me back.
Not tonight.
Maybe not ever.
The next morning I board the plane with the team. My stupid heart hopes to spot her dark eyes and scarlet lips, catch the familiar scent of her perfume.
Sit next to her and talk things out. Apologize in person.
For losing the game, losing control.
As soon as I step on board, I scan the seats. Prince and Keller up front. Harbor next to Weston. Morrison and Ford. Dr. Sparks. The trainer.
No Tori.
I swallow down my disappointment and shuffle to an empty row, bypassing the open seat next to Callum.
Maybe she’s running late.
I take the window seat and kick out my legs, avoiding the cold stare of management. I don’t need their bullshit this early in the morning.
The flight attendant offers me a beverage, and I grab a water and an orange. The pilot comes on, talking about the weather pattern and flight time.
The doors close.
My heart sinks, a hard lump in my throat.
She’s not coming.
Of course she isn’t.
I made damn sure of that in the last twenty-four hours.
The plane takes off and I shove in my Airpods, keeping my eyes glued to the dark carpet.
Then I spend the entire flight trying to forget about New York.
About Carrington.
The look on Tori’s face when I walked away.
And how much it fucking hurts being here without her.
We finally land in Driftwood Cove and everyone scatters like pinballs, heading in their own directions.
I grab a ride to the condos with Morrison, trying my hardest to block out most of the conversation.
He rants about his kid sister coming to town, needing to stay with him for a while until she gets her feet back under her.
I miss the details and I don’t really care.
I’m too wrapped up in my own shit to worry about his.
“Thanks for the ride.” I shoot him a wave and grab my luggage from the trunk, the Florida sun warm on my face.
Normally, I’d appreciate the chance to catch a tan.
Today, the rays feel too bright.
I duck into the air-conditioned lobby of the condo and jam the elevator button. Ride up to my floor solo.
The last time I was in this elevator I was with Tori.
A dull ache thuds in my chest, my head pounding. The doors slide open and I trudge down the hall to my place.
Unlocking the door, I drop my gear on the floor in the dark living room. Take a shaky inhale and catch a whiff of Tori’s floral perfume still lingering in the air.
The ache in my chest intensifies and I can’t catch my breath.
I need to get out of here.
Tapping out a quick text, I grab my keys from the counter and jog out of the condo.
“Bennett. Come in.” Dr. Sparks steps aside and I rush into her office before I change my mind. She closes the door and the cool air winds around me, the clock ticking quietly in the serene space.
I don’t sit.
I’m too amped for that. Instead, I pace the floor. She settles into her chair and waits for me to speak.
My throat’s tight as I take a shuddery breath, exhale in one loud puff.
“I fucked up.” The words come out fast and low. Like saying them quickly can somehow make everything disappear.
She folds her hands in her lap, peering at me over her glasses. “How so?”
“You saw the game. I missed an easy shot. Then got a two-minute penalty and the team never recovered.”
“You missed a shot. I’m certain you miss shots every game.”
I bite at the inside of my cheek, heat flaming my face. “Yeah. But this shot mattered more.”
“Because…” Dr. Sparks lets the word hang in the air.
“Because we were in New York. We had something to prove. Coach told us to play the best hockey of our life. And I didn’t.”
Shame burns deep in my gut and I flex my knuckles. “I was reckless. I should have slid the shot to Morrison. Or at least made a better read. It was stupid.”
“You wish you played more cautiously.”
“Yeah.”
“What did reckless cost you last night?” She crosses her ankles and sits perfectly poised, waiting.
“The game.”
She shakes her head, her hair brushing over her shoulders. “Every man out there had a role in the loss. We can talk hockey mechanics all day long. We both know that’s not why you’re here.”
Sucker punch to the gut.
I sink down onto the couch, head in hands. My mouth’s bone-dry, tongue fuzzy. The admission stuck in my throat like burnt toast crumbs.
“She stayed in New York.”
“Tori?”
I nod, unable to meet her gaze.
“What did it mean to you that Tori stayed in Manhattan?”
I grind my molars, try to breathe.
Tori staying behind means everything.
“That I’m a liability. Like everyone always says. I fuck everything up.”
“Bennett, I want you to take a deep breath. Feet on the floor, hands relaxed.” Her voice is calm and soothing, and because I have no other options at the moment, I follow instructions.
Both feet on the floor, I inhale a deep breath through my nose, blow out through my mouth. Stretch out my fingers, wiggle my toes.
I feel a tiny bit better.
“Good. A few more deep breaths. Just like that. Now — name three people, specifically, who reinforce that story. That you’re a liability.”
“Prince, for one.”
“Okay. Mr. Prince, while you were on probation. Two?”
“Coach Keller.”
“Three?”
“Tori.” Her name catches in my throat and my palms slick. I wipe them dry on my shorts, the red numbers on the clock glaring at me.
“You believe Tori considers you a liability.”
“She never said it exactly like that, but yeah…”
“What did Tori do or say that made you come to that conclusion?”
I shift on the sofa, heat pricking beneath my skin.
“The donor event at The Carrington Club. Eleanor MacDonald — a Prince family friend — made a snide remark about me being on probation, and Tori didn’t step in.”
“How did you feel in that moment?”
I scrub my palm over my jaw, kick at the area rug. “Humiliated.”
“What story did you tell yourself when she didn’t step in?”
I pause, leaning back against the cushions. “That I’m not worth backing. That she was embarrassed to be there with me.”
“Is it possible that there’s more going on? You said she’s a Prince family friend. Perhaps there’s history? Or she’s somehow tied to Tori’s job?”
I tip my head and stare at the ceiling.
“Yeah, there is. She’s the mother of Tori’s ex. And she introduced Tori to some big-deal investor. Then dropped that little line.”
“And it detonated.”
I nod. “Yeah.”
“When you heard that comment, what happened in your body?”
Blood roars in my ears, the memory of that night flooding back.
“I got tight. Hot. Mad. I walked away before I did something I’d regret.”
“You felt angry, yet you chose to walk away. Walking away in that moment sounds like restraint.”
My muscles relax a little, and I flex my fingers. “Yeah. I didn’t want to make things worse for Tori.”
“So you self-regulated. That’s good. What happened after the event?”
I scrub a hand over the back of my neck. “We left and took the car back to the hotel.”
“And did you talk about what happened?”
“No. Well — she apologized. About Eleanor’s comment.”
“And how did you respond?” Dr. Sparks stares at me, waiting for my response.
I swallow hard over the lump in my throat. “I didn’t.”
“So you walked away from the confrontation at the event. But when Tori tried to repair things in private, you shut down.”
I nod, hot shame climbing my neck. “Yeah, I didn’t trust myself to talk without making things worse.”
“Sometimes silence protects us from saying the wrong thing. But it can also prevent the right conversation from happening.”