Chapter 4
Grace
Someone had taken a sledgehammer to my head.
That someone was me, and that sledgehammer was five tequila shots downed in the span of twenty minutes.
With deep regret for my late-night decisions, I heaved myself up and into a sitting position and tried to piece together my memories of the evening.
After running into Sebastian at the hockey house, my planned two-drink cap had gone out the window.
It was all I could do to forget that smug expression he wore like a badge of honor.
Head pounding, I stumbled out of my bedroom and into the kitchen.
Pearson and Big D were passed out in the living room, the former on the sofa and the latter splayed out across the floor in front of the TV.
I was pleasantly surprised to find Lydia awake, nursing a cup of coffee.
She didn’t hesitate to grab another mug and fill it for me.
“Thank you,” I whispered, grabbing the creamer from the fridge.
“No need to whisper,” she said with a chuckle. “Those two can sleep through a tornado warning.”
I closed my eyes as the hot liquid warmed my stomach. After taking another long sip, I filled an empty glass with water and drained it in a single go.
“How are you feeling?” she asked, and I let out a low groan in answer. “I figured that might be the case. You probably should have stopped at the fourth shot.”
“I shouldn’t have had a single shot.” Letting loose every now and then was fun, but last night had been a desperate attempt to rid my mind of one frustratingly handsome hockey player.
“Do you remember everything?” she asked.
My cheeks heated under her teasing smile, and I nodded.
“Honestly, everything you said was spot-on. I agree wholeheartedly.”
Before I could reply, Caroline appeared at the edge of the kitchen wrapped in her fluffy pink robe. “You agree with what?” she asked.
“Grace’s drunken rant about the power of protest.”
The discussion had sprung from an unfortunate conversation with a guy named Landon, who ate up at least five minutes of my time bragging about the perks of DuLane Arena.
I’d been close to pouring my drink on him when Lydia rescued me.
After that, I spent the rest of the night scheming ways to right our ridiculously unfair training conditions.
Caroline poured herself a cup of coffee and hummed in agreement. “You did have some good ideas. Enough to convince those two to come back and make plans,” she said, gesturing to our still sleeping teammates.
Though the end of the night was a bit blurry, I distinctly remembered sitting around the coffee table with a whiteboard and several bags of chips. I could have sworn Caroline took notes as we shouted out different ideas.
“Gate-crashing the men’s fundraiser would be epic, but it could get you in big trouble,” said Caroline.
According to Pearson, the fundraiser took place at the Vincent Hotel every year.
She’d be attending with her boyfriend, who worked as the team’s student manager.
This year, they would be honoring the man who’d funded DuLane Arena.
He’d put millions of dollars into rebuilding the facility, one that only the male hockey players got access to.
It felt like the perfect opportunity to make a stand.
“If we expose the disparity of the training conditions between the men’s and women’s programs, it could bring about the change we need. There will be a lot of important people attending that gala,” I argued.
“If you sneak into a private event and disrupt it, it could get you into hot water with the university,” Caroline warned. “I want you to be sure you’re okay with taking this risk.”
If I were being honest with myself, I didn’t have much experience when it came to taking risks, at least not when it came to my future.
Following the rules was second nature to me.
But rules were meant to ensure a sense of rightness, and nothing about this situation was right, or fair.
What did it matter if I got to play hockey when our practice conditions made training miserable?
We deserved better, and so did all the women who would come after us.
This was something that I had the power to fix.
If there was any chance to make a change or start a conversation, I wanted to be part of it.
“I’m willing to do it,” I said confidently. “I just need help getting into the venue and documenting everything.”
The three of us turned to the living room, where Pearson was curled up on the sofa. All I had to do was convince her to let me in through the back door and record my announcement. I’d handle the rest. She’d already agreed last night, but I felt it was only fair to ask her when she was sober.
“If you’re willing the take that risk, then the rest of the team should be more than willing to help with what comes after.
We need to let the students know just how little DU cares about their national championship-winning women’s hockey team,” Lydia said, and I didn’t miss Caroline’s firm nod of agreement.
Thus far, she’d been the voice of reason warning me to be careful. But even I could see the fire in her eyes. Just like everyone else on the team, Caroline despised the hand we’d been dealt. It was time we were heard, no matter what it took or how many parties I needed to crash.
“What happens after the gala? I don’t think posting to my five hundred followers on Instagram is going to do much, especially since most of them don’t go to school here. How are we going to get people to see this?”
I could practically see a light turn on in Lydia’s head.
“I know the guy who runs the unofficial DUpdates TikTok—Austin. He’s a wannabe journalist and big social media guy.
Most students here follow him for random updates and school news.
Sometimes he even interviews students on campus.
Last year, one of his videos went viral.
He went around campus with a girl from the basketball team and recorded her challenging guys on campus to a shoot-off.
There were a lot of bruised egos that day.
I’m sure I can convince him to help spread the news. ”
“And we’ll have everyone from the team share the post. This could work,” Caroline said.
“It could help to hang posters around the school. My girlfriend does graphic design, and I’m sure she’d be up to creating some,” Lydia added.
I looked back and forth between the two of them as a seed of excitement planted itself within me. Things were actually coming together. “Are we really doing this?”
Caroline crossed her arms over her chest in a stance of defiance. “They can’t punish us for sharing the truth. Protesting the patriarchy is well within our rights as students and athletes.”
