Chapter Twenty-Nine
Twenty-nine
Kian
It’s my first game back as captain, and I can’t even enjoy it.
My mom’s still in the hospital. Apparently, she tried to yank the IV from her arm and leave her room. I was just glad Kiyomi actually told me.
Dylan still isn’t cleared to play with us, but he’s been skating with Sierra. And when I asked Scarlett to come to my game last week, I thought she would. But it’s the third period, and I haven’t seen a single glimpse of red in the rinkside seat.
It’s torture when I can still feel the way she dragged the warm washcloth along.
Who I do see is Cassie Carter, wearing my jersey and waving at me from behind the glass.
She texted me earlier about being excited to go out, and I had to rack my brain to remember what she was talking about.
But at Dylan’s party she asked to hang out and I had agreed, thinking it was nice that she still wanted to be friends even after I made things awkward.
I give her a wave as we trickle back onto the ice for the third period. We’re just ten minutes in, and we’re bombing.
“Ishida, get your head in the game or I have no choice but to bench you,” Coach snaps.
I yank off my helmet. “Bench me? Every shot on goal’s been mine. You want me off, then you might as well forfeit.”
“Get your line right.” Coach tries to keep his cool. “There’s no game if you’re playing solo. Show up like a leader.”
I huff, putting my helmet back on and getting to the ice just as we’re on face-off. Sampson manages to fling the puck my way, and I take off.
Brown’s defenseman charges my way. I maneuver around him and slap the puck to Sebastian, who’s wide open. It’s quick, but he backhands it straight into the net.
Our celebration is short because we’re right back on it, and with another assist, we get our second goal of the night. It’s the final seconds as we tie with Brown, heightening the energy, forcing them to get more aggressive. Their captain, Adi Patel, checks me hard on our net.
“What the fuck was that?” Sampson shouts. “Ref?”
The referee doesn’t call it, and I let it go, simmering beneath my helmet as I charge toward the boards, flipping the puck away from their winger and sending it flying to Cole, who holds it, then cups it right back to me. It’s the move that gets us our final goal. And the win against Brown.
The team’s pumped and ready to head to Porter’s to celebrate. When Kilner comes up to me, I’m sure he’s going to chew me out for the first two periods.
But I’m left frozen in shock when he pats me on the back and says, “Good game, Captain.” And just before he leaves, he gives me a quick one-armed hug.
So far, it’s been a shitty week, but damn does it feel good to win a game as captain.
“Did Kilner just hug you?” Cole asks from where he runs a towel through his hair.
I’m running on a high, and when we get in the car we’re discussing the game, but all I can think about is that even with this shitty week, there were still some pockets of good. But still, all I want in front of me is that deep shade of red.
I’ve seen my friends, and I see that look on their faces when they’re with their partners, and I want it. I want that stupid, dopey, in-another-world kind of smile to linger on my face when I look at someone I can call mine.
“Can you turn off this depressing music?” Sebastian shouts from the back seat of my car. He tries to lean forward to do it himself, but Cole pushes him back.
“It’s a good song,” I reply.
“Didn’t say it wasn’t, but it makes me want to do something stupid like tell someone I’m in love with them. And I’m never doing that again. Today is for drinking.”
“Two-drink limit, bud,” I remind him. It’s the same rule Aiden would impose on us when he was captain. We all hated it, and Dylan never followed, but it feels right to reinstate it.
The rest of the team pulls in right behind us, and when we enter, the whole bar cheers.
Porter’s has been our routine for years. There are beers and wings and a jukebox that plays some of the best old-school songs. I take charge of it again this time, letting the lyrics from a Beatles song filter through the chatter.
Some of the fans who attended the game are here, and Beta Phi cheers us on.
That’s when I spot Brown’s captain, Adi Patel, who walks into Porter’s with his team like we didn’t just hand their asses to them two hours ago.
The guys exchange looks, the rookies staring at me for a signal to handle it.
