15. Killian
Killian
M addox has been… different.
I can’t explain it, but when I saw him again in stats class after that accidental phone call, he made a point to never meet my eyes. Not even once. I wanted to try talking to him after class, but he disappeared before I could even stand up.
Because of our away game, I couldn’t make it to our last tutoring session, and I swear I was getting withdrawal symptoms… over a guy who’s made it clear that there can’t be anything between us.
God, I’m unraveling because of him.
I keep replaying the breathless way he spoke on the call, and even if he never admitted what he was doing, my imagination filled it in for me anyway.
I may have lost all willpower and dropped my sweats right after he hung up, coming to the memory of the way he was panting softly. The way his voice shook. How he practically whined my name.
Okay, I shouldn’t be thinking of that again right now.
Not when I’m retaking the test I failed. I’m in the empty lecture hall after class, Wheeler and Maddox talking by the front—and I definitely should not be thinking about what Maddox insisted he wasn’t doing on that phone call.
It’s a wonder how I ever get to the last item on the test. I let out a breath when I realize that I’m done, and Wheeler walks over to me to take the paper. Thank god, because I can’t be standing right now and exposing the semi I have for his teaching assistant.
“I’ll grade it right now,” Wheeler says, taking it back to his desk up front.
Maddox waits near the desk, his hands in his pockets and his shoulders stiff as he watches Wheeler. Wheeler hums and adjusts his glasses, making marks all over my paper. It shouldn’t take him more than a few minutes, but it feels like forever with Maddox never looking my way.
I want to talk to him. Badly.
All I think about is him. It’s an infatuation that has only grown stronger, but if there’s one thing I’ve learned about Maddox, it’s that he needs to know that the ball is always in his court. That he’s always going to be in control and have all the power.
That he’s going to be the one to call the shots and come to me when he’s ready to take the next steps.
And I can wait forever for that, if that’s what he needs.
When he’s done grading my test, the corner of Wheeler’s mouth curls upwards and he hands the paper to Maddox.
I swear my heart stops when Maddox slowly turns and finally acknowledges me. It’s the first time all week he’s looked my way, and a grin spreads across my face. He blinks and lifts his chin, studying me for a long moment.
Then he smiles back.
It’s barely visible, but I swear his eyes light up, and his posture slackens just slightly. “Good job,” he mouths.
That simple gesture makes me feel as if I could do anything.
“Congratulations, Mr. Schultz,” Wheeler says. “Seems like you aced this retake, as well as the exam earlier today. At this rate, you won’t have to worry about your midterm grades barring you from playing.”
I… I actually did it? Wha?
Fuck yeah.
Wheeler’s the first to leave the room. I expect Maddox to rush out right after him like he did the other day.
I expect him to continue keeping his distance from me, but he…
doesn’t. Not sure what’s shifted just now, or if Maddox just needed time for whatever reason and he’s finally comfortable with me again, but he waits for me by the door.
“Guess I need your jersey tonight,” he says. “That was the bet, right? To wear your jersey to a game?”
A surprised chuckle escapes me, and I put my hands over my face, my shoulders vibrating. Maddox in my jersey? I don’t think I’m going to survive this.
“Sorry I’ve been avoiding you,” Maddox says softly, and my heart jumps again.
“I, uh…” Mouth parting, I give him a look. I didn’t actually expect him to call himself out. Studying him now, it’s clear—something definitely shifted. “It’s okay,” I say.
He doesn’t move from where he’s standing by the door. In the hallway behind him, students chatter as they walk past.
Maddox chews on his lower lip. When he speaks again, his words tumble out. “And I don’t mean to be forward, but…” He waves between us. “If something happened. I’d be okay with that.”
“Maddox…” My voice comes out in a wheeze. Surprise would be an understatement. “And all the things you said? You not being into jocks, your job—”
He interrupts me. “Maybe being impulsive for once is what I need.”
I don’t even try to hide the eagerness in my expression.
“Not saying something will happen,” he clarifies. “I’m just saying that if it did, it wouldn’t be such a terrible thing.”
And before I can even respond, he gives me that gorgeous smile of his that causes my brain to malfunction. He says something that might be goodbye, lifts his chin in a nod, and then disappears into the sea of students before I can even put all my thoughts together.
** *
At game time, Maddox is the first person I seek out.
