Chapter 17
Jack
My arms ache, and I can feel the sweat dripping down my back underneath all the layers of gear, but I’ve never felt more alive.
Hockey often reminds me of a carefully choreographed dance, each player knowing exactly what steps to take from the countless hours spent getting ready for these sixty minutes.
Tonight has been a hard-fought battle, but it’s not over yet, and I refuse to let this game end in a tie with thirty seconds on the clock.
The Michigan Lions are good, but we’re better.
The Lions’ forward misses the pass, and I make eye contact with Nate before I take off.
“Mine!” I call, retrieving the puck as it bounces off the boards.
Checking my other shoulder, I spot Dylan filling in the open area between the dots as the other team’s forward closes the gap I planned to take behind the net.
I pass the puck to him as I wheel behind the net, pushing hard to catch up to my zone.
Dylan passes the puck to Shane, the senior right wing on our line, and he uses his body to protect the puck, pivoting to drive behind their net as I find a gap in the Lion’s defensive line with both of them trying to focus on the puck and so little time left while their goalie shouts, eying me.
Like a well-oiled machine, Shane flicks the puck in my direction as I crash the net, giving me the perfect opportunity to tip it into the goal just before the buzzer sounds.
“Atta boy, Schultz,” Shane shouts, shaking my shoulders as he lets out a loud whooping sound that disappears as the crowd roars.
I grin at him, relieved this isn’t ending in a fucking tie. “Fucking filthy! You’re an animal,” Dylan says, hitting me from behind and we meet the rest of our team at the bench as Coach Brown tips his head in approval at the breakaway and scoring opportunity I helped facilitate.
For the first time all night, I let myself think about the girl with dark curls who I hope listened to me for once and is waiting at my house with Ellie and Sarah.
Thank god we still have another game tomorrow because it means the guys should keep their celebration tonight on the tame side compared to their usual celebrations after a grueling win.
“How does it feel?” Nate asks, clapping me on the back as I unclip my helmet to drop it on the bench while I grab my water bottle, squirting some into my mouth.
“You should know since I thought you were out there with the rest of us.” I snort, giving him a side eye because what the fuck is he talking about? A win feels damn good, and this was a much needed one.
He grins, dragging a hand through his dark hair, damp with sweat.
“I’m not talking about that. I’m talking about your girl showing up with my name on her back,” he says, pointing a gloved hand further up in the stands where I find Ellie, Sara, and Alondra.
Sure enough, Alondra’s wearing a Wilder Wolves away jersey with the number four on it—Nate’s number.
My jaw falls open when she lifts her hand in acknowledgement, a faint smirk pulling at her lips, and while I’m happy to see her with her usual spark compared to the way I found her earlier, I’m thrown by how fucking jealous I am.
Nate laughs, and I clamp my jaw shut, forcing a smile, but when her head tips back in a laugh, that’s when I know Al’s trying to get a rise out of me. If I didn’t think it would attract her dad’s attention, I’d consider making a scene.
The hustle back to the locker room is a rush, with everyone chimes in about Shane’s puck handling and how Coop was a wall in the net. On our way to the tunnel, Coach Brown catches me.
“Schultz, whatever lit the fire under your ass tonight, keep it going,” he says, squeezing my shoulder as he glows with pride.
I stare at him for a moment, trying to understand how the man in front of me can be the same one who didn’t show up for his daughter at her last skating competition while her boyfriend hit her.
I force a smile that feels wrong. “Will do, Coach,” I say, and he lets go of me, letting me follow the team into the locker room, but the interaction sobers my mood.
The locker room smells worse than a dead animal, the stench of twenty-five hockey players’ gear and sweat casting a fog.
I’m quick to strip and jump in the shower, so I can get out of here fast to meet Alondra.
“Where are we going tonight to celebrate?” I hear Johnny ask when I walk back to my stall, holding the towel around my waist in place.
He got some playing time during a line change in the second period, and Johnny looked better than he had before I started working with him outside of practice.
Nate looks to me, and I shake my head because I have no plans to go out. As much as I’m sure she’s going to try avoiding the conversation, we need to clue our friends in on Bradley and make a plan to keep Al safe.
“We’ll celebrate tomorrow night. Maybe we should all take a page out of Schultz’s book and spend the night doing our hair with face masks. I think I can do without the black eye, though,” Shane suggests, and I snort, rolling my eyes.