The last thing I need is a fight breaking out after my first win as an official captain.
Kilner would put me through the wringer tomorrow.
I watch them carefully, taking a swig of my beer as their captain starts his approach.
“Ishida.”
“Patel.” I nod, casual, like this isn’t about to turn into a test of egos. “Shouldn’t you guys be heading back?”
Adi squares up in front of me, puffing out his chest. He’s just shy of six feet, which makes his attempt to match my stance almost funny. At six two, I’ve still got the height advantage, but I’m not looking for a fight. I don’t brawl on the ice, and bar fights have never been my thing.
“I think we’ll stay,” he says, his words clipped.
The tension is palpable, and I get it, I do. Losing the first game of the season shakes the team’s foundation. So I tip my chin toward the bar. “Grab a beer. On me.”
That seems to disarm him because his shoulders drop and he grabs a Modelo. It’s not long before he’s got his arm around me, laughing over one of the stories I tell about streaking across campus. It feels good.
But when Sampson orders another round of shots, I see a flash of red sneaking out of the old photo booth in the corner of the bar. Like a bull caught on the color, I head straight for the girl who’s rushing out the door.
I’m squeezing through people, half acknowledging their cheers and calls for me. But none of that matters when she’s here. It’s like the breath I’d been holding all day finds her. She moves quickly with her head ducked, handing out apologies as she bumps into annoyed patrons.
I can’t take it. Chasing her when all I want is to have her in my arms. She’s embedded in my heart like a pacemaker.
“Scarlett,” I finally call through the loud bar.
She freezes mid-step, her body angled toward the back exit. She’s wearing a black tank. Sweats. UGGs. Not her usual done-up, ready-for-anything armor. She looks soft. At ease. Like herself when no one is watching. The version of her that I get to see.
I move closer, weaving through the crowd until I am beside her. She still doesn’t turn, even as strangers brush past her like she’s not even there. I edge in, hold her elbow, and block them from touching her.
“What are you doing here?”
She finally looks at me, and that lost breath is back in my chest. Her hair falls across her eyes, brushing against the glasses perched on her nose. Her skin glows under the dim light, a flush blooming across her cheeks.
“Hi.” Her eyes dart all over the place. “You’re here. I was just…” She trails off, gesturing to the photo booth.
“You didn’t come.” Fuck, I sound clingy.
Her gaze darts behind me again. “I’m sorry. I wanted to. Really. But I had to do stuff for the shelter and my classes—”
“It’s okay. You don’t have to explain yourself to me.”
She drops her gaze. “I’m glad you had a good game. I’m sure you did great.”
The thought of her not even bothering to watch does something to my ego. “We won.”
“That’s great! Is the whole team here? Like everyone?” she asks warily.
I nod, a little confused. “Yeah, pretty much. Not Coach, obviously.”
She pauses, nodding toward the crowd. “And Cassie’s here. In your jersey.”
My gaze easily finds Cassie, the number seventy-six on her back. I watch Scarlett carefully, trying to decipher her reaction, but she just plays with the ends of her hair.
“She asked me to take her out this weekend,” I blurt out.
Maybe I should’ve kept my mouth shut, but I felt like I was hiding something from Scarlett.
“Oh!” Her voice raises an octave higher. “That’s great, Kian.” She lifts her hand in a high five. There’s so much running through my mind that I barely register it when I awkwardly press my palm to hers.
I’m wondering why my chest burns like I’ve rubbed red chilies all over my skin, but the thought doesn’t last because someone bumps into me, almost making me bump into Scarlett.
Adi Patel finishes the last of his drink and shoves the glass into one of his teammates’ hands.
He stares at Scarlett, whose eyes widen behind her glasses. She steps backward just as he pushes closer, jamming himself between us.
“Scarlett?” Her name rolls off his tongue with too much familiarity, like he’s tasted it before.
