Chapter 11
CHAPTER ELEVEN
JONAH
I’d lost all concept of time when Tucker roused everyone from their pregame naps. We had an hour for carb loading and warm-ups, which technically was enough time for me to find Micah, but I was in no mood.
Tucker did stop me on the way out though, yanking me to the side. He tried not to do this too often. The last thing he wanted was to be accused of favoritism so early on in his career. But neither one of us could hide the fact that we’d been friends forever.
“So, I shot Micah a text earlier today and asked if he wanted to meet up, and he told me to fuck off. But, like, in a mean way.”
I bowed my head and sighed. “Yeah, Caleb called me on the way to the arena and said that Micah’s been weird. He asked me to go talk to him, but I don’t think I can.” I scrubbed my free hand down my face. “There’s too much going on. I know that makes me a monster, but—”
Tucker cupped my face. “Hey. No. Do not start beating yourself up. I get why Micah and Caleb took a step back. But you’re doing this alone right now, so you don’t get to let them make you feel bad because you can’t shoulder any of their shit.”
I let out a shaking breath. I hadn’t realized how badly I needed to hear that. “You think?”
Tucker sighed and knocked our heads together.
“Jonah, you are always the person they come to when things get bad. You have pulled Micah out of every terrible situation he’s gotten himself into.
You’ve been there every time Caleb and his girlfriend have split up.
You’ve solved every home repair problem, answered every goddamn tax question, even though you suck with numbers, and I’m not even sure they know how to change a lightbulb without you. ”
I grinned. “Technically, they never change lightbulbs.”
He groaned. “You know what the fuck I mean, Jonah. So just breathe and let yourself have a moment. Micah will survive. Caleb will survive. I’m more worried about you right now.”
Easing back, I squared my shoulders and squeezed my cane tightly. “I’m fine.”
Tucker made a disbelieving noise but didn’t argue. Instead, he called, “Tiago! Get your goalie’s ass inside and get him some carbs.”
Tiago was beside me a moment later, his familiar arm under my hand. “What do you want to eat tonight?”
My stomach twisted again. “Nothing.” He grunted. “Fine. Whatever. A smoothie.”
“Not good enough,” he said as he led the way toward the guest entrance.
It probably wasn’t. I hadn’t eaten much in days. But for now, if I didn’t want to vomit inside the crease, it was the best anyone was gonna get from me.
I’d been half expecting Micah to find me before the game, but he didn’t. Matty and I did stretches together after I choked down half a protein drink, and I listened to him talk about his recent trip to the guide dog center.
“…and it was nice and all, but the smell was…kind of a lot? Like. They don’t tell you how intense the dogs stink after a long walk.”
I pulled a face as I lifted my hips and rocked them toward the ceiling. “Yep. It’s one of like ten thousand reasons Micah and I never bothered.”
“My mom finally stopped freaking out about my eyes, but now she’s hyperfixated on me getting a dog,” Matty said softly.
“I’m allergic. I don’t want to be popping Benadryl like they’re Tic Tacs and unable to function on the ice.
And like…I don’t know if this is normal or not, but smells and sounds are somehow worse for me right now. ”
“I mean, I can’t speak to that because I was born blind, but the smell of dog—especially wet dog—is so fucking overwhelming I want to die,” I told him.
“Plus, I am the laziest fuck on the planet, and the dogs need to be walked and played with and like…you gotta take them outside to piss and shit. It’s just not for me, you know? ”
Matty sighed. “That makes me feel better. She was starting to make me feel like I was a freak because I didn’t want to. Like it’s the only way to safely live blind.”
“I mean.” I rolled over onto my hands and knees and spread my legs, rocking my hips toward the ground.
I rarely thought of sex when I was doing this, though I knew what the thirsty people online always said when players posted warm-up videos. But right now, I was thinking of someone specifically, and thank god for my cup, otherwise I would have a problem.
I shook Alexio out of my head as quickly as I could manage and cleared my throat. “Some people do get around better with a dog. And some don’t. You’re not doing the blind thing wrong if it isn’t for you.”
Matty burst into laughter. “Shit. That’s funny. But it’s true! My mom keeps expecting me to be like all those random YouTube videos of how to be blind. I think she thought the ability for me to read braille was going to manifest, like some gift from the universe because I lost my sight.”
I snorted and sat up on my knees, twisting left and right.
My back cracked, and I let out a groan of relief.
Fuck, I was way too tense. “I hate braille, dude. I think I would have thrown myself into the sun if I’d been born before all this sweet audio tech.
