Chapter 22
TWENTY-TWO
HENDRIX
A douchebag on the other team checks me with his stick for what must be the fifth time tonight. This time, it fucking hurts so bad that I have to fight back a yelp.
The type of anger that got me kicked out of the last college I played for spreads throughout my body, fueling every cell with rage, just like it used to. I know I’m seconds from losing it, and this time, what the fuck do I have to be better for?
“Cross-check me one more fucking time, and I swear to God, you’ll have to be carried out of here by your team,” I growl, smashing my body against my opponent, who has made it his mission the entire game to play fucking dirty. “Try me because I’m telling you, tonight is not the fucking night.”
“Hunt, enough,” Cash says, coming out of the crease and skating up next to us during a time-out. “You’re our best defensemen out here. Quit getting caught up in the bullshit.”
“Listen to your boyfriend,” the motherfucker coos, bumping his shoulder against me.
It’s not that big of a deal. Hockey is made up of trash talk, but because I’m so fucking wound up tonight, that’s all it takes for me to see red.
Grabbing ahold of his jersey, I punch him in the gut and shove him down onto the ice, bringing my fist up to land another blow, but a set of arms yanks me up, pulling me backward.
“Cut the fucking shit, Hunt!” Cash screams in my ear just as Jameson comes to my other side to grab my free arm.
“He’s right, Hunt. You’ve got to fucking chill out,” Jameson says. “I can tell something’s bothering you tonight, man. But don’t blow our chance to win this game just because you’ve got shit going on. We all have shit going on.”
“Not like this,” I mutter, pulling in a shaky breath. “But fine. I’m fucking good. Just let fucking go of me,” I growl, pulling away, and thankfully, they both listen.
The referee skates over, pointing to me before calling out to the officials and sending my ass straight to the sin bin. And truth be told, a part of me wishes he had just sent me the fuck home because for the first time in my life … I don’t want to be on the fucking ice.
With Jameson in the other bed beside mine, snoring, I stare at the ceiling. I know I acted like a fucking tool tonight during that game. I played selfishly. I’m a defenseman. It’s expected that I get mouthy and play rough, but tonight, it was so far beyond that.
There’s a faint knock on the door, and I debate not even seeing who it is—knowing it’s probably either some puck bunny, one who found out the team is staying here for the night before our next game against New Hampshire tomorrow, or it’s one of my teammates fucking off.
“Hunt, I know you’re in there,” Coach Huff says, and I grimace, assuming he’s about to make me feel like an even bigger disappointment than I already do.
“Be right there,” I call, less than enthused before sliding off the bed.
When I get to the door, I swing it open and expect a certain look I’m used to getting to be waiting for me. But instead, Coach gives me a slight nod.
“How’s it going?” he asks, and when I shrug and half mutter a response, he jerks his chin toward the hallway. “Let’s go for a walk. I hear they’ve got cookies twenty-four/seven in the lobby.”
I don’t tell him that the last thing I want right now is a cookie; instead, I nod before putting my sneakers on and walking into the hallway.
As we slowly trudge along, I stuff my hands into my pockets.
“I’m sorry, Coach,” I murmur, too ashamed to look at him. “I know I acted like a fucking moron earlier.”
He’s silent before patting my shoulder a few times. “Your actions wouldn’t have anything to do with a certain blonde goalie, would they?”
When I glance at him, he gives me the smallest grin.
“I was a college kid too, you know.” He breathes out a laugh. “Though I promise, lucky for you, I don’t think you’re pissed because you’re headed for rehab or anything.”
One thing I have always respected about Coach is that he’s open about his shit. He doesn’t try to hide behind some fancy D1 coach title. He owns who he used to be and tries to pay it forward by being patient with people like me.
“It doesn’t matter anyway now,” I say, sighing. “It was never going to work between Isla and me.”
“Oh, yeah?” He doesn’t even sound surprised. “And why is that?”
I stop walking, cocking my head to the side at him. “Coach … she’s a good fucking girl. She’s smart. She’s sweet.” I pause, looking down. “And she’s got a good family.” Finally, my eyes lift to his. “You saw me tonight on the ice. That’s who I am. That’s all I’ll ever be.”
I turn away from him and start walking again, making him do the same, and for a moment, he’s quiet.
“You’ve met my wife, Haley, a few times now, Hunt.”
“Yeah,” I mutter. “She’s real nice.”
“She is. She’s the best person I know. She’s too fucking good for me.
” He chuckles. “Way too fucking good.” This time, it’s him stopping, gripping my shoulder so that I do the same.
“Do you think that there weren’t times when I pushed her away because I was a drug addict who put my addiction above anything and everything else—including her?
” He looks down, kicking at the hotel rug with his shoe.
“That woman saw me at my lowest and chose to love me through it anyway. When I gave up on myself, she didn’t.
I’m not being dramatic when I tell you that my wife didn’t just save me; she gave me a life I never dreamed was possible. ”
Emotion balls up in my throat, but I keep it inside because this is Coach’s story, not mine. I have no reason to be a little bitch about it. I can’t find the words to say back, but luckily, he makes it so I don’t have to.
“Cam Hardy would murder me for saying all of this to you, but I also know that man has a heart of gold. After all, he chose friends like me and O’Brien.
” He laughs. “Don’t assume your problems are too big for her.
Or that your life is too fucked up for her.
Isla is a tough girl. Let her decide, okay? ”
“Okay,” I return, still not knowing what to do with all of this.
“Thank you.” He smacks my shoulder again. “Now, let’s go find those cookies and then get your ass to bed. You have a game tomorrow, and I don’t want to see any fighting. Understand?”
“Yes, sir.” I nod. “You have my word.”
“Good.” He grins.
And even though he might not know this … the conversation we just had is one of the most meaningful of my life.