Chapter 14
PEYTON
There was nothing in the world quite like trying to practice with a linemate I didn’t even want to look at.
We had to look at each other and communicate—there was no avoiding it in this sport—but we only did as much as we absolutely had to. Throughout the morning skate, our interactions were as sharp as our skate blades and as cold as the ice beneath us.
I felt bad for Davis. It probably wasn’t pleasant for any of our teammates, but our third linemate had to be feeling the worst of it.
Whenever we weren’t skating, he was stealing wary glances at the two of us.
More than once, he either stood or sat between us, as if casually making himself into a barrier in case we were thinking of throwing gloves.
I didn’t want to fight Avery. I was pissed at him, sure, but at most, I wanted to grab his shoulders, shake him, and talk some goddamned sense into him. I wanted him to understand what he was doing to himself and what he was going to do to this team.
But as my dad always said during the worst days of my mom’s addiction, denial wasn’t just a river in Egypt, and Avery sounded like he was neck deep in it.
Dad had told me addicts needed to hit rock bottom before they were willing to do anything about it.
Before that… well, there wasn’t much anyone could do.
After watching Jeff Richards hit rock bottom and keep on digging, though, I was scared for Avery. Scared that his rock bottom was well below what the League and the team would tolerate. I wanted to believe he could recover like my mom had, but what if he crashed and burned like Richards?
I stole another glance at Avery. Then I scanned the other faces on the ice.
Do any of you see what I see?
You all know him way better than I do.
He won’t listen to me, but maybe he’ll listen to one of you.
Was this what people meant when they felt like they were screaming in the middle of a crowded room and no one could hear them? Not that I was exactly saying or doing anything, but I was sure, all the way to my bones, that if I tried to draw anyone’s attention to what was going on with Avery…
Shit. What the hell do I do?
Well, for the moment, I practiced with my teammates. I tried to focus—I really, really did, because hockey wasn’t a sport you could play on autopilot. I was too distracted, though. Too focused on Avery.
I can’t fucking take this.
After a light practice with the whole team, Coach turned it over to the power play coach for some special teams work.
The top power play unit went up against the top penalty kill until Davis managed to squeak the puck past Ziggy and into the goal. While we caught our breath, the second units were up.
I took advantage of the moment and skated up to Avery. “Hey.”
He turned frosty, slightly-red-around-the-edges eyes on me, and his jaw worked.
I dropped my voice a little. “You good?”
“I’m fine,” he snapped just loud enough for me to hear. “Leave it alone, all right?”
Yeah, I hadn’t heard that before from people who were trying to hide serious problems.
“Look, I’m just—”
“Leave it alone.” And then he was gone, skating away to join Eminem and Mix at the other end of the zone.
I sighed, letting my shoulders sag beneath my pads. Jesus Christ.
Davis appeared beside me, and he glanced in the direction our linemate had gone. Vice low, he asked, “Everything cool with you and Calds?”
I tongued the backs of my teeth. “It’s fine.”
The upward flick of Davis’s eyebrow called bullshit on that bald-faced lie. I felt guilty for it, too; I was feeding him the same line Avery had fed me. But what else could I say?
“It’s fine,” I repeated, and then gestured at our teammates who were finishing up the drill. “It’s almost our turn.”
Davis scowled, but right then, our power play coach blew the whistle, and we had to set up to run through the drill.
Avery and I exchanged glances. Even in that moment, that brief glimpse of his face, his expression seemed to vacillate between frosty anger and a plea.
As if he were still pissed at me, but he was also begging me to—what?
Not tell anyone? And which part did he want me to keep secret?
The part where he’d kissed me? Or where I’d had to half-drag his drunk carcass up to his room? Both?
I didn’t even know. And I hated lying to our teammates, whether outright or by omission, but what else could I do?
I couldn’t break Avery’s confidence. If I let it slip what happened last night, he could wind up seriously disciplined.
It could permanently damage his reputation with the club and around the League.
What if I was wrong and last night really had been a one-time thing?
Because people had rough nights sometimes.
People drank themselves senseless and did stupid things, and then moved on with their lives without issue.
