Chapter 15 Beatrice
BEATRICE
It soon became clear that I hadn’t been left alone to wander around the front office of the LA Vipers—a little down the hallway, a security guard was waiting to escort me back to where I should be.
He didn’t say a word, and neither did I. Mostly, I was just glad it wasn’t anyone who was going to fire a million questions at me.
The sound of chaos hits my ears long before the elevator doors open, and I walk back through to the entrance.
Vipers’ fans are everywhere. It is nothing but a sea of green and white.
Chanting, airhorns, cheering. The excitement is palpable in the most electric way I’ve ever experienced, and it is infectious, too.
After looking at my ticket, the security guy points me in the right direction, and as I make my way to my seat, some of my stress fades, allowing a little excitement in.
Tonight is a huge event, not just for the players waiting to make history, but for the entire state. Hockey fans have been waiting a long time to be Stanley Cup champions, and everything is riding on tonight.
My stomach knots as I think about what I’ve just done to one of their starting players.
It would be naive of me not to think the news will affect him. I just have to hope it’s for the better, because I’m not sure I can handle knowing I’ve disappointed the entire state.
“Oh my god,” Sienna squeals when she spots me making my way to the empty seat beside her. “I’ve been calling you. I was starting to think you bailed when he hit the ice.”
It’s taken every ounce of self-restraint that I possess not to look at the rink as I’ve made my way up here. But the second she points out that he’s down there, my head swivels, and my eyes scan the players, looking for him.
My breath catches when I find him shooting a puck back and forth with another player.
“Oh shit,” I gasp as I trip over someone’s foot and go flying forward.
I close my eyes, not wanting to see the concrete I’m about to faceplant. But before that happens, hands grab my upper arms, and I’m righted on my feet.
“Are you okay?” Sienna asks, her eyes scanning my face as if she’s looking for visible injuries.
“Never been better,” I deadpan as I brush myself down and take my seat.
“So? How did it go?”
“Oh my god,” I shriek, jumping in my seat as Everett slams a player into the boards.
I’ve watched him play a few times now, and I know he plays rough, but fuck.
Tonight is on another level.
Anyone would think he had his world turned upside down before stepping out onto the ice.
Regret twists up my insides.
We should have waited.
The score is currently two-two. We’re a couple of minutes into the third period, and emotions are running high down there. None of them want it to go into overtime; they’re desperate to wrap this game up and claim the title, but it’s not that easy.
Around me, fans scream and shout so loudly that my ears are ringing. I’m pretty sure I’m going to be hearing it for days to come. And it only gets louder as another fight threatens.
Everett has already spent his fair share of time in the penalty box tonight, but he doesn’t seem worried about going back in there.
Thankfully, the Vipers’ captain and a couple other teammates pull Everett off the guy before he can start throwing punches. Ferguson, our captain, has a word with his wild defenseman before tapping his helmet and sending him toward the bench for a shift change.
“I can’t cope with this,” Sienna cries as they line up for another face-off. “I’ve never felt tension like it.”
She is so dialed into the game. She’s been screaming abuse at the referees and players from the other team. I’ve never seen this side of her before, but I think I kind of like it.
“It’s pretty intense,” I mutter, my eyes on Everett as he squirts water into his mouth and talks to his teammates. But as he does, I can’t help but notice that his eyes are on the fans. Searching. Is he…is he looking for me?
I shake the stupid thought from my head. Of course he’s not. He’d probably happily never see me again.
Before I know it, he’s jumping back over the boards and getting back into position with Calvin Keller, his defensive partner, right beside him.
My heart is in my throat as I watch the next play. We win the puck drop, and it’s all looking good until it gets stolen by one of the opposing team’s players, and suddenly, everything switches.
There’s a roar of irritation as one of our players trips over one of the opponent’s sticks. But despite the fans’ calls for a penalty, the refs keep the play going.
“Hey ref, you should check your voicemail, I think you missed a few calls,” Sienna screams.
A laugh bursts out of me, but while I’m focused on her, I miss what happens on the ice. Or at least, I do until a collective gasp sucks all the air from the arena.
When I look back, Everett has the player who’s been taunting him all game by his jersey, his helmet is already on the ice, and Everett’s arm is flying toward his face.
“Oh God,” I whimper, lifting my hands to my face. I don’t want to watch, but also, I can’t not, so I part my fingers to see. “What is he doing?” I mutter to myself.
