Chapter 6
CHAPTER 6
M y breaths came in shallow waves as I stared at the empty ice rink. Students and townies packed the stadium to the gills. The game was against our rival, Hadley University. The entire student body was in attendance and I could feel the eyes on my skin like a bad lotion. I was going to kill Hunter and Jackson. My first game back in attendance, and it was one of the most sought after tickets.
I came a little early so I could grab myself a seat closer to the boards. If I was going to watch a game, I was going to be in a position I actually liked. Too high up and you couldn’t see puck movement as well, too close and you faced the same issue. But where I sat, midway up the first level, there was a perfect view of the ice and was close enough to see the boards move when hit.
Now, with the entire rink full, I wish I had chosen the furthest seat away from the ice. There were too many people, too many voices and whispers. My first appearance at the rink would get some attention, but I didn’t expect this much attention. I bristled while a group of girls openly gossiped about me .
“I can’t believe she’s here.”
“Unbelievable.”
“I wouldn’t be caught dead inside this rink again.”
“The wrong person died.”
Jackson didn’t know about the rumors. Nobody dared to say anything to his face and upset the golden boy. Despite my efforts to ignore them, the taunts haunted my dreams on repeat. I held my breath and counted to five, releasing it. The breathing exercise did little to calm my nerves. I could do this. They could not hurt me.
It’s just words .
I chanted the mantra over and over in my head. My fingers curled into fists and my nails cut into my palms, grounding me to the present.
The sound of someone flopping down next to me broke me from my trance. A girl huffing and puffing came into view on my left. She looked miserable in an oversized sweatshirt and black leggings, her cheeks stained pink as if she ran here. A messy bun of chocolate colored hair sat on the crown of her head. She pushed strands of it out of her face and situated herself in her seat. She set down two beers on the floor and her big brown eyes kept glancing around like she wasn’t sure she had lost something or not.
“This is bullshit,” she grumbled next to me, crossing her arms over her chest and sinking back into her seat. She looked like a toddler who was told to go to a timeout.
“Sorry,” I mumbled, assuming her anger came from having to sit next to me. It would be inevitable that someone would do something in retaliation, eventually. Sitting next to me was like being in the splash zone at the dolphin show at SeaWorld—sit at your own risk.
“Unless you’re my editor at the BU paper, you really shouldn’t be apologizing.” She looked at me in exasperation.
“You realize you’re sitting next to a social pariah, right?” I fumbled .
She rolled her eyes. “That’s also bullshit. I don’t care what a bunch of washed up puck chasers think.”
“Puck bunnies, you mean?” I raised an eyebrow and smiled.
“Yeah, those things.” She scrunched up her nose and let out another rush of air.
“Please tell me you can translate this stupid thing to me,” she waved her hands towards the ice. The teams skated on for warm-ups. I eyed Hunter as he moved in a swift arc around the second half of the ice. He warmed up by passing the puck from side to side of his stick, gliding towards the empty net. The goalie, Cooper, was off to the side, stretching.
I caught the girl staring at him, her mouth slightly gaping.
“Not a hockey fan?” I surmised.
She snorted, “Fuck no. I don’t do sports. I’m only here because the usual sports columnist fucked off to France for a semester.”
A genuine laugh bubbled up in my throat. The sound vibrated around us, lifting my soul. Laughter didn’t come easy nowadays, but she made it easy.
I stuck my hand out to her. “Maci Rae.”
She smiled and shook my hand. “Kennedy Kelly, please tell me you know this hockey bullshit.” She pleaded.
I smiled. “Yes, I know this hockey bullshit. I got you, girl.”
The arena lights dimmed, and BU’s intro song played. A highlight reel broadcasted on the screens around the arena. Hunter and Jackson starred in a majority of the shots. A proud smile tugged at my lips. Truly, Jackson is good, but what makes him great is his love of the sport. It adds an extra layer to his skill set. He isn’t on the ice to win. His motivation lies in the fact that, above all, he loves hockey and wants to play no matter what. I admire that about him.
The team skated in a circle around the ice, and the arena screamed for them. The players lined up for the anthem, and everyone stood in anticipation. I made eye contact with Hunter as the National Anthem belted out over the crowd. He smirked at me, his eyes somehow boring into my own across the ice.
“Who is that fine piece of male specimen?” Kennedy drawled, leaning in close.
“Fifty-two?” I questioned. She nodded in response.
