Chapter 13
Ben
The away game against Dartmouth was a bloodbath.
But in reality, it was a street fight on ice. Dartmouth played dirty, desperate to claw their way into playoff contention. Elbows were thrown. Sticks were high. The referees had lost control of the game by the second period.
By the time the final buzzer sounded, my body felt like it had been put through a wood chipper. My bad knee was throbbing with a dull, sickening heat. My ribs ached where a cross-check had caught me. My knuckles were split from a scrum in the crease.
I sat in the locker room, staring at the floor, too tired to even untie my skates. The adrenaline was crashing, leaving behind a hollow, grey exhaustion.
"Bus leaves in thirty," Coach yelled, clapping his hands. "Let's move, boys! Back to Burlington tonight!"
I closed my eyes. Four hours on a cramped team bus, listening to Jax snore and Tank recount his glory days? It sounded like torture.
I felt a vibration in my pocket.
I pulled out my phone.
Ivy: Where are you? I'm outside the arena. In the Jeep.
I stared at the screen.
Me: You drove to New Hampshire?
Ivy: Of course I did. I wasn't going to let you ride the bus with a swollen knee. I have ice packs. And snacks. Come find me.
A crack appeared in the grey exhaustion. A tiny sliver of light.
I stood up, ignoring the protest of my muscles. I showered quickly—cold water, thirty seconds—and dressed. I grabbed my bag.
"Coach," I said, stopping by the front of the bus as the team loaded up. "I'm catching a ride back. Family emergency."
Sully looked at me. He knew it was a lie. He probably knew exactly who my "family" was. But we had won, and I had played like a possessed man.
"Be at practice Monday, Sterling," he grunted. "Don't be late."
"Yes, sir."
I walked away from the bus, limping slightly into the dark parking lot. The air was frigid, biting at my wet hair.
I saw the Jeep parked under a streetlamp at the far end of the lot.
Ivy was sitting in the driver's seat.
I opened the passenger door and climbed in.
The heat was blasting. It smelled like vanilla and... pepperoni?
"Hey," she said softly.
She looked beautiful. Tired, yes—she had dark circles under her eyes—but beautiful. She was wearing my beanie again.
"Hey," I rasped.
"Pepperoni pizza," she explained, gesturing to the box on the dashboard. "And a cooler of ice in the back."
I leaned my head back against the seat and closed my eyes. "You're an angel."
"I'm a logistics expert," she corrected, putting the car in gear. "Sleep. I'll drive."
"It's four hours, Ivy."
"I have a playlist. And caffeine. Sleep."
I didn't argue. I was out before we hit the highway.
I woke up because the car had stopped moving.
I blinked, disoriented. The clock on the dashboard read 2:14 AM. Outside, it was pitch black. No streetlights. Just trees and snow.
"Where are we?" I mumbled, sitting up. My neck cracked.
"Vermont," Ivy said. "About an hour from campus. But... the roads are bad. Black ice. I almost slid off twice. I didn't want to risk it."
I looked out the window. We were parked in front of a small, roadside motel. The neon sign buzzed ominously: THE PINE TREE INN. The 'E' in Tree was flickering.
"A motel?" I asked.
"It was the only place open," she said, looking nervous. "Are you mad?"
"Mad that I'm not dead in a ditch? No." I rubbed my face. "Let's get a room."
We checked in. The night clerk was a teenager who was more interested in his phone than us. He didn't ask for ID. He just slid a key across the counter. Room 12.
The room was... rustic. Wood paneling that hadn't been updated since the seventies. A shag carpet that smelled of lemon cleaner and old cigarettes. A single queen bed with a floral bedspread.
But it was warm. And horizontal.
I dropped my bag on the floor and sat on the edge of the bed. I started to unlace my boots. My fingers were stiff.
"Let me," Ivy said.
She knelt in front of me. She unlaced my boots efficiently, pulling them off. Then she rolled up my jeans to check my knee.
It was swollen. Angry.
She hissed. "Ben."
"It's fine. Just fluid."
