Chapter Five #2
Team members shout over him, calling out his suspension as part of the reason they sucked tonight. I wince because they’re not entirely wrong, and I know that’s got to hurt to hear.
Beck interjects between the yelling to say, “It was a rough night, guys. It’s not Rhodes’ fault we weren’t playing as a team.” There are mixed grumblings, but eventually everyone quiets down.
I’m not even pretending to listen to anything in my headphones. I’m fully eavesdropping now. “Jax,” Rhodes starts in on the rookie, “you lost your fucking mind in the second and third. Quit hogging the puck and use the other players. They’re your team for a reason.”
He keeps going, calling out every mistake he noticed from up in the box, and every time, he’s right.
I may be a figure skater, but hockey runs through my veins too.
I know every rule, every penalty, every play in the book.
My dad might be pissed at Rhodes right now, but one day, he would probably be thrilled to see Rhodes as a coach somewhere.
I hang back and wait for the guys to start heading out for their media interviews so I can do my post-game clean-up of the locker room.
“Matthews,” I hear Jax say amongst the slamming locker doors. “You see the coach’s daughter tonight?” Ice runs through my veins as smugness drips from his voice. “Fucking smokeshow.”
There are some chuckles and murmurs of agreement from other members of the team echoing through the locker room.
“You know she was a figure skater, right?” one of the other guys replies. Kieran Holt, maybe—another new trade. Defenseman. “Olympic level. Had a really bad accident, total career-ender.” His tone isn’t mean, but I don’t like the reality of what I look like from the outside.
A sick feeling coils in my stomach. I don’t want to hear this, but I can’t make myself put my headphones back in my ears to drown it out.
“Yeah,” someone else chimes in. “Really messed her up. Couple frat guys I know from the university say she’ll sleep with just about anyone.” There is laughter from the team.
“Well, fuck, put me next in line.” Jax laughs. “I’d love to strip her down and see what’s between those pretty little thi—”
I freeze when I hear Rhodes’ voice among the chatter. Low, lethally calm. “Finish that sentence, Jax, and I’ll break your fucking jaw.”
“You got the hots for the coach’s daughter, captain?” Jax sneers. “Hey! Let’s make a bet on who can get her panties off first. Hell, we can even share, if you want.”
My face is flushed with embarrassment. There is a brief pause, silence. I wonder for a moment what’s going on, then I hear the dull smack of a fist colliding with skin.
Another beat of sickening silence. Then—
“What the hell, McKnight,” I-think-Kieran cries.
Jax is screaming a stream of curses at Rhodes. I consider peeking around the corner to confirm what’s happening.
“I think you broke my fucking nose.” Jax is still screaming, voice garbled with what I assume is blood.
Well, there goes Rhodes’ no-fighting streak. And he wasn’t even on the ice tonight.
“I better not hear her name so much as whisper out of your goddamn mouth again, Callahan. I held back this time, and you’re lucky all I did was break your nose.”
It’s quiet for a minute, and I notice my shaking hands. I clench my fingers to try to still them.
What was that? He’s already suspended for fighting on the ice, but off the ice? Breaking his own teammate’s nose?
He’s going to be in so much trouble.
And if Jax knows what’s good for the Wolverines, he will keep his mouth shut to my dad about what happened here, or they’ll all have hell to pay. Coach Abrams has a zero-tolerance policy on physical fights between his players—but he’s also my dad. And Carter Abrams doesn’t play about me, either.
I stay in my hiding spot until I’m sure everyone has left, then I go into the locker room to begin cleaning up.
I’m surprised to see I’m not alone when I walk into the room.
Rhodes is sitting on one of the benches, head leaning against the lockers, eyes shut.
An ice pack is on his fist. His phone is vibrating on the metal next to him, and he smacks it to the floor without sparing a glance.
It hits the concrete so hard I’m sure the glass will be shattered when he picks it up.
“You sure you don’t want to get that?” I say, leaning against the wall. Rhodes slowly opens one eye to look at me.
“Why are you here?” he asks, ignoring my question and closing his eye again.
Rhodes looks tired. He sounds tired. There is a pang of sadness in my chest for him that I quickly shove down.
I don’t know him well enough to feel like I can ask him if he’s okay.
I had no time to feel sorry for Rhodes McKnight, especially since the last time we were in a locker room together, we were trading insults like playing cards.
I turn up the dial on my snark instead, because that’s what I’m good at.
“Post-game cleaning duty,” I retort. “Fulfilling my biggest dream of becoming the Wolverines sanitation staff.”
“No,” he replies, quietly, ignoring my sarcasm.
“Why are you here, working, at all? Locker duty, at the rink. You didn’t answer me the other day, and I can’t figure it out.
It’s driving me crazy.” I’m silent while I look at him.
There’s something raw about the way he asked.
“You were one of the top figure skaters in the world, Monroe. What are you doing here?”
He sounds so obviously frustrated that I decide to throw him a bone.
“Were being the operative word,” I start. He sits up and looks at me, surprise in his face. I don’t think he actually expected me to answer. “My dad. He cut me off.”
A puzzled look crosses his face. He leans forward, forearms on his knees, eyes never leaving mine. “Cut you off?”
“Financially, I mean. Said he wasn’t going to fund my self-destruction and pulled his money from my accounts, took away his credit card. Told me it was either work for him and graduate school, or be homeless, basically.”
Rhodes’ eyes widened.
“Shit,” he says, whistling low. “That’s a shitty ultimatum.”
“Yeah,” I murmur.
“Well, thanks for clearing that up,” he says, stretching his bruising fist out and running his other hand through damp, dark hair. “Now maybe I’ll be able to sleep at night.” He’s teasing. I shrug it off.
“It’s all very poor-little-rich-girl, so I hope you didn’t lose too much sleep over it,” I deadpan back, tossing towels and jerseys into my bin and pausing to pick up some protein-bar wrappers from the floor.
“You have no idea,” he mutters, leaving me to question what that means. Rhodes leans down to grab his shoes from beside him and begins tying up the laces.
“Uh,” I cough and clear my throat. This is awkward, but I need to say it. I don’t turn to look at him. “I heard you,” I say quickly.
“What?”
“Earlier,” I continue, still not looking at him. “In the locker room. Heard you punch Jax. Heard what he said. Heard what you said. Just—heard all of it.”
“Ah,” Rhodes exhales behind me.
I turn to finally meet his eyes, and he’s closer than he was a second ago. Too close. I instinctively step back, but my shoulders hit the wall.
I swallow. “You didn’t need to do that.” My voice is quieter than I want it to be. He doesn’t move.
“Defend me, I mean. I’m used to people talking,” I add, shifting my weight, trying to put some distance between us. “It doesn’t bother me. So don’t—like, fuck up your team dynamic for me.”
I hate this. All of this. The weight of his stare, the way my chest is tight and restless. His navy-blue eyes burn into mine, unreadable. Rhodes crosses his arms, nodding once, like he’s come to some kind of decision.
“Next time, I won’t just break his nose, Monroe.”
I blink. “What?”
His voice is steady and calm. “If he says anything about you again”—he grabs his keys, swinging open the door—“he’ll need an ambulance.”
Then he’s gone.