Chapter 22 #2
Eight to fucking two.
Hitting eight points in a hockey game was already amazing but six separate points in the last two periods when they’d been tied neck-and-neck was fucking insane.
The Gladiators moved their celebration to a grimy dive bar that barely scanned their fake IDs. Bear brought overpriced champagne from the hotel and then it was a real party. The team brought an upheaval to the outdoor seating area, screaming their final score.
Nothing could bring them down. The boys were ecstatic and Denali was passed around for photos while champagne bottles were uncorked, dousing everyone until we were sticky.
“I fucking knew we’d win!” Elijah told me, before sucking down a beer, the happiest I’d seen him in weeks. “I fucking KNEW IT!”
The only one alone was Montoya, sitting by himself in the corner. I grabbed another beer and slid into the seat next to him. “Hey.”
His eyes slid to mine. “I won’t tell anybody, Zariah.”
“It was just a kiss on the cheek,” I said easily, then took a drink of beer. “That’s not why I’m here, I wanted to see how you were doing.”
He attempted a smile. “We won.”
“Mm-hmm.”
“And…” Montoya folded his hands together. “I don’t think they’re ever going to let me play again.”
The rest of the bar was overjoyed with the win, the Gladiators needed this, and I was so happy for them, but that didn’t mean Montoya had to be set aside. It wasn’t fair.
I knew that; I recognized it, and goddammit I couldn’t kiss Denali’s cheek and turn a blind eye to this. Fuck it. If Denali and I were heading into the unknown, things needed to change around here.
I pushed out of my chair, ignoring Montoya’s questions. My eyes were set on Denali in the outdoor booth, a champagne bottle at his lips, a tipsy grin on his face.
When Elijah left to buy shots, I took his place, sliding close to Denali. “Hi.”
Denali paused, languishing in the next drink from the champagne. His voice was husky. “Hi, Zariah.”
“That was amazing,” I said honestly. “A seven-second goal…wow.”
His teammates tried to get his attention, but I had Denali all to myself. He didn’t even acknowledge them. “Thank you.”
“It’s a bummer that Montoya couldn’t go out.”
For the first time since they won the game, Denali’s mouth twisted for a grimace. “He’s a grocery stick. He has to graduate from that.”
I grabbed the champagne bottle from Denali and took a healthy drink. The bubbles gave me the liquid courage I needed. Denali’s eyes lit up and he moved closer, subconsciously or consciously, I wasn’t sure. I passed the bottle to him again and his fingers flexed near mine.
“You could do, like, one-on-one lessons with him,” I murmured.
His eyebrows pulled together in confusion. “What? With who?”
“Montoya.”
“Montoya?” he repeated. “Bear’s the one who spends time with him—”
“And we both know he’s too soft on him. Bear isn’t the answer, it’d mean so much more coming from you.”
“Me? Why would I do that?”
I softened my words, doing my best to make Denali understand. “I know what your problem is with Montoya.”
“He can’t hit?”
“No…Montoya reminds me of another certain boy who had a really hard time connecting with his team. Maybe that’s why—”
Clouds darkened Denali’s face. “I don’t want to talk about ‘that boy.’”
“You can’t deny the similarities—”
“I don’t want to talk about him because he was a fucking loser,” he retorted. “He couldn’t play worth shit and I’m glad he’s gone—”
“Don’t you fucking dare,” I said sharply. I shifted up in the booth, my palms on the table, pushing myself until we were eye-to-eye. Anger curled my words, and something inside me snapped. “You can say he had boundary issues—you don’t get to call him a loser.”
Denali froze. His champagne bottle hovered midair, and everyone around the booth quieted, watching us.
“Because that’s fucking mean,” I spat. “You’re not a mean person, Denali Maddox. You don’t get to disparage that boy, he meant everything to me.”
Denali was silent, watching me with wide eyes. I didn’t care that his team was watching, I didn’t want to hear him say anything like that ever again.
My fingers curled into my palm. “Apologize.”
“I’m sorry,” he said instantly.
It didn’t matter that we were talking about Denali from five years ago. He wasn’t allowed to make self-deprecating comments. Fuck that. I wouldn’t let him say something so horrible about someone I cared about.
My muscles twitched with outrage while Denali watched me, dazed. His eyes were unfocused. They dipped down my face, as if he didn’t know what he was supposed to do, and his fingers shifted on the table, inches from mine.
My anger flared and was gone, a burst of fire that left me smoldering beside him. Just like he was.
“I have shots!” Elijah announced, approaching the booth. It took me a moment to realize the entire table was still silent, everyone with their eyes on us. Elijah frowned. “What’s up?”
Denali’s voice deepened. “We’re okay.”
The table relaxed a little—I honestly forgot his teammates were there. With a shake of my head, I turned to Elijah. “We’re talking about Montoya. And how Denali agreed to give him lessons twice a week.”
Denali choked on his next drink of champagne as Elijah’s eyebrows shot up. “He’s doing what?”
“Mm-hmm. Mondays and Tuesdays, Denali has more open flexibility on those days.”
A couple of teammates laughed in disbelief and a few others asked Denali what I was talking about, but I left the booth, letting Elijah return to his seat. I made it a few steps before Denali interrupted me.
“Zariah,” he commanded, tapping his thumb against the champagne bottle. “Mondays and Thursdays—I can’t do Tuesdays. And I can only do it after the ETC game.”
I nodded, walking off.
“Nick, I’m out of the bet.” Bear snorted. “Scratch my name off.”