“Hunter St. James,” I said on an exhale. We watched the puck drop and play began. Kennedy didn’t say anything else.
Hunter won the initial face off, passing it behind him to Jackson. The line moved as one down the ice towards the opposing team. The arena buzzed while the puck passed back and forth. A shot was made on the opposing goal and went wide. The goalie for Hadley University’s team quickly hit it away, with a defensemen sailing around the goal to hit the puck back to our side of the ice.
I forgot how mesmerizing hockey was. The feeling of the cool air on my cheeks and the rush of watching the players work in a coordinated effort brought me back to life before the accident. I anticipated every pass. Same with when someone was about to make a shot on goal or shuck it down to the other side. Kennedy stared at me like an alien every time I called a whistle before the refs did. I was back in my element, back where I belonged .
“I grew up in a hockey rink.” I shrugged my shoulders nonchalantly.
“You should be down there with them,” she said incredulously.
The laughter that exploded from my mouth was unavoidable. “Women can’t play with men, not even if I can skate circles around my brother.”
She groaned, “Please don’t tell me you’re related to the hottie in the goal?”
I shook my head vigorously as the lines changed. Hunter and Jackson skated off, throwing themselves over the boards to sit on the bench. The next group hit the ice, finishing the flawless exchange. I pointed at Jackson, who shook his wet hair and blasted water in his mouth from his water bottle.
“See number fifteen?” I asked.
Kennedy nodded. “Jesus Christ, what the hell is in the water with this team? They could all be GQ models.”
“Fifteen is my twin. Please do not refer to him as an underwear model or I will throw this popcorn up on you,” I said, shaking the tub I bought prior to the game.
Kennedy laughed at me, “Sorry girl, but I would climb your brother like a tree. He looks like a man that likes hand necklaces and throwing a girl around a little.”
I choked on the beer Kennedy had brought earlier. “Good fucking lord woman!” I screeched.
“So is that a no to the hand necklaces?” She smarted.
My laughter cut off abruptly when an ice cold liquid dropped on my head. I gasped loudly. The large fountain drink dripped down my face and soaked my clothes. The smell of cola permeated the air, and I peeled my hair from my face.
“What the fuck?!” Kennedy yelled at the girl behind me.
I turned slowly, making eye contact with a blonde, overly-tanned girl in a too-tight BU hockey hoodie. “Oopsie,” she said in a sickly sweet voice.
“I just figured you needed the reminder. Home-wreckers don’t get to be happy.” She flipped her hair off her shoulder and looked down at her nails.
“Oh hell no, do you even know what the word home-wrecker means?!” Kennedy looked like she was about to throw a punch. I pulled her back from the nameless puck bunny.
“She’s not worth it, Ken,” I deflated. I looked up at the ice to see Hunter staring at me. The horn sounded for the end of the second period. He remained on the ice, watching while the others headed down the tunnel to the locker room. His face was neutral, but his eyes held a dark fury that screamed his emotions. He’s pissed. I shrugged my shoulders in defeat.
“Ken, give me your phone. I’m going to shoot you my number, but I’m out of here.” Quickly, I texted myself from her phone and shoved my way through the crowds that were making their way to concessions and bathrooms.
She tried to argue with me to stay, or to at least let her come with me, but I refused. This was a mistake. I was now drenched, cold, and smelled like shitty soda. Halfway to the exit, a large gloved hand grabbed my elbow and pulled me down a side hall.
“What the—” I started, but Hunter’s piercing stare cut me off. His gray eyes glittered like new steel, and he towered over me in his gear. He had shuffled out in his pads and skates to grab me. My mouth opened and closed a few times before he shoved a hoodie in my hands.
“It’s cold out,” he grunted.
I gripped the fabric in my hands and looked up into his eyes. “I don’t want to ruin it. I’m drenched in soda.”
He shook his head. “I don’t care. Wash it and bring it back tonight if you’re so worried about it.” He walked away toward the locker rooms, not giving me a chance to refuse. I shook out the hoodie, noticing that it was his team sweater. The large stitched “St. Clair” stared back at me with his number. I was going to catch so much crap for this, but I couldn’t bring myself to care.
I shrugged the sweatshirt on and inhaled the smell of sandalwood and leather. The scent fit him perfectly and I relaxed into the soft fabric while I pulled the hood over my head. The smell was intoxicating, and I tried to tell myself I didn’t like it as I trekked home. It was a lie.