Players descend on them, the refs blowing their whistles like it’s going out of fashion. Maybe they aren’t as blind as Sienna’s slurs would suggest.
But despite the efforts to pull him away, Everett isn’t giving up. Blood drips onto the ice as he keeps hitting this guy.
Eventually, the guys manage to rip him away, but it’s too late. The damage has already been done.
Tears burn my eyes, and regret sits heavily on my shoulders as he’s ejected from the game.
The fans are infuriated as he rips his helmet off and throws it at the ground the second he’s off the ice.
A woman rushes toward him—his sister, I’d guess—but he doesn’t so much as look up at her as he storms down the tunnel and out of sight.
The player he was hitting is escorted off the ice for medical attention before they all line up for another face-off. There’s no time to waste. The clock is ticking toward the end of regulation time, making overtime seem even more likely.
I can’t bear it. There’s a huge part of me that wants to leave, too. But just as I consider it, Sienna reaches for my hand and squeezes tight as the Vipers manage to find the back of the net, giving them the lead they’ve been searching for.
While I’m buzzed for everyone, it feels like an empty victory for me. I don’t know at what point I only started caring about this game when the man who’s just been ejected is a part of it, but it’s happened.
I don’t know Everett as a person. The night we met, he was Everett the player, the ladies’ man, the showman.
He was arrogant and obnoxious and thought he was God’s gift to women.
I don’t have a clue who the man is beneath all of that.
Sure, maybe he’s just as much of a jerk, but maybe he’s not.
What I do know is that whoever Everett Donnelly is, he’s down there in the dressing room, hurting and probably alone.
The thought makes my eyes burn with emotion.
“Are you okay?” Sienna shouts.
I nod, unable to speak for fear of bursting into tears.
There might be many, many things I don’t know right now, but one thing I’m certain of is that what just happened down there was my fault.
“I’m sorry. I can’t do this,” I finally force out before tugging my hand from hers and making my way down the row of seats.
I can’t be here. I can’t watch the rest of this game like everything is okay. I just can’t.
“Bea, wait,” Sienna cries.
“Stay,” I shout over my shoulder. “Watch the end. I’ll get an Uber and—”
“No, I’m not letting you go alone,” she says, racing behind me.
I keep going so we’re not blocking more of the view than necessary.
Once we’re in the aisle, I turn to face her.
“I need you to stay. I’ve already ruined enough lives tonight. Please, stay and watch the end. I’ll never forgive myself if you miss them win.”
Sienna is torn, but I know without a doubt that she’d forget all about the game to be with me.
“I won’t take no for an answer. I’ll message when I get home.”
She stands there with a wretched expression on her face as I begin racing down the stairs, tears already dripping from my lashes as I make my escape.
The second I burst outside, I suck in deep lungfuls of air as I try to see through my tears to order a rideshare.
Seeing as ninety percent of the city is either in the arena behind me or in bars or at home watching the game, I secure a car in less than a minute, and sooner than I thought possible, I’m in the back, and we’re zooming toward my apartment.
Silent tears continue to cascade down my cheeks, and one look in the rearview mirror ensures my driver doesn’t say a word.
He has the game on the radio, and I listen with my eyes closed, wondering if that is how Everett is now finishing the game.
No sooner have I walked through my front door than I begin stripping off. By the time I get to my bathroom, I’ve left a trail of discarded clothing in my wake. I turn the shower on and then step under the spray in the hope it’ll help wash my regrets and guilt down the drain.
I soon discover that it does neither as I crumble to the floor, wrap my arms around my legs, and sob.
Time continues to tick by, and at some point, I run out of hot water. But I don’t have the energy to get up and turn it off.
I figure that I deserve it. I might have prevented the LA Vipers from winning the Stanley Cup.
I hiccup loudly, pain making my limbs heavy.
My entire body trembles with the cold and the warring emotions that grip me in a tight hold.
I’m going to see my baby for the first time next week, and I’m going to have to begin figuring out how I’m going to explain who their dad is and why he’s not in their life in a few years.
We won’t need him. Me and my little one will be okay. I’ll make sure of it.
That doesn’t mean it’s the way I want it to be, though.
I startle when a loud bang echoes through my apartment, and I drag my head from my knees and open my swollen eyes just in time to see my best friend come barreling into my bathroom.
“Bea,” she cries, ripping a towel from the rail, reaching to turn off the shower and helping me to my feet.
“I’m sorry,” I wail. “I’m so sorry.”