Chapter 9 #3
I caught Bryce’s eye and waited for the impending “I told you so,” but he just shook his head and skated past me.
I should have just gone to bed that night.
Enacting my revenge on Grace was supposed to make me feel better.
But the satisfaction was short-lived. It was a lousy prank, a stupid reaction because I couldn’t deal with my emotions.
I hadn’t been in my right mind then, just as I hadn’t been a few moments ago when I’d laid eyes on Grace.
Dawson hadn’t joined us on the ice; he was speaking with Coach Riley. Her hands were braced on her hips in a way that didn’t bode well for him, though things seemed civil enough. After a moment, she looked out at the ice and pointed directly at me.
Shit. That couldn’t be good.
“Sebastian, pay attention!”
I slipped into the line for drills at the behest of our assistant coach.
It was nearly impossible to concentrate when I knew she was watching.
For the next twenty minutes, I worked through different skills, my mind shifting between the ice and the stands where Grace remained.
Every inch of my body felt impossibly hot, like I’d been doused with a form of liquid embarrassment that left blisters in its wake.
It wasn’t an emotion I was used to processing, which left me feeling completely out of my depth.
Thankfully, Coach didn’t pull me aside or lecture me in front of the team.
Instead, he rejoined practice and instructed us to ignore what was happening in the stands, as if that were possible.
A tense atmosphere settled over the rink.
No one seemed like they wanted to be the first person to speak, so everyone stayed quiet until we started to scrimmage.
Still, Coach never said a word to me. Every time I overshot a pass or missed a goal, I glanced over, ready to take an earful, only to be met with silence. He wouldn’t even look at me.
I was the first to the locker room after Dawson released us from practice.
I refused to look toward the female players.
Head down, I retreated to the showers, undressed, and settled beneath a blast of steaming hot water.
Despite spending over an hour on the ice, I still felt like I was coming apart at the seams.
Over and over again, all I could hear was the venom in Grace’s voice.
You don’t care about anyone but yourself, do you?
She’d meant every word; I’d seen the conviction in her eyes, and part of me agreed with her.
Deep down, I knew that Grace was right, but it was hard to see past my resentment.
The women deserved a better training facility.
All their anger was justified. But I needed to be selfish for the sake of my own future.
Nothing mattered more than making my father proud.
He’d given up his own dream of going pro to help raise me, and I was determined to get there for both of us.
My only hope of getting to the NHL was to ensure I had the perfect season, and with Grace around, that seemed impossible.
I stood under the water, hands braced against the tile wall as I tried to find my center. Never in my life had I felt more off-balance, less in control. Even after the injury, I knew what had to happen next. Everything was straightforward.
Until Grace.
Only when my skin began to wrinkle did I turn off the water and exit the showers, a towel wrapped around my waist. Everyone around me was moving and talking, but I felt like I couldn’t hear a thing.
The next few seconds seemed to proceed in slow motion.
I stopped in front of my locker, opened the latch, and watched in stunned horror as a flood of pink glitter rained down over my head, a bucket’s worth spilling out across the floor.
With my skin still damp from the shower, the particles clung to my body as if I’d bathed in glue. The locker room fell silent.
What. The. Hell.
Poking out beneath a mound of the egregiously bright glitter gathered at my feet was a small white note. Warmth rushed across my skin as I reached down and grasped the paper. There was a single question typed out in a bold font.
is it your problem yet?
There was no more anger left in me. Instead of a burning heat, I felt a dizzying sense of vertigo.
The humiliation set in, a tingling that swept up the back of my neck and across my face, made no better by the silence of the locker room.
I felt the overwhelming urge to flee when, out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Coach Dawson leaning against the wall.
He didn’t speak, and his expression was unreadable.
Slowly, he stood up straight and looked around the room.
“Nothing to see here, boys,” he said. “Just a little mess that Sebastian has to clean up.”
Another painful wave of embarrassment rushed over me as everyone packed up and trickled out of the room. Bryce and Kent hovered near the exit, but Coach looked at them and shook his head.
“This for Sebastian to deal with. I don’t want any anyone to help.”
As soon as they were gone, Coach confronted me with a look that could only be described as disappointment.
“You’re the leader of this team, Sebastian. You better start acting like it.”
>> <<
Grace
Mr. Castillo would like to speak with you, Grace.
I turned the words over in my head, wondering if Coach Riley knew just how terrified I was to see the athletic director.
The last time we spoke, he’d threatened to revoke my scholarship.
The man had quite literally tossed me out of the men’s fundraiser.