At least, people did that who weren’t clearly trying to pretend they weren’t in emotional hell.
I couldn’t get my head together. All through practice and my pregame routines, all through warmups that night, I was on another planet, distracted by my linemate who was also someplace else.
That… did not bode well for a good game.
When two of the top three forwards aren’t functional, things tended to go awry.
And it just had to happen in front of my old teammates and fans, didn’t it?
Though I’d been excited to go to Pittsburgh, I’d known I would miss my old teammates. Seeing them yesterday had been bittersweet. Taking the ice opposite them tonight… that was harder than I expected.
Like, a lot harder.
Not because they targeted me. Not because the fans booed every time I touched the puck. Not because it was just alien and weird to be on the opposite side of men who’d been my friends for so long.
No, the worst part was how bad I ached to put on a Detroit sweater again. It was how much I regretted coming to Pittsburgh, and how I wished I could go to the home locker room during intermissions instead of the visitor room.
More than I’d ever thought I would, I wanted to come back to Detroit and stay here.
I wanted to go back to that familiar locker room where I knew what little drama there was, and where I knew the guys well enough that if someone went off the rails, I could act.
I wouldn’t just sit back and second guess myself.
Here in this locker room, on this team I’d been so excited to join…
I’d never felt more helpless or alone in my life.
I did mercifully get a break from all the tension between me and Avery, and that break came in the form of going home for Christmas.
A week after that incident in Detroit, I stepped off a plane in Omaha, got into a rental car, and drove out to my parents’ place just over the state line in Council Bluffs, Iowa.
They’d moved about five years ago; Dad said he didn’t want to deal with the big yard anymore, but I’d always wondered if they’d just wanted to get away from the bad memories in my childhood home.
There’d been some rough years in that place.
Now, they were in a split-level gray house with a somewhat smaller yard.
It required a hell of a lot more work than the old one, though, especially after a tornado had ripped through the area.
Dad never complained, which made me think the move had definitely been less about yardwork and more about ghosts.
As sad as I’d been that they’d sold my childhood home—there were, after all, good memories there, too—I liked the new place, and I liked the fresh start it had given everyone.
Plus they had two guest rooms, so my sister and I could both stay at the house when we came to town.
My brother and his family lived locally, and when I arrived the day before Christmas, my parents’ house was loud and raucous.
I never thought two kids—my three-year-old niece and two-year-old nephew—could make that much noise, but hoo boy, they could.
“Of course they can,” Dad had mused last year. “They’re Halls.”
He had a point. There was a reason my siblings and I had been shoved into every sport imaginable as kids, and it wasn’t in the hopes of scholarships or pro careers. My parents had just wanted to wear us the hell out.
It was good to be home. Good to see my family. Good to have a break from hockey even though I loved the sport.
Getting some space from Avery and That Incident was a relief, too, but that didn’t mean I could shake it off completely.
All through Christmas Eve, I felt like Avery had looked during Thanksgiving—mostly in the moment, but constantly tugged back to the apprehension and worry as if they were relentless physical aches.
It didn’t help that I couldn’t look at my mom without remembering everything we’d all gone through.
Though she was sober now, and our family and my parents’ marriage was long since back on the rails, there was no hiding how the years of heavy drinking had ravaged her.
She was four years younger than my dad, but looked at least a decade older.
She always seemed tired, which was apparently from all the problems she now had with her liver; there was probably a liver transplant in her future.
Seeing her that way had always been heartbreaking, and it had also been a stark reminder of how close we’d come to losing her.
I couldn’t look at her without thinking of how much worse Richards had to be by now, and that made me worry more about Avery. I just couldn’t do a damn thing about him, which frustrated me, and…
God, this is going to drive me insane.
On Christmas Eve, my mom, brother, and sister-in-law were in the rec room trying to wear out the kids so they’d sleep and let Santa come. My sister had gone to bed, so Dad and I ended up alone in the living room, drinking coffee and enjoying the quiet while it lasted.
“So.” Dad grinned. “How is everything in Pittsburgh?”
“It’s…” I dropped my gaze and chewed my lip.