By the time I got home, I was chilled, but not frozen. Before showering, I took the time to fold and place the hoodie on my bed carefully. The idea of washing it and losing the sandalwood and leather aroma saddened me. Shaking my head, I headed to the bathroom. Hunter was being nice, for Jackson’s sake. The teasing and the invitations were all a guise to be the nice guy. He didn’t have any interest in me. The fact I was secretly hoping he did was stupid. Getting swept up in Hunter St. James would end in disappointment. Not to mention, my loneliness was deserved. He didn’t need my special brand of toxicity in his life. No one did.
After my shower, I flopped onto my couch. The game wouldn’t end for another hour and I contemplated attempting the stacks of homework in my room. Academics were no longer a priority in my life. There was no point. Dad would be so ashamed of who I have become.
The idea of his shame roused me from my position on the couch. I trudged to my room and pulled out the countless textbooks that lay ignored on my desk. For the next couple of hours, I muddled through assignments until my phone vibrated. Looking down, Hunter’s name displayed across the screen. I thought about declining the call, hesitating with my thumb over the decline button, but at the last second I picked up.
He didn’t wait for a greeting before gruffly stating. “What the hell happened?”
I sighed into the receiver. Nobody knew about the tormenting that’s been going on since my dad died. People talked, and gossip was gossip, but not long after the accident, people started escalating their behavior. Usually it was mild, being shoved in the quad or someone knocking my backpack down the stairs. There were times it went too far, and I had to replace a broken phone or a new paint set. Threats had been coming to my Instagram inbox for months. I deleted the app all together, although if I was feeling especially low, I’d download it and read through the messages. It always reminded me how people really felt.
“A girl spilled her drink on me. No big deal.” I downplayed the situation. If Hunter knew the truth, he would tell Jackson. The ultimate result being a brigade of hockey boys barreling down on me to defend my honor. No thank you, don’t need that in my life.
“Does this happen a lot?” His voice was tight, almost as if he was struggling to remain calm.
I shook my head even though he couldn’t see me. “No.” I lied. He wouldn’t get anything else from me. Hunter was silent for a moment. He didn’t push or argue with me on the subject. Suddenly, his mood shifted with his next question.
“Are you still coming tonight?”
I scrambled to think of an excuse on the fly. The last thing I wanted to do was to throw myself in with the wolves. The lure of free alcohol was promising. I ran out of tequila a few nights ago. Plus, I told Jackson I would come.
“Can I bring someone?” I thought of Kennedy.
“If that someone has tits, yes, a dick, no.” Hunter’s voice was like gravel. I had never seen this side of him before.
I chuckled, “I don’t think you have to worry about the guy-girl ratio at Hockey House.”
“I said no,” Hunter was firm.
“I met a girl at the game. She seemed cool. Don’t get your panties in a bunch,” I wrinkled my nose at my phone. Guys were too territorial about their personal spaces. The amount of girls that flocked to Hockey House was ridiculous. If I wanted to bring a guy with me, it shouldn’t matter. None of the other guys would even notice one less puck punny chasing their D.
Hunter’s voice visibly perked up. “Was it the girl I saw trying to maul the chick behind you?”
“How are you so observant of the stands when you’re supposed to be keeping your eyes on the puck?” I countered.
He chuckled, “I always see what you’re up to.”
What the hell did that mean? I wanted to ask but refrained. Hunter was messing with me, as usual.
“That may be true, but you should pay more attention to the ice. Maybe you wouldn’t have missed the breakaway after that bad wrist shot.” I was being coy, but I didn’t care. Hunter had no right to be butting into my business.
“Bring whoever you want tonight. Just make sure you come.” He ended the call before I could respond. I looked around my apartment while worrying my lip. Would there be a repeat of the game at Hockey House? Believe it or not, but sticky soda is a bitch to clean out of hair. I shampooed three times and then did a hair mask to make up for the amount of moisture I stripped out of my locks. Hunter was right about one thing. Jackson will be thrilled to see me. With my decision made, I picked up my phone and sent a quick text to Kennedy.
Maci:
Hey girl—sorry for not sticking around to decipher the rest of the game. Want to go to Hockey House tonight with me? Promise to let you throw a punch this time if someone dumps another drink on me.
I wasn’t sure if Kennedy was the party type, but if I had to go to Hockey House, I didn’t want to do it alone. It took a few minutes for her to reply, but she was on board. I ignored her comments about my ‘fine brother’ and she agreed to come pregame at my place at eight.