Even though Coach assured me it was nothing to worry about, insisting she’d be there for the entire discussion, I was still a nervous wreck when we met outside of his office at ten minutes to nine.
It had only been two days since we’d stormed the men’s practice in protest, and I had no doubt this meeting was related.
My heart dropped to my stomach when the door opened to reveal the man of the hour.
His eyes swept over me in a brief glance before he nodded for us to join him inside.
I hung back, letting Coach lead the way.
With a deep breath, I trailed after her, pulling my shoulders back to look more confident than I felt.
But what little confidence I had immediately evaporated upon entering the room.
Sebastian Evans and Coach Dawson were seated at a long conference table along the far wall.
There were still six open seats around the table.
Coach Dawson nodded in greeting while Sebastian pretended that I didn’t exist.
“Please take a seat and we can get started,” Mr. Castillo said.
I didn’t hesitate to sit down, opting for the chair furthest from Sebastian. When everyone was situated, the athletic director cleared his throat.
“I’m sure you all know why we’re here,” he said, placing his hands palm down across the top of the table. “This unpleasantness between the two of you—between the men’s and women’s hockey teams—needs to end.”
No one spoke.
“After further evaluation of the women’s facility, and taking into consideration the recent issues,” said Mr. Castillo, eyes hardening on Sebastian, “we’ve made the executive decision to move the women into DuLane Arena.
They will have access to the second rink except for Wednesdays, when the space is utilized for figure skating classes at the school. ”
Disbelief crashed over me like a stack of books. Am I hearing things, or did Castillo just say we’re moving to DuLane Arena? I turned toward Coach for confirmation, and she gave me a proud nod.
“And what about Wednesdays?” Sebastian’s words were sharp enough to cut the tension in the room.
“Your coaches aren’t keen on losing ice time. They’ve decided that a shared skills practice is the best solution.”
Combined practice with the men’s team? Once again, I looked at Coach Riley for confirmation. The situation wasn’t ideal; the last thing I wanted was to be forced into spending time with Sebastian. But putting up with him was better than not having access to a rink.
“You seriously expect us to share a rink?” Sebastian said.
“It’s decided,” Coach Dawson cut in, his tone leaving no room for argument.
Sebastian slumped back into his chair, slowly shaking his head. Several times he opened his mouth as if to say something. No words were spoken.
“Now,” Mr. Castillo said, looking back and forth between us, “I don’t want to hear about any further pranks. I don’t care how essential you are as players on the team. I will not hesitate to suspend you both if these issues persist.”
I tensed at his threat, fists clenching in my lap.
This moment should have felt better. Our efforts had finally forced the administration to make a change.
If anything, we were owed an apology from Sebastian and the university, not a scolding.
But I was willing to swallow my pride to ensure the the athletic director kept his word.
“Are there going to be any more problems?” he asked.
I shook my head immediately. “No, sir, no problems here.”
We turned our attention to Sebastian. He was still slouched in his chair, lips pressed into a thin line of irritation. Coach Dawson gave him a gentle elbow to the side, and he nodded begrudgingly.
“I’m glad this is settled. Moreover, I hope that this will be our last time discussing the issue,” Mr. Castillo said. “You may go.”
I tried to process the news as I followed Coach Riley out of the room. As soon as the door closed behind us, she and Coach Dawson stopped. I felt Sebastian at my back, heat radiating from his body.
“You two need to, oh, what’s the saying? ‘Kiss and make up’?” Coach Dawson said this with a serious face, as if the suggestion wasn’t completely absurd.
From behind me, Sebastian let out a choking sound.
Coach Riley registered the look of incredulity on my face and smothered her smile. “Maybe a better phrase is to ‘bury the hatchet,’” she suggested. “Moving forward, you’ll be seeing a lot of each other. We’d like to avoid any further conflict.”
I would have liked to bury a hatchet right into Sebastian’s smug face, but Riley was right. Endeavoring to be the bigger person between the two of us, I turned around and held out my hand in an offering of peace.
Sebastian looked down at me like I was offering him my dirty socks after a grueling practice on the ice, clear refusal to touch me written across his face. “The hatchet is buried. Scout’s honor.”
The words had barely left his lips before he pushed past us and retreated down the hallway. We watched him disappear through the exit, the door slamming shut behind him. The hatchet didn’t seem all that buried to me . . .
“I’ll have a talk with him,” Dawson assured Riley. Before he left, he looked at me. “He might be a cocky bastard, and he’s done some questionable things, but Sebastian’s had a difficult year. Try to give him a little grace. He’ll come around, I promise.”