Chapter 2 – Beau
Chapter Two
Beau
The team managed to scrape by with another one in the win column, but it was a tough one for sure. I should feel relieved. Hell, even a bit of satisfaction for finishing the entire game without passing out, but I feel like I’m unraveling inside my skin.
I sagged through the final five minutes as if my body were operating on instinct.
My legs were screaming every time I dropped, heat pooling behind my knees, and my head pounded with each spotlight glare.
But I managed to keep it together. While the rest of the team was celebrating in the locker room, I made a beeline for the shower.
I made quick work of washing off the stink before grabbing my gear and heading straight for the team bus, only narrowly avoiding Coach’s worried glances.
There’s no doubt in my mind that if he had asked if I was okay, I never could’ve lied my way out of how horrible I look.
My skin is so pale I could pass for a ghost; my eyes are bloodshot with deep purple bags beneath them.
I look the furthest from okay as possible.
Anyone with eyes could tell I’m not okay.
I climb onto the team bus and find a seat, tucking myself into the corner and pulling my hood over my head.
I shut my eyes, hoping to take a nap, but my body wouldn’t let me rest. My joints are stiff, head is buzzing with the same ringing in my ear from earlier.
I take shallow breaths unless completely necessary, willing myself to remain as still as possible.
It doesn’t take long for the rest of the team to come shuffling onto the bus and find their seats. The bus ride to the airport is uneventful, nothing but music playing softly through the speakers, the low hum of exhaustion, and too many sideways glances.
The ride feels longer than the game, but I manage to avoid any probing questions from my teammates before making my way toward the plane.
I slowly climb the jet stairs. Every step up the fuselage feels like a negotiation.
I just need to keep moving, not letting anyone know how bad I’m really feeling.
I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding the moment I slide into the window seat near the back—row seventeen, my usual—and shove my duffel under the seat before pulling my hoodie back up over my head.
Almost invisible to anyone, until someone shuts the overhead bin beside me with more force than necessary.
“Yo, Hendrix,” Mackenzie says, dropping into the row across the aisle from me. “You good?”
I glance up, just enough to take him in.
Mack’s only been on the team for a few years, but he fits in like he was born in the locker room.
Easygoing, steady, and always ready to throw down when things get heated.
He’s got that bruiser build, thick through the chest and shoulders, and probably six-foot-nothing in his socks.
The guy looks like he wrestles bears for fun and wins.
His flannel shirt stretches across his broad chest, sleeves pushed up over his forearms like he just came in from chopping wood.
With that slightly crooked nose and dark hair falling into sharp green eyes, he could be the cover model for a lumberjack romance novel—if the lumberjack also broke people’s noses for a living.
I shift in my seat, forcing a shrug and fixing my gaze on the tray table like it’s got all the answers. “Fine.”
“Looked like you were skating underwater out there.”
“Altitude,” I mutter, keeping my voice dry.
Mack’s brow lifts slightly in confusion. “We play in Denver next week. Are you gonna be okay?”
I give a noncommittal grunt and keep my mouth shut. I don’t want anyone to jump to the wrong conclusions and I get sidelined based on rumors or guesses. I just need to get back to Portland and get checked out by Parker like I promised Cooper. Then maybe they’ll all get off my back.
I was hoping to change the subject, but Bower leans into the aisle behind Mack’s seat, his mop of curls flopping forward. “Dude, you sounded like a goddamn freight train after that second-period scramble.”
“It was a hard push,” I say, trying to keep it light.
“You make hard pushes all the time, but that one sounded like it came with a built-in death rattle.”
A few chuckles ripple through the row, but they’re not mean or mocking. They sound worried. I hate that I’m the one worrying everyone, feeling like they’re watching me too closely and risking that they’ll see more than I intend.
I turn toward him and force a smile. “Just tired.”
That gets a nod from Mack, but he doesn’t look away immediately. His eyes stay locked on me, steady and sharp, like he’s weighing the truth against what I’ve just said.
I shift again and reach for my headphones, hoping it’ll end the conversation, but even as I settle back against the headrest, the guilt twists tight in my gut.
I shouldn’t have to lie to them, but what other choice do I have?
