Chapter 12
CHAPTER 12
H unter was relentless. The second he finished cleaning up the ice, he turned on some music and demanded that I began sprints with him. I was a fast skater. The first few suicides I beat him to the finish. By our tenth, I felt like puking all over the ice. I leaned against the boards, gasping as I tried to regulate my breathing.
Hunter didn’t even look winded—the prick. He took a drink from his water bottle and looked at me with a smirk. “Out of shape?”
“Fuck. Off.” I puffed the words out in between large gulps of air. Yes, I was out of shape. Warming up before the kids practice and helping the kids was nothing. Pushing to do a workout made me feel like I was dying.
“Come on, let’s call it a night. I feel bad for you.” Hunter opened the door in the boards and exited. He situated himself on the bench and unlaced his skates. I hesitated for a moment. Ripping off my skates and soaking my feet in hot water sounded amazing, but I couldn’t ignore that something felt right on this ice.
I turned my back on Hunter and skated slowly toward the rink's center. Above me, a banner proclaimed BU won a title yearly since 1990. This ice raised me. The first skating lesson I ever had was here. I did my homework in the stands, played with Barbies behind the bench, and lost my first tooth after being checked in a peewee game. I could look at every corner of this rink and find a memory attached to it. Even the smell—shaved ice with a hint of sweaty pads—brought me back to a specific place in time.
Looking towards the home team tunnel, I could see my dad there. He’d be in his game day best, a signature striped BU tie neatly around his neck and his lucky clipboard in hand, fist-bumping every player exiting the tunnel. It was a tradition of his a camaraderie amongst his players that he prided himself on.
I thought coming back here would make the gaping wound in my chest bigger. However, it did the opposite. This was the closest I felt to my dad since the night of the accident. Closing my eyes, I imagined his voice.
“ Pick up your feet Maci, quick feet, to your left, flick your wrist—atta girl! ”
“ You need to use your defensemen more. They’ll protect you. ”
“For the love of God, Maci, keep that mouth guard in your mouth. Your teeth cost me thousands of dollars.”
I smiled at the memories. This place was home. I understood why Jackson clung to hockey so hard after Dad died. I thought he was using it as a coping mechanism, but now I see the truth. It’s the one place where Dad is still alive.
I skated off, feeling lighter than I had felt in the last six months. Hunter had already changed out of his skates and waited, watching me. He kept quiet, which I appreciated. After switching into street shoes, he took me home.
Conversation didn’t pass between us on the ride home and I was happy to be back in my place for the evening. Standing in my bedroom, the haunting self-portrait stared back at me. Somehow, it looked different from the first night I created it. I turned my head to the side, slowly evaluating it .
I am fractured. But just like the painting, maybe there is hope for me too. I moved to open my laptop and check through my emails and homework. Sitting at the top of my inbox is an e-mail from the one person I have been avoiding—Coach Karr from Team USA. I contemplated opening it. At some point, they would notify me that their roster was full. Indecision wracked through me. Did I want this to be the final notification? Or did I want her to be asking me to reconsider her offer? Holding my breath, I clicked open.
Dear Ms. Rae,
I have attempted to reach you via email, mail, and phone. I normally do not go to such lengths to approach athletes about this opportunity. In light of recent events, I understand the need for a bereavement period. However, I have heard through the grapevine that you are no longer a Bloomington University women’s hockey team member. I am going to assume this is a voluntary leave of absence. You must decide on your eligibility to represent the United States at the upcoming Winter Games. This is not something that I will hold open for you forever. I sympathize with your loss, but please do not let it define you and your future career. I have seen you skate. I know if I can have my assistants see it too, you will be a shoo-in for our center.
Please reach out to me ASAP. I must set up a recruitment trip to watch you play in a game. I am hoping your absence from BU Hockey is voluntary.
Best wishes,
Karen Karr
My breathing came in shallow waves. Well, she still wanted me. Did I want to do it? More importantly—could I physically still do it? I was dying after those sprints today. There was no way I was getting my spot back on the team, either. How would she watch me play in a game if I wasn’t a part of the team? There was no way this would work. I was a fool for even entertaining it. Hockey was over for me, the sooner I get over that, the sooner I can move on from it.
I slammed my laptop shut, not making a decision immediately. A knock at my door forced me to get up and move away from the computer. I hoped it would be Kennedy, hopefully with wine. I could use a good girls’ wine night. I opened my door and furrowed my brow in confusion. A box was left on my doormat. It didn’t look like a package from something I ordered, and it didn’t have the signature white and blue packaging from Amazon. Curiosity coursed through my veins. Who would leave a box on my doorstep?
I picked it up tentatively, the weight of it surprising me. Moving back into my apartment I kicked the door closed behind me. There wasn’t a return address, just my name sprawled across the top in a nondescript magic marker. I set it down on my counter and opened it up.
Instantly something cold and wet hit me in the face, forcing my eyes closed. In quick succession, something else hurled out of the box at my face. The small debris of whatever it was fell around me and settled in my hair and shoulders. I wiped at my eyes, carefully opening them to see red paint and glitter everywhere. Someone rigged the box with a contraption that exploded when triggered. Inside sat a model car, the front end smashed to pieces, and the word “murderer” in red, dripping paint across the bottom of the box.
I stepped back, my hands shaking in horror. Adrenaline coursed through my veins, making my heart pound. My pulse thumped in my ears as my breathing became shallow. Lack of air caused me to become lightheaded. I staggered, my hips crashing into the countertop. That would bruise later.
Who the hell would do something like this? Nothing had ever escalated to this level before. I felt violated and afraid. Do I call Jackson? No, I doubted that he’d answer. A prank shouldn’t bother me so badly, but it didn’t sit well. This violated my privacy. Very few people knew the intimate details of my accident. The model car was the same make and color as Dad’s. It was eerie. Suddenly, I was hyperventilating. My hands shook and cold tendrils of fear creeped up my spine, leaving goosebumps in their wake.
I blindly reached for the phone in my back pocket. My vision blurred and my eyes burned from the paint and glitter. Repeatedly I tried to click Hunter’s contact on screen. My numb fingers kept slipping, paint spreading across the screen. Why was I even calling him? My life was entertainment to him, someone to blackmail for shits and giggles. But a niggling feeling whispered to me he was safe, he could help. The phone rang, the dial tone echoing from the receiver.
Just as the phone reached the shell of my ear, his voice drawled out, smooth like caramel, “Miss me already, Sunshine?”
My mind moved a mile a minute, my worlds getting stuck on the tip of my tongue. My lips quivered, and a lump formed in my throat. This was stupid. Why would Hunter care if someone had pulled a pathetic prank on me? The phone slipped out of my hand and I didn’t bother to pick it back up. What was the point anymore? So what? I skated around a rink again. I made a few kids smile. It didn’t make up for the reason I was in this predicament. The person wasn’t wrong. I was a murderer. Do you know what they do to murderers?
They put them down.