6. Mason
MASON
“If anyone gets blood on my ice, you’re all skating sprints for the rest of the week,” Coach Wilson shouted from across the rink, where he checked out a junior’s face and sent him off to get a butterfly bandage over his eyebrow.
Only the first Hawthorne Hawks scrimmage would send two guys to the medic with a busted lip and eyebrow. That’s what happened when Havoc skated together. There weren’t many that could break through when all four of us were on the ice, which was why Coach forced us to practice separately.
Bourne, our other defenseman, usually just tried to dodge as much mayhem as he could.
Physical altercations weren’t technically allowed in any gameplay, but that didn’t stop everyone from pushing their defense hard with an elbow slam here and there against the boards, getting a little overzealous with the knee blocks or some helmet-to-helmet contact.
Intense defense was the best offense. No high sticking, but the aggression levels increased as the season inched closer.
“These kids need to toughen up.” Erik flipped a puck into the air off his stick, flicking it higher and higher before catching it on the edge of his skate a couple times and then whipping it back to his stick.
“Says the clown on skates.” Galen snatched the puck from the air.
“What the hell else am I supposed to do to keep myself entertained when people are getting patched up after every teeny tiny little run-in?” Erik lunged for the puck.
Calder skated closer, spraying ice all over Galen’s leg pads. “Next season’s first line is screwed if they can’t handle a little contact.”
“That’s what I’m saying.” Erik grinned and raised his hand to Calder for a high five. “Those tooth implants are coming down in price a lot. I’m planning on setting up a nice little fund after Michigan when I go pro.”
“A fund for what?” Galen asked with a head tilt.
“My opponents’ dental surgeries.” He stared at us all like that wasn’t a batshit crazy thing to say, then he burst out laughing, but I wasn’t completely sure he was joking.
For a guy who was mostly goofy off the ice, his intensity once the whistle blew was as close to feral as I’d ever seen.
A switch flipped, and he was baying for the blood of our enemies, then the next moment, he caught a puck on the top of his helmet and spun like a figure skater.
The laughter was apparently enough to catch coach’s attention.
“Since you can’t keep the blood in your bodies today, we’ll stick to drills and sprints. Have fun, ladies.”
One of the assistant coaches shoved trash cans out from the team box. Puking on the ice was a good way to get more sprints added to practice for the whole team. No one made that mistake twice.
Drills swallowed up the next twenty minutes of practice. Normally, I hated them, but I could use the mindless exertion right now. Whatever plan I’d had for Lilah hadn’t worked.
One wounded look from her and I found myself pulling back, which only made me go harder the next time I saw her, and the ping-ponging annoyed the shit out of me. Once I made a decision, that was it. But every moment with her had me second-guessing myself.
Coach’s whistle blast brought me out of the twisted mental web clogging my head. That’s when I checked in on my body. Muscles throbbing, mouth cotton-ball dry, and I was swimming in sweat under the pads.
Everyone skated to where our water bottles were lined up on the ledge by the box.
“At least we’re all practicing together again. My travel team was trash.” Calder squeezed the water into his mouth so hard that he might have been waterboarding himself.
“Mine wasn’t so bad, but the bus trips…” Erik woofed. “Our bus might as well be a broken-down RV with no AC.”
“Playing with other teammates is an asset. Assessing their skills. Finding new dynamics and getting quicker at smelling out their tells.” Galen chimed in, eyes scanning the stands. “We need to relearn building a well-oiled machine when we’re not playing together anymore.”
I looked over my shoulder. Who the hell was he looking for? A scout? Was my father here? I snapped back around and searched the dimly lit stands. No one there. “We’ve still got a whole season left.”
Galen made a noise of consideration.
“Why are we standing around, fellas?” Coach shouted from the other side of the rink. “Outside edge crossovers and I’d better see those gloves on the ice.”
Everyone groaned and lined up to begin the drill that was a knee- and hip-killer. Coach pushed us harder and faster, but even when it hurt, it still didn’t compare to my father’s version of training camp.
Coach wasn’t trying to push us past our limit, only see how fit we were for the season to build the practice and workout schedule. My muscles ached by the time he blew the final whistle, but I could still catch my breath.
In the team box, everyone downed their water, waiting for our lecture.