"It's not fine. You played on it for sixty minutes." She stood up and grabbed the ice pack from the cooler she’d brought in. She wrapped it in a towel and placed it gently on my knee.
Then she sat on the floor between my legs, leaning her back against the mattress.
We sat in silence for a while. The only sound was the hum of the heater and the distant rush of wind outside.
"Why do you do it?" she asked quietly.
"Do what?"
"Play like that. Like you want to die. I watched the stream on my phone. In the third period... you blocked a shot with your ribs. You didn't even flinch."
I looked at the back of her head. At the blonde strands escaping the beanie.
"It's my job," I said.
"It's more than a job," she countered. "It's... punishment. It looks like you're punishing yourself."
I looked away, staring at the wood paneling.
She was getting too close. She was peeling back layers I had glued shut years ago.
"Ben?" She turned around, resting her arms on my knees (avoiding the ice). She looked up at me. Her eyes were wide, searching. "Talk to me. We're in the middle of nowhere. Nobody can hear you. Just me."
I took a deep breath. It hitched in my chest.
"My mother left when I was six," I said. The words tumbled out before I could stop them.
Ivy went still. "I thought she died."
"That's the official story. 'Tragic illness.' Plays better for the polls. The grieving widower Senator." I let out a harsh laugh. "No. She left. Packed a bag while I was at school and just... vanished."
"Oh, Ben."
"My dad sat me down that night. I remember he was wearing a navy suit. He looked perfect. Not a hair out of place. He told me, 'Benjamin, people leave when they don't have a reason to stay. You have to give them a reason. You have to be worth staying for.'"
I looked at Ivy. I needed her to see it. The root of the rot.
"I was six. And I realized then... I wasn't enough. Just me? Just Ben? Not enough to keep my own mother."
Ivy’s hand came up to cover her mouth. Her eyes filled with tears.
"So I started earning it," I continued, my voice flat, detached. "I got straight A's. I learned to shake hands. I learned to smile on cue. And then I found hockey. And I realized... if I win, he looks at me. If I win, people cheer. If I'm the best, nobody leaves."
I looked down at my hands. The scarred knuckles. The tools of my trade.
"But it's never enough," I whispered. "No matter how much I win... he still tries to fix it. He still tries to buy it. Because deep down, he thinks I'm not good enough either. He thinks I'm just like her. Weak. Flighty."
"You're not weak," Ivy said fiercely. She stood up and climbed onto the bed, kneeling in front of me. She grabbed my face in her hands. "Ben, look at me. You are the strongest person I have ever met."
"I'm terrified," I admitted. "Every day. I'm terrified that if I stop moving... if I stop winning... everyone will realize I'm just a fraud. Just a kid in a suit trying to get his dad to love him."
"I love you," she said.
The words hung in the air.
She hadn't meant to say them out loud, I think. Her eyes widened slightly. But she didn't take them back.
"I love you," she repeated, firmer this time. "And not because you win. I don't care about hockey. I don't care about the NHL. I love you because you drove me to the clinic when I had the flu. Because you let me read my smutty books. Because you make me feel safe."
She leaned her forehead against mine.
"You are enough, Ben. Just you. Standing here in a cheap motel room with a swollen knee. You are enough."
Something inside me broke.
A dam that had been holding back twenty years of pressure finally cracked.
A sob tore out of my throat. It was ugly. Raw.
I buried my face in her neck and I cried.
I cried for the six-year-old boy in the navy suit. I cried for the mother I couldn't remember. I cried for the exhaustion, the pain, the constant, crushing weight of being Senator Sterling’s Son.
Ivy held me. She didn't shush me. She didn't try to fix it. She just wrapped her arms around my shoulders and held on tight, rocking me slightly.
"I've got you," she whispered into my hair. "Let it go. I've got you."
We stayed like that for a long time. until the tears stopped and I was just breathing, heavy and ragged, against her chest.
I pulled back. I felt drained. Empty. But lighter.
"Sorry," I rasped, wiping my face. "That was... not very Captain-like."
"Shut up," she said softly, wiping a tear from my cheek with her thumb. "It was human. And I happen to like humans."
