25. Ethan #2
Blinking the sleep from my eyes, I shift slightly, feeling the weight of exhaustion settle deep in my bones. Then my gaze lands on her.
Dylan is still sound asleep, her face turned toward me, the soft glow of dawn casting shadows over the bruises marring her skin. The darkening mark along her jaw. The scrape on her temple. The faint imprint of a boot print along her arm.
I’m not sure whether it’s the light of day or the passage of time, but her injuries look even worse this morning.
A fresh wave of fury rolls through me, raw and unrelenting.
How could anyone do this to her? My teeth grind, and I have to focus on my breathing, so I don’t march out of here to track down the sick fucks who did this.
If Griffin is right, that sick fuck is Kyle. Well, one of them.
I want to believe he wouldn’t go this far, but the truth is, I don’t know. Clearly, I don’t know anything anymore.
And for that, I can only blame myself.
Guilt gnaws at me.
Dylan stirs, her breathing hitching. My eyes snap to her face as her eyelids flutter. Then, slowly, those hazel eyes of hers blink open. They’re lighter in the morning sun, flecks of green and gold swirling in the amber.
I exhale, some of the tension in my chest easing. “Hey.”
She swallows, shifting slightly, wincing. “Hey.” Her voice is rough, barely above a whisper.
“How are you feeling?”
She blinks sluggishly, like she’s taking inventory. “Like I got jumped by three guys last night. ”
The corner of my mouth twitches despite myself. “Yeah. That’ll do it.”
She exhales slowly, wincing again as she tries to push herself up. I move on instinct, reaching out to help, but she stiffens. I freeze, withdrawing my hands.
“Sorry,” I murmur.
She shakes her head, avoiding my gaze. “It’s fine.”
A thick silence settles between us. I rub a hand over my jaw as I watch her from beneath my lashes, before finally speaking.
“Griffin and Jax admitted that Kyle, Fletcher, and Monroe have been going after you during practice.” Lifting my head, I meet her gaze, my chest tightening. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
Dylan looks away, staring at a spot on the blanket.
Her fingers twist the fabric, and I can practically see a dozen different responses forming and disintegrating on her tongue before she finally says in a tired voice, “NSU never wanted me on their team. It didn’t matter how hard I worked.
Whether I proved myself. I came with built-in tits and a vagina so I was automatically excommunicated, regardless of my abilities on the ice.
” She pauses, swallowing roughly, still not looking up from that spot on the blanket as she twists the fabric tighter between her fingers.
“Maybe it would have been different if Lucas wasn’t their captain.
” My nostrils flare. I get the sick sense I know where this is going.
“He encouraged their tormenting,” I fill in when it seems as though Dylan can’t quite get the words out.
She nods, and it seems as though it takes every ounce of strength she has left to lift her head to meet my gaze.
“He didn’t just encourage it. He instigated it.
He propagated the bullying.” Her lips twist. So much heartache and wistfulness shines from those hazel depths.
“I’ve never been able to trust my captain before.
” Her words land like a gut punch. “I’ve only ever had myself to rely on. And I know you’re not Lucas, but?— ”
“You’re not used to asking for help.”
She nods.
It shouldn’t cut as deep as it does, but her words slay me. It’s not just hearing that she doesn’t trust me. It’s knowing what she’s been through. What she had to put up with at the hands of that misogynistic piece of shit.
I might not have wanted Dylan on my team at the start of the year, but I would never ever have encouraged other team members to go after her. I would never have turned a blind eye?—
Except that’s what I did.
Not for the same fucked-up reasons as Lucas, but I still looked the other way. I might not have known what was going on, but what happened to Dylan—last night and in the weeks since Roster Day—are as much my fault as Reed’s, Fletcher’s, and Monroe’s.
It’s a fight to keep my expression blank, to not let her see how badly her words have affected me. How much I hate myself right now.
I inhale slowly before I speak. “I wish I could say I’m not him?—”
“You’re not,” she cuts me off, her hand lifting from the blanket.
It hovers over where mine rests on the edge of the bed before she tentatively lowers it.
The heat of her skin engulfs me as she gives my hand a squeeze.
“You’re nothing like him. I—I know that, but that doesn’t make it any easier for me to trust.”
I shake my head. “I had no idea they were going after you so hard.” Fury—at myself—vibrates through me.
“I’d seen the occasional hard hit, intervened when I caught an illegal move, but I didn’t know…
” I blow out a frustrated breath before lifting my gaze.
I’d been staring at the point where her skin rests against mine, lingering in the spark that innocent touch ignited, but no w I rake my eyes over her face, memorizing every scrape and bruise so I never forget.
Never forget the part I played in this.
My role in her getting hurt.
“You should never have had to deal with someone like Lucas Tremble,” I say fiercely.