The moment we head to the ice for warm-ups, I spot him in the stands. The hard way my heart beats is almost concerning. He meets my eyes almost automatically and gives me a slow and sweet smile.
My dark blue jersey’s enormous on him, and I resist asking him to twirl around just so I can glimpse my name and number emblazoned in white on his back.
Rhys has to thump me on the back to remind me to come back to Earth. He mutters, “Stop ogling Maddox.”
“Kill!” my brothers shout from a nearby section. Gerald and Tristan are on their feet and cupping their hands around their mouths as they yell for my attention, and I give them a huge grin.
Despite not seeing them all that often, my brothers are my best friends. Even if they’re older than me and in their thirties, we get along great. The three of us look a lot alike—they’re both tall with dark hair like mine, and looking at them, I know how I’ll look in some years’ time.
I hope I end up like them. Gerald and Tristan are successful in both their professional and personal lives—and it’s impressive. Even Dad thinks so, and he doesn’t let me forget it with how often he compares me to them.
Hockey games and how rough they are stress Mom out so she sits most of them out, but Dad’s here, like he said he would be.
He’s seated and tips his chin in my direction, and I’m relieved that he’s got a polite smile on.
I’m sure he’s ready to scrutinize my performance today, like he always does with every aspect of my life, and I remind myself that he means well—that he only wants me to succeed.
I wish it didn’t do such a number on my nerves.
Focus on Maddox.
If I only think of Maddox and nothing else, then I’m sure I’ll have a good game.
Unfortunately, though, even Maddox’s presence isn’t enough to help me keep up with one of the most grueling matches of my entire life.
The Falcons are fucking intense, and it’s because of how much is at stake here.
This game’s winning team will head straight to the quarterfinals, and they’re as hungry for it as we are.
We start off strong with a good lead, but with how hard the Falcons are going, I don’t think it’s going to stay like that for very long. I try my best to defend our zone but the already suspenseful game seems even more fast-paced than usual.
Even Nick, who’s usually levelheaded and lets nothing get to him, is clearly getting frustrated because he can’t put a puck in the net. Just when I think he’s about to get his first goal of the day, the other team’s winger steals the puck from him and a fast break ensues.
Fuck, fuck.
They get past Jacobs, our other defenseman, before he can even react, and I’m too far to intercept properly. It’s two of their players against Vega and our goal, and the puck’s passed to the player who has a huge opening.
I won’t be able to block it.
Just when I think I’ve royally fucked up, the adrenaline gets the better of me and I dive for the puck, holding my arm out as far as I can.
The puck slams against my stick and ricochets off, and the roar from the crowd’s deafening—unfortunately, I’m going way too fast and collide right into one of our goalposts. I’m at least able to protect my head, and my right shoulder takes the brunt of it.
The pain is unbearable, and Vega yells my name in a panic.
Next thing I know, there’s a stoppage in play, and I’m being checked on by the team doctor.
“What’s your pain level?” the doctor asks.
“I’m fine,” I say. He frowns at me, clearly unconvinced, but I twist my arm and wiggle my shoulder to show him I can still play.
Coach makes me get off the ice anyway, and I sense someone’s watchful eyes.
Maddox is staring at me with concern, his fists clenched to his sides. I give him the biggest smile I can muster, which doesn’t do the trick at all. His parted lips only twist into a scowl, and he shakes his head at me .
The game goes by in a blur after that. My head’s ringing the entire time, and the way we’re struggling makes me pissed off that Coach won’t let me back on the ice. When the score ties in the third period and the tension is high on the bench, Coach finally concedes and lets me play again.
In the end, we win when Nick gets a goal seconds before the timer buzzes.
Thank god.
After a shower and a lot of pretending that my shoulder’s fine, I meet Dad and my brothers in the parking lot after the game.
They’re standing by Dad’s car when I get out, and my brothers flatten down the front of my suit even though I think it’s perfectly ironed.
I already know they’re going to be throwing jibes at me, and I only hope they can hurry it the hell up, because the night’s way too chilly and I’m exhausted.
“Geez, Kill.” Gerald pokes my shoulder, and I swat at him—though the movement only makes the pain worse, and I fight back a wince. “Why did you do something so risky? You were up by two points.”
“Yeah, your defense went haywire when you were taken off the ice,” Tristan says wistfully.
I grin widely. “Fuck off, we ended up winning!”