“I don’t care what your travel teams had you doing. This team is your priority. Follow the training schedule and don’t make me bench you for your senior year. We have what it takes to beat Verona. There is no question. You all have the talent, skill and passion. The question is, do you want it?”
“Yes, Coach,” we responded in unison. Just the mention of Ryker’s team stirred a fire in me, even after a rough practice.
Commitment letters would pour in during the season for the rest of the guys.
Mine hadn’t arrived yet because every school knew I would be signed to Rhode Island—Bair’s school, the team that had won ten national titles over the past twelve years—as long as I proved myself.
The championship win would clinch it. And once I was at Rhode Island, I’d prove to our father that being a year behind didn’t matter one damn bit.
The locker room routine was quieter than normal, with more than a few guys heading for the ice baths. I moved as quickly as I could and loaded up my gear in the back of my car.
Once I left the parking lot, my phone rumbled in the cupholder and The Oasis Retreat popped up on the screen.
I hesitated before jamming my finger against the green circle.
“Hi, Mom.”
“Hi, Mason.” Her bright, shining voice hurt. “Leaving practice?”
“Yeah, in the car now.”
“They say I can have visitors soon. Will you and Zoe be able to come?”
I pulled over to the side of the road. “I don’t know, Mom. The season will be starting soon. We’ve got a lot of games. And Zoe…”
“My beautiful little girl. And her ballet recital photos…not as good as seeing her in person, but thank you for sending them.” She sounded good, healthy, but there was always a twitchy, urgent undercurrent. Whatever she wanted, she wanted it now. And if you didn’t give it to her, she’d turn on you.
But she was still my mom.
“You’re welcome. Maybe you’ll get to see her next recital in person next spring.”
“Like your father would let that happen. Not with his precious Alena there.” Her voice switched from summer sweet to sharp, biting. “I shouldn’t have signed those papers. I didn’t know what I was signing.”
Not this again. “You were in jail, Mom. What other options were there?”
“I was a good mom.”
I bit back every acid-laced reaction to her declaration. None of that would help her recovery. With deep breaths and a shit ton of self-control, I swallowed down my feelings.
“How are things going in therapy? The classes? Are they helping?”
“I love you and just want to be home with you two.” A year ago, she’d been out of rehab for three months before our father brought me and Zoe to see her.
It had been a grim car ride, but he’d set her up in an apartment and with a job.
I’d taken the car to pick up food and my father supervised Zoe.
I came back to Zoe bawling and my father breaking down the bathroom door with my mom locked inside.
Zoe hadn’t stopped shaking for two hours after the ambulance had taken our mother away.
Why couldn’t she do that shit when she was alone?
Then a molten ball of guilt had dropped into my stomach, burning a hole in it.
If she had been alone, she’d be dead. How long would it have taken me to know?
She was my mom. The same one who had begged me to do better in my next game, so my father would show up.
“We love you too.”
“Then why are you keeping me here?” she screamed, voice teary with a bar of demand running through the words.
The switch-up had arrived. “Because they can give you all the help you need.” A five-star rehab center wasn’t torture, but she made it sound like she’d been funnel-fed gruel and moldy cheese.
“No one wanted to help me when you were little. I was alone.” She spat the word like she hated me.
Maybe she did. “I needed a little escape, that’s all.
You don’t know what it was like with you by myself.
And working, and how hard it was that your father wouldn’t even say a word to me.
He acted like I was a total stranger just after his money.
” Bristling anger streaked through every word.
My heart hammered in my chest even as I tried to rein in my anger. Screaming at her wouldn’t help this. But the frustration mounted. “All that matters is getting you better, so we can see you again.”
“Zoe calls Alena ‘Mom.’”
“She calls her Mama Lena and you’re Mama Kristen.”
“She hates me. You all hate me.” Half wail, half cry. She repeated the phrase over and over.
I tried to break through, remembering the nights at home when she’d cry like that. In her bed, screaming like her skin was being peeled from her bones. It struck at a chord from my childhood. An instinct to calm and keep things safe. “No one hates you. We all want you better.”
“A year is too long, Mason.” She whispered into the phone like she was clutching it desperately.
“Three-month and six-month rehabs didn’t work.” So many times.
“So I’m a prisoner?” A seething breath, the tears melting away.