I don’t know if it’s the way Scarlett looks like a skittish deer, or if I’m still irritated by the game, but something takes over.
My palm lands straight on his chest, keeping him where he is. “Getting a bit close, aren’t you?”
His brows furrow, and he scoffs at the hand I have on him. But even with that furious look on his face, he doesn’t make a sudden move. He steps back, letting my hand fall away.
“What’s your problem, Ishida?” Then he cocks his head, giving Scarlett a thorough appraisal. “Remember me, Red?”
Red?
Instantly, I know what’s happening, and I don’t like the way Scarlett swallows before giving him a stuttered answer. “Hey, A-Adi.”
His name in her mouth seems to satisfy him. “I called you, you know.”
I’m silently begging her to look at me. To give me some sign so I can tell this idiot to fuck off. But she doesn’t. Her gaze stays trained somewhere lower than his eyes.
“I’m sorry, I must not have seen it.”
“Texted you too.”
She doesn’t answer this time, and I’m getting more pissed by the second. I’m sure the drink I had is adding to this restlessness, but I’m still pumping with adrenaline from the game. There’s some underlying context here that I’m not enjoying.
Look at me, Scar.
“You can make it up to me,” Adi says with a sly smile. “One dance.”
Scarlett’s eyes go wide, and there it is. One singular glance my way and it’s over.
“She won’t be doing that.” I step in front of her. Nothing about her body language says she wants to dance, and he’s an idiot if he doesn’t realize that.
Adi raises a brow. “Yeah? Why don’t we let her answer then?”
I stare down at him. “Don’t need to. You can forget it.”
“You don’t know—”
A warm hand touches my biceps, and Scarlett moves forward. She’s still close enough that she’s almost fully shielded by my body.
“I don’t,” she says quickly. “I don’t want to dance. I was leaving.”
A bubble of pride rises in my chest. She’s been doing that lately, letting herself make decisions she wouldn’t have before.
“You’ve got some nerve, telling me who I can talk to, Ishida. You think a girl like her would ever be yours? You don’t even know half the shit I’ve seen her do.”
My blood vibrates beneath my skin, something dangerous and untapped. Even through the beer and fried food I can still smell the citrus scent behind me. Surrounding me. Tightening my hands into a fist.
“Yeah? What makes you think you know her better than me?”
He smiles, evil, satisfied. “Well, her pus—”
I snap.
When my fist connects with his jaw, I black out. I see red, and soft brown, and tears. All the things Scarlett’s told me about the way people have treated her. All that built-up irritation explodes inside me and blows out through my fist.
The next thing I know I’m being pulled away, and Scott, the owner, is yelling at everyone. Cole’s whispering a threat into someone’s face, and Seb’s got another guy in a chokehold.
Patel’s team is kicked out, and Scott tells them they’re banned as they carry away their bloody captain.
“That was fun,” Cole says, wiping blood from his lip. “We got your back, Cap.”
“Anything for you, Cap,” the rest of the guys say, shaking out their fists. The warmth of having my team around me, stepping up for me like family, only grows brighter. But I know this is bad. And my first thought is: Scarlett.
What did I just do?
I turn to look for her but she’s not there. Shit!
We’re there for a few more minutes when Scott waves us out. “You guys gotta go too.”
The team protests, blaming Brown for even being here in the first place. I’m still looking around the place, trying to find Scarlett. Even the photo booth is empty.
I mutter a low curse, flexing my hand to test if it’s broken. It’s numb, and I’m thankful for the adrenaline coursing through me, because I’m sure it’ll hurt tomorrow.
“But we just got here. That’s not fair,” one of the guys says.
“I know, I know, but you can’t fight like this. If someone reports it, the university won’t be happy. Go on, everyone out. You, too, Scarlett.”
Her name cuts through the noise. I turn, catching sight of her weaving through the crowd, a bag of ice and a tea towel in her hand.
Scarlett shakes her head as she stops in front of me.
“You big idiot.”