Chapter 15 #2
“Sorry,” Carter says, but there’s something in his voice that suggests he’s not sorry at all. “Didn’t mean to interrupt.”
“You didn’t interrupt anything,” I say quickly. “We were just talking about tomorrow’s game plan.”
“Right. Game plan.” Carter walks over to the row of sinks, his curious gaze on us in the mirror. “Good to see you two working so well together.”
Zane clears his throat. “We should get back to the table.”
I don’t respond.
I stalk out of the bathroom, my heart pounding. That was close. Too close. And Carter’s not stupid. He knows something’s going on, even if he doesn’t know exactly what.
The rest of dinner passes without questions, but I know Carter’s watching. Not just me, either. He’s putting pieces together, and that’s dangerous.
Once we’re finished and head back to the hotel, I make a beeline for my room.
The guys hang by the bar and surprisingly, so does Zane.
I breathe a sigh of relief when I see him with the coaching staff because the last thing I need is another run-in.
I need to clear my head and finally get some sleep.
Back at the hotel, I try to ignore the fact that Zane’s sleeping twenty feet away with only a wall between us.
It doesn’t work.
I lie awake until three in the morning, staring at the ceiling.
“This is killing me.”
Because it’s killing me too. All of it.
Game day is worse.
Our morning skate goes smoothly, but the tension between me and Zane is thick enough to make me choke. I feel it every time Zane gives me an instruction. Every time he “accidentally” touches me when he adjusts my positioning.
The other guys notice. Not the specifics, but something.
“You and Christensen seem tight,” Masterson says as we’re getting dressed after practice.
“He’s my coach. We work together.”
“Yeah, but there’s working together and then there’s... working together.”
My head snaps up to meet his questioning look. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
He shrugs. “Nothing. Just seems like you two have good chemistry. You know, on the ice,” he says. “Because off the ice, it’s frigid as fuck. Which is actually kinda weird, but hey, it works.”
I grind my teeth together. I know he’s talking about dinner last night. The sun couldn’t melt the glacial looks he was shooting at me across the table.
Hours pass and we’re finally back at the arena. I’ve managed to avoid everyone by holing up in my room with my iPad, watching animal videos on YouTube. That shit always makes me laugh and relaxes me.
So much hangs over me right now. My career, Zane, my future.
And I don’t feel like I can talk to anyone about it.
My family is supportive, always has been.
But how do I explain any of this after all the years of lying?
That I’m gay and falling for a man who keeps pushing me away, making me question myself and why I’m not good enough?
That the one time I allowed myself to be real, he disappeared without a trace and now I’m struggling because he’s pulling the same shit again with no explanation?
I just can’t seem to figure out how to crawl far enough out of the black hole to save my livelihood…and my fucking sanity.
So yeah, the animal videos were cute. But so goddamn temporary because the second I walked out of my room, the tension assaulted my mind and body all over again.
After suiting up, I head out toward the tunnel when Zane rounds a corner and stops short in front of me. My back stiffens as the scent of his cologne wafts under my nose, making my knees shake and my mind remember.
“You okay?” Zane asks in a low voice.
It’s the first thing he’s said directly to me all day that wasn’t about hockey.
“Fine.”
“You seem distracted.”
“I’m focused.”
“Are you?”
I narrow my eyes at him. “Are you seriously asking me that? After spending the last two days pretending you don’t know me?”
“I do know you. That’s the problem.”
“No, the problem is that you want me but you’re too much of a pussy to do anything about it. So just fuck off. I’ll be fine. Again.”
I push past him.
But I’m not fine. Not even close.
I take my position on the ice, forcing myself to keep my eyes away from Zane. The guys are pumped and we start out strong against Seattle. They’re slow, not matching our pace at all. I make a few routine saves. They’re nothing spectacular but solid enough.
The fear loosens its grip on me, and I breathe out a sigh of relief that Seattle’s not gonna be too much of a challenge.
I guard the net, watching my team cut across the ice, taking shot after shot. Then, midway through the first period, it happens.
Seattle’s forward comes down the left wing and takes a simple shot from a bad angle. It’s the kind of save I’ve made thousands of times.
Except I’m not watching the puck. My gaze catches on Zane behind the bench, remembering the way he looked at me in the bathroom last night.
The puck slides between my legs and into the net like I’m not even there.
Silence falls over the crowd for a hot second before the spectators erupt into deafening cheers. Seattle rushes the ice, and I stand in the net, stunned.