But give your mom time to adjust. And maybe… I don’t know…get some space?”
“Was yours this bad?”
My guts twisted again, and the protein shake threatened to come back up. I breathed through it. “My mom was…different. But we don’t talk.” I clapped my hands together. “Anyway, let’s get our heads in the game.”
“That’s what the fuck I’m talking about, boys!
” Tiago called from a few feet away. “I don’t want to hear shit tonight about how Salem’s an easy win.
They’re going to make it difficult for us.
Jonah’s little gremlin brother is going to make it hard to get that puck in the net.
So I want you focused. I want every ounce of your attention on the plays. I want to bring home a fucking win!”
“Fuck yeah, Cap!”
“Let’s fucking do this.”
“Let’s fucking goooo!”
We won, but barely. We were three minutes from OT when Tiago finally got a decent shot on goal and sent it past Micah’s pads. He was defending angry tonight, from what I could tell. But so was I. I swore I could feel his pissed-off energy cascading across the ice at me, but Tucker was right.
I had been an emotional dumping ground and a problem solver for years. Since the three of us stopped talking to Mom. And usually, it was fine. Even when I was stressed, I could take on their emotional burdens.
I wanted to ask what was wrong with Micah—what he had going on—but I didn’t have the space for it. So instead of seeking him out after the game, I turned down Tiago’s offer to eat a protein bar and shuffled onto the bus to knock out in my seat.
Which was a great plan. It was a fucking fantastic plan.
Except my phone buzzed just as we were heading out onto the road, and of course, it was Alexio.
I wanted desperately to ignore it, but he was helping to take care of my dad, and this was not a time I could ignore him.
“Yeah?” I said when I answered through my earbuds.
He sighed, and I could hear his irritation. “Not happy to hear from me?”
“What do you want? Is my dad okay?”
“Better than you, I’m hearing.”
I sat halfway up, my brows furrowed. “What the fuck does that mean? We won our game, dickhead. A shutout, if you must know.”
“Against Salem,” he said with a scoff. “I’ve seen their stats. That should have been an easier win.”
“My brother is a goddamn beast in the net,” I murmured, curling into myself. It felt like such an automatic response these days—like it was media trained into me to defend Micah’s position in that shitty-ass team. “And the Fury is rebuilding.”
“From what?” Alexio asked with a laugh.
I rubbed my temple and decided not to answer him. “Did you call to piss me off, or…”
“You need to eat something. And sleep. And take care of yourself if you don’t want to get traded to an even worse team because you let yourself fall apart.”
“You my fuckin’ mom now?” I demanded.
He made an irritated noise. “No. Because I’m here with your dad and not prancing around the English countryside.”
Rage raced through me, along with something else, and it took me a moment to feel what it really was: shame. I was ashamed. My mother had given me nothing but childhood trauma, and yet I felt embarrassed like I was the one who had left.
“Fuck you,” I hissed at him.
He snorted. “If I was there right now, I would fuck you. I’d fuck you to sleep, then wake you up, fuck you starving, feed you a dozen eggs and four bagels, then fuck you back to sleep again.”
I only just manage to bite back a groan. “What is wrong with you?”
“Nothing is wrong with me, but I can tell something’s wrong with you.” He was quiet for a long second. “Where are you right now?”
“The bus,” I grunted. I rolled over a little in the uncomfortable stretch of seats.
“Alone?”
“No, jackass. We’re on our way to New York.” I pitched my voice as low as I could, which probably wasn’t low enough for a bus full of blind dudes who had trained their hearing to be able to hear a puck sliding across a rink full of ice in a crowd full of screaming fans.
He sighed, then said, “It has a bathroom though, right?”
I frowned. “Uh. You wanna hear me take a shit?”
“Not my kink. But I do want to hear you go into the bathroom, pull your dick out, and jerk yourself off.”
“What?” Shit. That was too loud. I swallowed. “You’re out of your damn mind.”
“Mm, I’m not. Come on. Be a good boy, get up, and walk to the back of the bus.”
“Eat my ass,” I said, but dear god, my feet were already dropping to the floor. I was already standing up.
I kept one hand on the phone, the other counting the seats as I made my way back, then tested the door handle. Be locked. Be locked. Be locked.
It wasn’t.
It opened with a loud creak and slammed behind me.
“Mm. Good. Do you have FaceTime on your phone?”
“Uh…why?”
“Because I want to watch,” he said, like that should have been obvious. “You know how to work that?”
“Dude, do you think I’m a boomer?”