She kissed me. It wasn't sexual. It was a seal. A promise.
"You don't have to carry it alone anymore," she said. "We're a team, remember? Black ops."
I huffed a weak laugh. "Black ops."
"Lie down," she ordered gently. "You need to sleep. Real sleep. Not that cat-nap thing you do."
I lay back on the pillows. She crawled in beside me, fully clothed, and curled into my side. She rested her head on my shoulder, her hand flat on my chest over my heart.
"Ben?"
"Yeah?"
"What if..." she hesitated. "What if you didn't go pro? What if you just... stopped?"
I stared at the ceiling. The flickering neon light from outside cast strange shadows on the plaster.
"I don't know," I admitted. "I've never thought about it. Hockey is all I have."
"It's not all you have," she corrected. "You have a brain. You're great at Kinesiology. You could be a trainer. A physical therapist. You could fix broken things instead of breaking them."
A trainer.
The image flashed in my mind. A quiet clinic. Helping people heal. Coming home to Ivy every night without bruises. No scouts. No cameras. No Dad.
It sounded... peaceful.
"Maybe," I whispered. "Maybe one day."
"One day," she agreed. "We'll get a house. With a big kitchen. And a dog. A golden retriever named Puck."
"No," I argued sleepily. "A Rottweiler. Named Butcher."
She giggled. "Compromise. A mutt. Named Stanley."
"Deal."
I closed my eyes.
For the first time in my life, I could see a future that didn't involve ice. And it was beautiful.
But as sleep pulled me under, the darker thoughts crept back in.
My dad wasn't going to let me walk away. And the scout... he had given me an ultimatum.
One more whisper of drama...
I tightened my arm around Ivy.
I had told her my deepest secret. I had given her the ammunition to destroy me.
And she had used it to build me a shelter.
I was in love with her. completely. Irrevocably.
And that meant I had to protect her. Even if it meant protecting her from myself.
The Next Morning
Sunlight streamed through the thin curtains, blindingly bright.
I woke up alone in the bed.
Panic spiked instantly. She left. She realized I'm broken and she left.
Then I heard the water running. The bathroom door was cracked open. Steam poured out.
"Ivy?"
"In here!"
She poked her head out. She was wrapped in a towel, her hair wet. She looked clean and fresh and excruciatingly beautiful.
"Morning, sunshine. How's the knee?"
I flexed it. It was stiff, but the swelling had gone down significantly.
"Better. Manageable."
"Good. Because we have to check out in twenty minutes. And I'm starving. I saw a pancake house down the road."
She walked into the room to grab her clothes.
I watched her. The domesticity of it hit me hard. This is what it could be like. Every day.
"Ivy," I said.
She stopped, looking at me. "Yeah?"
"Thank you. For last night. For listening."
She smiled softly. "Anytime, Butcher. Anytime."
She dropped the towel to get dressed.
I watched her pull on her underwear, her jeans, her sweater. Every movement was graceful.
I stood up and walked over to her. I wrapped my arms around her from behind, burying my face in her wet hair.
"I love you," I said.
I hadn't said it back last night. I needed to say it now. In the light. So she knew it wasn't just the darkness talking.
"I love you, Ivy St. James. More than hockey. More than winning."
She went still. Then she turned in my arms, her eyes shining.
"Say it again."
"I love you."
She kissed me. It was fierce and happy and tasted like toothpaste.
"I love you too," she whispered against my lips. "Now put some pants on. Before we get charged for an extra hour."
I laughed.
We packed up and left the motel. The drive back to Burlington was light. We sang along to the radio. We held hands.
We were happy.
But as we crossed the city limits, driving past the sign that said WELCOME TO BURLINGTON, my phone buzzed.
I glanced at it.
Text from Dad: I heard about the game. Good work. I've arranged a dinner with Mr. Davids tonight. 7 PM. The Steakhouse. Be there. Alone.
The bubble burst.
The real world rushed back in.
I looked at Ivy, singing along to Taylor Swift, oblivious.
I put the phone face down.
I would deal with it tonight. For now... I just wanted to hold her hand for a few more miles.