“Wanna see how much of a shit I give?” I ask, flipping him off with both hands. Honestly, I keep forgetting I have the damn thing until someone else mentions it.
“If you’re going out tonight, don’t be fucking stupid. We still have a game tomorrow,” Coop reminds everyone.
“Can we come hang at your house?” Johnny asks, pivoting, and I know I’m team captain, but that doesn’t mean I want the team at our house tonight. Richards reminds me of an overeager puppy, and I can’t for the life of me figure out why he’s fucking friends with Bradley.
“No,” Coop answers before I can say anything. I need to remember to get him some of that fancy olive oil he likes to use when he cooks as a thank you.
“Why not?” he asks, refusing to drop it.
“Because I don’t want to,” he says, and Nate chuckles.
“Dude, you and your sister could not be more different,” he says, shaking his head when Dylan struts to his stall like a damn peacock flashing his feathers.
“I think I’ve figured it out,” he says, and I’m not sure I want to hear whatever stupid shit is about to come out of his mouth.
“I’ll bite. What’d you figure out?” Nate asks, and Coop sighs.
“Well, I was showering and I thought about how instead of getting Coach’s name tatted on my ass, I’d rather get Jack’s, cause we’re bros for life,” he says, thumping his chest twice with his fist, and I’m not sure I could make this shit up if I tried.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Coop asks, and Dylan holds his hands up.
“It gets better, just wait for me to finish,” Dylan argues, and I shake my head.
“You know, maybe you should stop. I don’t really want to hear about you thinking about me and Coach while you’re in the shower,” I say, turning away as I step into my dress pants, pulling them up.
“It sounds weird when you put it like that,” Dylan says, and I’m not sure what I did to deserve this.
“Maybe because it is weird?” Nate adds.
“Whatever. Anyway, so I was debating which name and which cheek, but then I realized I have two cheeks so why do I have to pick at all when I could get both and have one on each,” he says, and I blink, laughing while I try to figure out if he’s being serious. Oh my god, I think he is.
Nate snorts as he finishes buttoning up his shirt, giving me a look. “This is who you pick as your best friend?”
“Jones might be an idiot, but at least Al didn’t show up wearing his jersey,” I say, slipping into my button-up.
Dylan’s eyes widen, his smile slipping at the mention of Alondra, and I shake my head, trying to be subtle. There wasn’t time before the game to explain everything to Coop and Nate, so we agreed to fill them in after, but first, I need to talk to Alondra.
“You know, you didn’t have to come tonight,” I say, peeking at Alondra sitting in the passenger seat of my truck.
“We made a deal,” Al says, but the deal happened before this afternoon.
It happened before I heard the change in her tone, and I felt fear in a way I haven’t since I was a kid.
I was able to block it out during the game because I needed to, but I’m trying to find a way to not make what happened with Alondra today about me and my shit.
“I know we did, but . . .” I trail off, flexing my grip on the steering wheel.
“Jack,” she says, and I look at her again. “I don’t want things to be weird.”
“Am I making them weird?” I ask, turning the radio down, hating that we’re caught in traffic on our way back from the stadium.
“Yes.”
I chuckle under my breath. “You didn’t even take any time to think about it. What am I doing?”
“For starters, you haven’t said anything about what I’m wearing, and instead of thanking me for coming to your game tonight, you’re telling me again I didn’t have to come. You’re making it weird,” she says, and I’m not quite sure I’m following.
“I thought it was standard practice to not comment on what your friends wear, especially if they’re women?” I ask, looking at all the glowing red brake lights in front of us. “Is there a reason you want me to say something about what you’re wearing?”
Alondra groans, huffing. “No.”
“Darlin’, I’m not making things weird, but if you want to pick an argument with me to feel like you’re in control, go for it,” I say, easing off the clutch to let the truck roll forward a few feet.
“Thank you for coming to my game, though,” I finish, wishing the line hadn’t started to move so I could look at her.
“I’m not trying to pick an argument with you,” she protests, but I see her shift in her seat out of the corner of my eye. “Okay, maybe I am, but I want us to be normal. Arguing for us is normal, and I don’t want you to treat me differently just because you know about Bradley.”
God, I hate hearing his name come out of her mouth. I hate that he hurt her. I hate all of it.