Chapter 26
DANNY
It’s game seven without me on the ice, and we lose five to two to the Arizona Scorpions.
I watch from my couch with a beer in my hand. My phone blows up with notifications I can’t bear to read. Marshall banned me from the arena during my suspension. He said it’d be better optics for the organization and keep the media circus away from the team.
So I’m stuck here watching on television while my teammates lose their fifth straight game since my suspension began.
The commentary is brutal.
“The Raptors are struggling without Masterson. That’s their fifth straight loss since his suspension began.”
“This team was playoff-bound before the scandal. Now they’re fighting just to stay in contention.”
“You have to wonder if the locker room can recover from this distraction.”
I turn off the television and toss the remote onto the couch.
It’s been two weeks since the videos went viral. I can’t believe how much has happened between then and now. Noah released that statement ending us and then Alex’s article dropped and destroyed what little we had left.
I’ve tried reaching out to Noah. He blocked my number so I used a different one, borrowed Carter’s phone, even sent an email. Nothing. He won’t talk to me.
And I’m stuck here. Suspended for eight more games. Banned from the arena. Alone in my apartment with nothing but time to think about how I fucked everything up.
I tried to defend us. I figured if I talked to Alex and set the record straight, people would understand.
Instead, he twisted every fucking word and made it sound like Noah gave me special treatment. Like we were lying about the timeline. Like everything was inappropriate from the start.
And now Noah’s unemployed. His career in sports PR is probably over. His father’s reputation is damaged.
All because I couldn’t keep my mouth shut.
My phone buzzes with a text from Carter.
You good?
I don’t respond. It’s the same question he’s asked every day for a week. I never respond.
I’m not good. I haven’t been good since I watched Noah walk away from me after telling me he couldn’t live with losing me but couldn’t live with keeping me either.
Since I read that statement announcing our relationship was over before he even had the balls to tell me himself.
Since I gave Alex that interview thinking I was helping and instead handed him the ammunition to destroy us both.
I grab my keys.
I can’t stay here. Can’t sit in this apartment for another second staring at walls and replaying every mistake.
I drive without really thinking about where I’m going. Just away. Out of Oakland, into San Francisco, taking exits on autopilot until I’m pulling up to a house I haven’t been to since before Puck Fest.
My parents’ place.
I sit in the driveway for a minute, staring at the front door.
I’ve been avoiding this. Avoiding them. Ever since the assault, I couldn’t face them. I couldn’t handle the disappointment, the questions and the way they’d look at me knowing I fucked up that badly.
So I kept my distance. Sent texts that said I was fine. Dodged invitations to dinner. Made boatloads of excuses.
And now I’m here because I have nowhere else to go.
I knock on the door.
My mom answers. Her eyes fly open wide.
“Danny?”
“Hi, Mom.”
She pulls me into a hug before I can say anything else. Tight. Like she’s been waiting for weeks to do this.
“Get in here. Why are you standing on the porch like a stranger?”
She drags me inside. The house smells the same, like whatever she’s baking. It’s late afternoon, but my mom’s always baking something.
“Mark!” she yells toward the living room. “Danny’s here!”
My dad appears from around the corner, newspaper in hand, reading glasses on his nose.
“Well,” he says. “Look who decided to show up.”
There’s no anger in it. He flashes a wide smile.
“Hey, Dad.”
“You look terrible, son.”
“Mark,” my mom scolds.
“What? He does.” Dad sets down his paper. “You eating? Sleeping?” He lifts an eyebrow. “Or just sitting around feeling sorry for yourself?”
“All three.”
“Thought so.” He gestures to the couch. “Sit. Your mother will make you something. You’ll eat it. Then you’ll tell us what the hell’s been going on.”
I sit. Mom disappears into the kitchen. Dad takes the chair across from me.
“We haven’t seen you since before that mess at the fan event,” he says. “You’ve been avoiding us.”
“I know.”
“Why?”
“Because I didn’t want to see the disappointment on your faces.”
“You think we weren’t disappointed before you avoided us?” He leans back. “We raised you better than that, Danny. You screw up, you face it. You don’t hide.”
“I wasn’t hiding. I was dealing with it.”
“By yourself. Without your family. That’s hiding.” He’s quiet for a moment. “So. You going to tell us what’s really going on? Or are we going to keep pretending everything’s fine?”
I take a breath. “I was seeing someone. The team’s PR director. Coach’s son.”
Dad nods, but he doesn’t interrupt.
“We kept it secret. For obvious reasons. Then it came out. There were videos everywhere. I got suspended. He lost his job. And now it’s over.”
“Over because the relationship couldn’t survive the scrutiny? Or over because one of you gave up?”
Ouch. That stings.
“He gave up. He released a statement saying we were done before he even told me.”
“And you? Did you fight for it?”
