Chapter 21
DENALI
LIKE CLOCKWORK
Our conversation at the alumni night was supposed to be the painful broken bone to reset things. It wasn’t.
Especially with her staying in our living room. I couldn’t sleep anymore, even with the click-click-click of her laptop. I couldn’t stop thinking of that look on her face when I tried to hug her. It haunted me. It stung so fucking bad and the message was clear. Zariah needed space.
So I kept a careful distance.
But I couldn’t stop thinking about her. Zariah was tattooed inside of me.
I couldn’t hide it worth shit.
Our bus to WTU promised to be an eight-hour trip to Lubbock. Elijah asked Zariah to come and there were only so many excuses she could give before she caved. Which meant Zariah would be in the audience for our first actual game. Not only was I a mess from our alumni night conversation but now this?
Nick crouched down beside me. “Denali, what’s up with your face?”
“What’s wrong with my face?”
“I don’t know. You look…on edge.”
“Well, we’re about to head to our first game,” I snapped. “I hope you’re taking this fucking seriously too.”
Nick’s hands shot up in surrender as he muttered to Fridge, “I don’t know what crawled up his ass.”
I wasn’t angry, I was embarrassed Nick pointed out I was spiraling. My retort was my shield to hide the shame.
Grabbing more duffel bags, I stuffed them underneath, and when Zariah passed her bag to me, I waited until she was on the bus before I carefully placed it above the others.
On the bus, she wanted to play cards and offered me a spot in their games. Soft, friendly, sweet, Zariah was trying to include me. It was an offer for things to be normal, but I couldn’t do that. Instead, I pretended to sleep, listening to her and Montoya.
“What about phone calls from someone you miss?” Montoya whispered across the aisle. They were working on her ‘things that make me feel’ list for a writing exercise.
“That’s a good one.” Zariah’s pen scratched on the paper. “I could do a lot with that. Like…the anticipation of finally hearing back from them. That breath of relief.”
“You could do letters too,” Montoya suggested. “Like love letters and stuff.”
I cracked an eye open, instantly looking Zariah’s way only to see she was already glancing at me.
Fuck. Caught.
An electric shock tore through me and I closed my eye again, keeping up the act. Maybe I could actually fall asleep and gain back the hours I’d lost.
Not a chance.
If I was on edge before, by the time we got to WTU, I was teetering. It was drizzling outside, and I was once again assigned to bag duty, but my teammates knew not to fuck with me. I wasn’t in the mood. I put everything I had into my job, quickly handing off bags to push everyone to the hotel.
“Ready to get fucked up?” Elijah asked from overhead.
I grabbed another duffel bag. “Already there.”
“Uh…no, Denali. Ready to get freaky with it?”
“Oh. Right.” I heaved a sigh, quickly throwing my palm to smack his hand for our handshake, my movements jerky and uncoordinated.
Elijah frowned. “Are you okay, man?”
“Could I have my bag?” Zariah interrupted, her voice soft.
Of course she could. I’d been carefully maneuvering her bag around everyone else’s to make sure nothing was squashed.
I dropped down for it, but when I tried to hand it off, Elijah grabbed for it when Zariah did.
All three of us fumbled with her duffel bag.
It hit the ground, a pile of sticky notes fluttering from a shallow pocket.
“Shit, sorry, Z—” Elijah swore.
We scrambled for them, a few sticky notes got caught in the bus’s undercarriage. I carefully tugged them out, trying my best not to rip them. I unpeeled one that said, ‘when he remembers the little things about you.’
Huh.
The next one said, ‘his muscles in his jersey.’ The one after that said, ‘bench press at the gym, water running down the side of his mouth after he drinks his water bottle.’
I read them in rapt succession until I found another one, buried under my bag.
beard trim makeover [possible character growth detail? or just looks super good?]
Holy shit. Were these about me?
The sticky notes were yanked from my hand before Zariah stuffed them in her pocket, avoiding my gaze. A blush spilled across her cheeks, prominent even in the rain. She stammered a thank you and hurried to catch up with Cleo at the door.
“I told her to stop using the sticky notes, you can’t write shit on them anyway,” Elijah complained. “I keep finding them in our dorm.”
I couldn’t reply, I was too busy watching Zariah. She had to keep walking away from me. She couldn’t look back. If she looked back, that’d mess with my head, and today of all days, I couldn’t have that.
I needed her to keep moving.
Please don’t look at me.
Zariah brushed her curls over her shoulder. Her dark eyes slid to mine, already watching her.
My lips barely moved. “God, I’m so fucked.”
Elijah threw his bag over his shoulder, motioning me along. “What’d you say?”
“Uh—ready to get fucked up?”
“Hell yeah.” He grinned wide. “Ready to get freaky with it?”
The WTU arena was a lot bigger than Selick’s, a reminder that this was the true test for the season. My team was pretty levelheaded until we saw what WTU had taped up. There were bloody Gladiator posters on the windows, proudly proclaiming that theirs was the real Colosseum.
“Get it out now!” Sémajuste shouted. “I don’t want any of you in the penalty box for something as stupid as cursing out WTU!”
I stayed silent through the trash talk and followed suit to the locker room. At least there, things made sense. I put on my gear, my skates, I taped up my stick, my usual routine that calmed me down. It was supposed to calm me down.
Just not today.
The arena was packed. We were met with boos just like Selick, but that was where the similarities ended. This game meant so much more. Montoya was given strict instructions to remain on the bench—we couldn’t afford to lose.
“Clean game, boys?” the ref said, his voice almost indistinguishable above the roar of the crowd.
“We’ll see about that,” the opposing center taunted.
The puck dropped.
You have sixty seconds on the ice where you do the most that you can. Sixty seconds of balancing on the skates and shoving yourself into whatever new arrangement your team demands. Hockey is a physically demanding sport. It’s exhausting and you need to focus to be an active player.
I wasn’t focused. Not at all.
Another player bumped into me, and I crashed into the boards, the booing a constant background noise. I gripped my stick tighter, returning to the bench when my time was up, head pounding.
My next shift was even worse. Everybody could feel it. I was tense, rigid, my frustration piqued while sweat poured down my forehead. I couldn’t keep my mind on the game.
Because it was on her.
Zariah was in the bleachers. My attention diverted to her like clockwork.
When she was watching me, I knew she was witnessing the shitty plays, yet when she stopped watching me, I was sick to my core.
The score was only at two to two because Nick actually had his shit together, while I was sloppy on the ice.
Anxiety spiked my blood—it was the worst game I’d played in years.
When the period ended, Fridge was dumbfounded in our walk to the locker room. “What the hell, Denali?!” he demanded. It was the most upset I’d ever seen him. “There’s only so much I can do! You’re supposed to keep the puck on their side!”
I unwound my laces, ripping off my skates. I couldn’t argue with him, there was nothing to argue against.
“Denali?” Elijah sat beside me. “What happened out there?”
“Coach?” I finally asked, turning to Sémajuste. “Can I get five?”
Usually, our coach rolled with the punches, but his face was tight, eyes narrowed behind his glasses. “Come back better, Captain.”
I abandoned the locker room. If my teammates needed a rousing speech, I was the last person to give them one. I limped through the hallway, sore from taking the unnecessary hits I should’ve blocked.
There she was—I spotted her dark curls.
Quickly, I made my way down the stairs. Eyes fell on me, everyone turning in their seats to see why a hockey player had gone into the stands.
Cleo blinked, confused, and tapped Zariah’s shoulder.
She glanced back, her eyes widening when she saw me.
“I need to talk to you,” I told her, raising my voice over the crowd, buzzing at my arrival.
“I—what?”
I leaned in closer. “Now.”