“You’ve no idea how sorry I am that I’ve let you down.
That I failed you. That was never my intention.
” Cracks appear in my armor. I know she sees them because she squeezes my hand tighter.
I push on. “But I swear to you, Dylan, I’ll be better.
I’ll be the captain you need—that you deserve. I’ll be someone you can trust.”
Dylan doesn’t respond right away. Her eyes bounce over my face, taking me in, in much the same way I just did to her. As she does, I can see the war being waged inside her.
She wants to believe me. Wants to trust in what I’m saying, but the instinct to protect herself, to rely on no one but herself, is stronger. It’s written in the tightness of her jaw, the flicker of doubt in her hazel eyes.
And that’s on me.
I’ve done nothing to deserve her trust, nothing to prove I’m any different from Lucas or her old teammates. But I will.
I vow to earn her trust. To be worthy of it.
As much as she lets me see her hesitance, her vulnerability, her want to believe in me, I show her how determined I am to prove myself to her.
I’ve been telling her since the second she showed up in our locker room that she had to prove herself to me and the team. Well, now it’s my turn.
Turning my hand over, I slide my fingers between hers. This time, I squeeze her hand. A silent promise that she is no longer alone.
“Have they done anything else?” There’s a rawness, a grittiness to my voice as I hold my breath, hoping the answer is no .
Her hand goes stiff against mine, and for a moment I think she’s going to shrug me off, but then she sighs.
“Small things,” she mutters. “Most of it is on the ice, but they pull other shit too. Stealing my tape at practice. More than once, a piece of my gear has gone missing, only to turn up in the laundry bin or some other hiding place.”
“What about outside of practice?” I inquire, sensing there is more.
She huffs a breath. It’s clear she doesn’t want to be talking about this, sharing it with me, but I’m thankful that she’s opening up to me—finally.
“They shoulder-check me when passing by between classes.” She shrugs, acting as though it’s no big deal, but I can see how much all of it has been weighing on her.
One little thing might not get to her, but when you add each little insult together, it stacks up to be overwhelming.
“Or block my way past altogether if we’re in a corridor or on the stairs. ”
I nod absently. Everything they are doing is petty, but annoying. Small enough that unless you were looking for it, you probably wouldn’t notice.
“It’s nothing like how it was at NSU.” She gives another infuriating shrug, like it’s nothing. I don’t give a shit if it’s not as bad as how it was at NSU, it’s still happening under my nose, when it fucking shouldn’t be.
Gritting my teeth, I force myself to calm down.
“Griffin knows, doesn’t he?” I already know he does. It explains the unicorn tape that Kyle’s normal one was switched out for. The glitter bomb in his locker. The other shit he’s been grousing about. Not to mention his public shaming in the cafeteria.
Dylan hesitates before giving a jerky nod.
“Do you think they were the ones to attack you last night?” I ask carefully, watching her closely for any reaction .
Her face scrunches, something flashing across her face, there and gone before I can make heads or tails of it.
“I didn’t see their faces,” she admits. “And none of them spoke.” A deliberate act, I imagine…
because they knew Dylan would be able to identify them?
Lifting her gaze to mine, Dylan swallows.
I can see she doesn’t want to admit it out loud, but her eyes say it all anyway.
“I wasn’t mugged. They didn’t take anything.
It was a senseless act of violence.” Her free hand lifts to her chest as she presses her palm over her heart.
“I can’t prove it was them, but I know the truth in here.
There’s no one else it could have been.”
Fuck.
I exhale heavily, sagging back against my chair. “This shit stops now. If anything else happens to you, no matter how small or insignificant, you tell me.” I pierce her with a hard stare until she nods. “One of us will be with you at all times when you’re on campus.”
She scoffs at that. “I don’t need babysitters.”
I arch a brow, slowly lowering my gaze over her battered form. “Clearly, you do.”
She glowers at me, and something settles, seeing that fire back in her eyes. “I would think the better solution would be to deal with Kyle and the others.”
“Yes,” I agree heavily. “But without any proof, there’s not a whole hell of a lot I can do.” I eye her curiously. “You could report it to the police.”
Her head falls back against the headboard, as though it suddenly requires too much effort to keep it upright. “You said it yourself, there’s no proof. What are they going to do?”
I swallow. “Either way, you need to let one of our trainers check you out.
She exhales, sinking deeper into the pillow. “I’m not playing in Friday’s game, am I? ”
I hesitate, hating the disappointment in her voice. “That’s Coach’s call, but I wouldn’t think so. You’re pretty beat up. It’s going to take a week or two for all of that to heal.”
She nods, quiet for a moment.
“First, you need to eat.” I push to my feet, looking down at her.
Dylan blinks up at me, looking exhausted but amused. “You cooking for me, Captain?”
I smirk. “Only because I need my best left wing back on the ice.”