“I tried. I gave an interview to set the record straight. The journalist twisted everything and made it worse. It got Noah fired.”
“So you made it worse trying to fix it.”
“Yeah.”
“And now you’re here.”
“Yeah.”
The front door opens. My brother Cody walks in carrying takeout bags. He stops when he sees me.
“Holy shit. Danny?”
“Hey, Cody.”
My younger brother drops the bags on the entry table and crosses the room in three strides, pulling me into a hug that’s almost as tight as Mom’s.
“Dude. Where the hell have you been?”
“Around.”
“Around.” Cody pulls back and looks at me. “You know the whole world’s been talking about you, right? Videos, suspension, the relationship with—wait.” He glances at Dad. “You told them?”
“Just started to.”
“Shit. Okay.” Cody sits on the arm of the couch. “So. Coach’s son. That’s wild.”
“It was complicated.”
“I bet.” Cody’s always been the easy one. The one who rolls with things. He built his own business in San Francisco designing apps and never needed hockey or our parents’ approval the way I did. “You love him?”
“What?”
“Simple question. Do you love him?”
I hesitate. Then I nod. “Yeah.”
“Then why are you here instead of fighting for him?”
“Because he doesn’t want me. He blocked my number. He won’t talk to me.”
“So you tried once and gave up?”
“I tried multiple times—”
“And then gave up.” Cody shakes his head. “That’s not the Danny I know. The Danny I know doesn’t back down. The Danny who beat the shit out of Jason Martin in eighth grade because he kept stealing my lunch money—that Danny doesn’t quit.”
The memory hits me. Jason Martin. Bigger than me, meaner, had been tormenting Cody for weeks. I finally snapped, punched him in the cafeteria, and got suspended for three days.
Dad had been furious. Then proud. Then furious again.
“That was different,” I say.
“How?” Dad asks.
“Because Cody needed me. Noah doesn’t. He made his choice.”
“Did he? Or did he make the choice he thought he had to make because everything was falling apart and he was scared?”
I don’t answer.
Mom comes back with a sandwich and hands it to me. “Eat.”
I eat. They watch.
“You want my opinion?” Dad asks.
“Do I have a choice?”
“No.” He leans forward. “You screwed up. Talking to that journalist was stupid. You should have known better. But the guy you were with? He screwed up too. Ending it without talking to you first. That’s not right.”
I let out a sigh. “He was trying to protect everyone—”
“He was trying to control the situation. There’s a difference.” Dad’s voice is firm. “But here’s the thing. You both made mistakes. The question is whether those mistakes are bigger than what you have together.”
“I don’t know if we have anything together anymore.”
“Then find out. Stop sitting around feeling sorry for yourself and find out.”
“He won’t talk to me.”
“Then make him talk to you. Show up. Be persistent. Make him see you’re not giving up.
” Dad stands. “You’ve been avoiding this family for months because you were ashamed.
But we’re still here. We still love you.
Maybe he’s the same way. Maybe he’s just scared and hurting and doesn’t know how to reach out. ”
“Or maybe he really is done.”
“Maybe. But you won’t know unless you try.” He pats my shoulder. “And if he is done? Then you move on. But at least you’ll know you fought for it.”
My phone rings. Tate.
I answer. “Yeah?”
“Where are you?”
“My parents’ place. Why?”
“There’s a youth clinic at Play It Forward on Thursday. Sam Hartley reached out to Carter. He asked if you’d come help out. I guess he figured you could use something to do besides sit around being miserable.”
“I’m suspended.”
“It’s not a team event. It’s community outreach. You’re allowed to do that.” Tate pauses. “Plus it’d be good for your image. Show people you’re still committed to the community work even without the mandate.”
I glance at my family. They’re all watching me.
“Yeah. Okay. I’ll be there.”
“Good. Thursday at two.”
He hangs up.
“What was that?” Cody asks.
“It was Tate letting me know about a youth hockey clinic on Thursday.”
“You going?”
“Yeah. I think so.”
“Good.” Dad nods. “Do something productive. Stop wallowing.”
I finish the sandwich and stay for another hour. We talk about Cody’s business, Mom’s garden, Dad’s golf game…normal things that have nothing to do with suspensions or scandals or broken relationships.
When I leave, Mom hugs me again.
“Come back soon,” she says. “Don’t make it months again.”
“I won’t.”
“And Danny?” She looks up at me. “Whatever happens with this boy, you’re going to be okay. You hear me?”
“I hear you.”
I drive back to Oakland feeling slightly less like I’m drowning.
My family’s right. I’ve been wallowing. Avoiding. Waiting for Noah to reach out instead of fighting for what we had.
Maybe Thursday’s clinic is a sign. A chance to do something productive and good. To remember who I am outside of this mess.
Or maybe it’s just a distraction.
Either way, it’s better than sitting in my apartment watching my team lose without me.