If anyone knows how shitty I’m feeling, they’ll tell Coach, and I’ll be off the ice.
And right now, being out there—no matter how much it hurts—is the only thing keeping me from falling apart completely.
I slip my headphones on and lean my head back, eyes shut, pretending I’m anywhere but under the microscope of the entire team.
Inhaling deeply, I focus on the hum of the engines, the rustling of gear bags being stowed, and the low chatter of teammates.
It’s all background noise. I just need thirty minutes of quiet.
Of not being the guy everyone’s watching like he’s about to keel over, but only two minutes pass before someone slides into the empty seat beside me.
It would’ve been too much to ask for it to be one of my teammates, or even Cooper.
I’m just lucky that it’s Parker and not Coach.
“Hey,” he says casually, but his voice has that calm, clinical edge I’ve learned to associate with bad news and injury reports.
I don’t even bother opening my eyes before responding, knowing that anything he has to say to me right now won’t be good.
“Hey.”
I can hear the thunk of what sounds like a water bottle tapping against his knee, but I don’t open my eyes.
“Can you at least look at me while I chew your ass out?”
I chuckle darkly, opening one of my eyes, but I don’t say a word.
Parker is usually the least intimidating person on the bench during games.
He isn’t much taller than Alise, coming barely to the center of my chest. His usual unruly hair is tucked neatly beneath a team beanie, and his eyes are laser-focused on my face, scanning for any type of injury or hint that something is wrong.
“You talk to Cooper?” My jaw tightens as I force the words from my mouth.
“Why would I need to talk to Cooper, Beau?” He gives me a look that says he’s not playing. “Is there something wrong that the team needs to know about?”
“So, you have been talking to my overprotective big brother.” I sigh and sit up straighter, pulling the headphones off my ears. “Look, I’m going to tell you the same thing I told him and everyone else who has asked. I’m just tired. It’s been a long week.”
“And your heart rate during the second period?” he asks, voice low, not wanting to alert anyone sitting around us.
Fuck, I forgot about the damn heart rate monitor Parker started having us wear during games. There’s no way I can lie my way out of this one.
“Or how about your recovery between shifts? I know you were wheezing like you’d run a marathon uphill.”
I stare out the window, refusing to meet his eyes. “I said I’m fine.”
“Beau.” His tone sharpens, cutting clean through my defenses. “You’re not fine. And pretending you are doesn’t help anyone. Not you and definitely not the team.”
His words hit harder than I want to admit. I rub my thumb over my bottom lip, suddenly hyperaware of every breath. Remembering how much effort it took to finish the third period without doubling over.
“If I say something now,” I mutter, “they’ll bench me. For what? A guess? A feeling? I don’t even know what’s wrong. What if it’s nothing?”
“And what if it’s not nothing? What if there is something wrong? It’s better for all involved if we get ahead of these issues before something serious happens.”
I finally turn and look at him, giving Parker my full attention for the first time since starting this conversation.
Surprisingly, he doesn’t look angry or like he’s planning on making sure I’m placed on the injured reserve immediately.
He has the same worried look on his face as Cooper did earlier in the locker room, like he wants me to at least try to help myself.
Sometimes I forget that the health of every player on this team is on Parker’s shoulders, and some of us are too pigheaded to take his advice.
Sometimes, Parker has to sit by and watch over too many of us who wait too long to get the help we need.
“I’m not trying to screw you over, but I need you to be honest with me. You’ve got three guys down the row who noticed something was off tonight. You think the coaching staff didn’t?”
I press the heels of my hands into my eyes. “You gonna report it?”
“I’m giving you the chance to report it, or I will.”
That stings more than I expected, but I know he’s right.
The Timberwolves’ coaching staff has been in the game for years, so there’s no way I’ve fooled them.
Instead of getting away with it, they’re giving me a chance to tell them on my own.
To man up and do the right thing for myself and the team, but goddamn it, that shit is hard.
I exhale through my nose, slow and shaky. “Can we wait a little longer just to be sure?”
Parker studies me like he wants to say something else, but I chime in before he can deny my request.
“I’ll come in tomorrow and let you run whatever tests you want, okay? Just…” I hesitate, the words sticking like they know they’re going to cost me. “Can we keep it between us? For now?”