Hockey meant the world to me. It had taught me the power of commitment and the strength of patience, exposed me to new hardships, and helped shape the person I was now.
Without hockey, I wouldn’t have the confidence to fight for myself and the other girls on this team.
So really, there was no question of whether I wanted to go through with this.
The only thing I needed to ask myself was: How far was I willing to go?
>> <<
“Did you take away Gabby’s phone?”
A loud car horn sounded from the other end of the line; my dad was most likely on his way home from work. I’d told him time and time again not to answer the phone behind the wheel, but the man was stubborn and rarely listened to anyone.
“No, she has her phone. She’s been doing okay at school too.”
As relieved as I was to hear that she wasn’t getting into trouble, his words were confirmation that Gabby had been deliberately ignoring my texts.
“That’s good,” I said. “Maybe mention that I’d like to hear from her? She’s been slow to respond to my messages.” That was a nice way of putting it, seeing as she hadn’t responded to me in over a week.
“She has a lot on her plate with dance and school, so don’t distract her too much,” he told me.
Was my sister alive and breathing? That was all I needed to hear; it wasn’t like I was asking for a ten-page summary on how her week had gone “I’m not distracting her. I’d like to know she’s okay.”
“She is, I promise,” he assured me.
As usual, Dad kept things short and to the point.
He was bad at making small talk in person, and even worse over the phone.
To avoid the inevitable awkward pause, I said goodbye and ended the call.
My music kicked back on in an instant, blaring through my headphones like a banshee’s scream.
Pain sliced through my ears, bringing me to a sudden stop as I rushed to turn down the volume.
A steely force crashed into me from behind.
By some miracle, I managed to avoid kissing the cement as I was sent stumbling forward.
There was an apology at the tip of my tongue as I whirled around, but the notion shriveled up and died when I saw the person half responsible for our collision.
Of course, I thought, craning my neck back to take in the full image of him.
Sebastian looked as though he just walked off the set of a sports photoshoot.
He was dressed from head to toe in brand name activewear that outlined his lean muscles like it was hand tailored to his body.
His thick head of hair was perfectly windswept, stray pieces of the chocolate brown locks falling over his forehead.
Too bad the guy underneath all that brooding beauty is a sour little asshole.
My eyes narrowed on the hockey player towering over me and I took a hasty step back.
“Everyone on campus might part like the red sea when you walk by, but you don’t own the sidewalk. Other students use it too. It’s not polite to run people over,” I said.
If only I had a smoothie on hand; that would really give people something to stare at, though it seemed that we'd already gained an audience.
Several people had made a point of stopping mid-conversation to catch a glimpse of the famous Sebastian Evans—the quad was crawling with his adoring fans.
Good thing I was dressed to impress in my nicest pair of sweatpants.
“And be denied the opportunity to witness your distress at crossing paths with the school’s most talented athlete? Not a chance,” he said, his words lacking their usual malice and an unexpected tilt at the corner of his mouth.
In fact, if I didn’t know better, I’d say Sebastian was teasing me. Maybe even flirting? As soon as the thought crossed my mind, I dismissed it with a shake of my head. Sebastian being anything other than rude was deeply unsettling.
“You know what, never mind. Keep walking with your head down. Do it in that direction, say, for about ten minutes.” I pointed toward the path to our left where the pavement split, one branch of the sidewalk disappearing into the forest. East Point Lookout was a half mile up the trail, a spot I’d discovered within my first week at school.
It was a great location for romantic picnics, owing to the beautiful view of the lake, but it also happened to be perched on a thirty-foot cliff.
“You really dislike me enough to want me dead?” he asked in a falsely wounded tone, clutching at his heart for dramatic effect.
Warning bells blared in my head. Sebastian was definitely flirting with me.
“The only thing I wish is for you to leave me alone. And if you happened to fall off a cliff, I wouldn’t be heartbroken over it.”
“I’m not that bad, I swear. What can I do to make it up to you?” he asked with a glimmer of mischief in his eyes. “Come on, there has to be something.”
“If you can help me convince the administration to let us use the extra rink at DuLane, everything will be forgotten.” My words caused an immediate shift in the dynamic between us, leaving absolutely no room for Sebastian’s earlier playfulness.
“Why? You have your own facility.”
How quickly that humorous tone disappeared . . .
“Because ours is falling apart. It should be condemned.”
“Compared to DuLane, every facility looks bad. That doesn’t give you the right to encroach on our space.”
The sun flickered out as a cloud shifted overhead, casting shadows over the path where we stood. Tension hung thick in the air. I drew a deep breath before speaking, willing myself to remain calm.
“You wouldn’t say that if you had to practice at McKinley. The smell alone would be enough to turn you off. “Our record is as good as yours.” It was better, actually, but I didn’t think mentioning that would help the situation. “Imagine what we could do if we had decent training conditions.”
Sebastian crossed his arms over his chest and spoke in a low, firm voice. “My training is extremely important. I can’t give up time on the ice or in the gym to make room for another team. It’s the same for everyone else.”
A bitter smile formed on my lips. Sebastian didn’t want to help. He didn’t care about anyone but himself; that much had been apparent from the moment we met. I needed to remember that.
“Then don’t expect me to waste another fucking breath talking to you.”
I couldn’t wait to see his face when I took the stage at the gala. He had no idea what was coming.