“What the fuck?” I mutter.
“Shake it off,” Masterson says, skating past me. “It was a bad bounce.”
But it wasn’t a bad bounce. It was me. A goalie who’s more concerned with his personal life than doing his job.
Things get worse from there.
Their second goal comes about ten minutes later. Another easy shot, one I should have had blindfolded. This time I see Zane stand up behind the bench and run a hand through his hair as he looks at Coach Enver, whose face is bright red.
By the end of the second period, we’re down three to nothing and Coach Enver is looking at me like he’s gonna take me out.
My pulse spikes, my eyes falling on Liam Parker, who’s ready on the bench.
Enver catches me boards when the guys leave the ice for intermission. “What the hell is going on out there?”
I pull off my helmet. “Nothing. I guess I’m just having trouble reading the shots.”
“Reading the shots? Barnes, these are shots my grandmother could stop.”
He’s not wrong. But I can’t tell him that I’m falling apart because I’m in love with my goalie coach and it’s destroying my ability to focus.
The third period is more of the same. Seattle scores twice more, and by the time Enver finally pulls me for Parker, we’re down five to one and the game is pretty much over.
I sit on the bench for the rest of the third period, watching Parker play the position I should be playing. He blocks every shot Seattle takes, looking like the seasoned pro I used to be.
My head falls into my hands. I finally hit rock bottom. Getting pulled from a game we should have won easily, letting my team down, proving to everyone that maybe I really am as broken as they think.
The press surrounds the entrance to the locker room, circling like vultures until I appear. And they want answers…answers I can’t give them.
“Tate, can you walk us through what went wrong tonight?”
My jaw tenses. “Just one of those games. Sometimes the puck doesn’t bounce your way.”
“This is your second poor performance in the last month. Are you concerned about your consistency?”
I glare at the guy who asks the question. “Every goalie goes through rough patches. I’ll bounce back,” I say, trying to push past the people huddled by the doorway. But a petite woman with sharp eyes positions herself directly in my path.
“There are rumors that management is concerned about your play. Any comment?”
I catch a glimpse of Zane standing behind the crowd of bloggers and reporters, and my stomach clenches. “My focus is on helping this team win games. That’s all I’m thinking about,” I say, edging past her.
Back at the hotel, I avoid the team and head up to my room. I can’t even think of eating so I shower and put on YouTube. My phone buzzes constantly. I ignore the texts from my teammates, my parents, and Mark asking if I’m okay.
I just want to disappear, to forget this day ever happened.
My phone vibrates on the nightstand at eleven o’clock. Mark’s name flashes on the screen.
With a groan, I grab it and hit the Accept button. “Hey.”
“Jesus, Tate. I just watched the highlights. What the hell happened out there?”
“Bad game.”
“Bad game? You gave up five goals in three periods. That’s not a bad game, that’s a meltdown.”
“Thanks for the pep talk, bro.”
“I’m not trying to pile on. I’m worried about you. Mom and Dad are worried. We all are. And you keep ignoring our messages.”
“I’m fine. I just didn’t want to talk about it.”
“You’re not fine. You haven’t been fine for weeks. What’s going on?”
I want to tell him, to explain that I’m falling apart because I’m in love with someone I can’t have. But I can’t.
“Nothing’s going on.”
“Stop with the bullshit. Something happened that night at the restaurant. You wouldn’t talk to me then, and you’re not talking to me now.
I know you, Tate. And I know this isn’t hockey stuff.
This is personal stuff affecting your hockey.
There’s a difference. I just wish you could trust me enough to talk to me about it before things get too far out of control. ”
Before they get too out of control? Jesus, I’m already there.
“I gotta go,” I say.
“Don’t shut me out, Tate. Let me help you,” he says. “We can work through whatever it is, okay? You’re not alone.”
But I am.
“I’ll call you tomorrow.”
I hang up before he can say anything else then turn off my phone.
Lying alone in my hotel room, staring at the wall that separates me from Zane, I realize how completely fucked I am.
My career’s falling apart, my family’s worried, and the one person who might be able to help me is the same person who’s causing all my problems.
I’m twenty-six years old, and I feel like my life is about to come to a screeching stop.
There’s nowhere to turn. I can’t tell my teammates about Zane. I’m too embarrassed to tell my family. Can’t tell anyone about the reasons I’m falling apart.
I’m completely alone.