25. Mason
MASON
Our Christmas morning training session had been nowhere near as painful as the call from my mom after we got off the ice.
The fifteen-minute call ended with me chucking my phone across the room, and it left me twitchy and bristling with anger for the rest of the day.
On top of that, daily training sessions with my father left me sore and limping.
Coming back to Lilah after four days was a balm.
The only bright spots had been Zoe’s face on Christmas morning and her excitement at wandering Boston. Alena had been pleased with her diamonds. And Bair hadn’t been half as annoying as he usually was. In our father’s presence, the whole group was careful, measured, muted.
I still wasn’t sure if I was forgiven, but he hadn’t made Bair and me face off again without pads, which made me wonder what the hell Bair had done during our preseason face-off that had bruised, if not broken, at least one of his ribs.
Lilah’s gift sat on my bedside. Framed stitchwork of my number eleven.
But when you got closer, the outline of the numbers were words.
Lilah’s writing made up the outline and the words were her favorite memories of us.
It must have taken her weeks to get the intricate stitches right and I’d keep it forever.
In the stands at our away game, Lilah sat behind the bench in a Hawthorne jersey—my jersey. My Christmas gifts glinted against the light around her neck with every jumping round of applause. The rightness of finally having her here shifted something inside my chest.
I tore my gaze away from her as my father walked in to sit in his unreserved-reserved seat five rows down from Lilah and Paige, his presence jolting me like a crowbar smacking into the back of my skull
His gaze locked on to mine. The warm feeling Lilah stirred in my heart was met with a bitter blast that threatened to snuff it out.
Calder grabbed the front of my face mask. “What the hell are you waiting for?” His words were a little garbled by his mouth guard.
We skated to center ice.
The cold and warm fronts of my spectator section built to a thunderstorm inside my chest. I harnessed the lightning strikes and released the power in blinding breakaways and snap passes so clean and smooth that the Phantom High Polar players kept losing the puck.
Our fans were on their feet through most of the game. One play after another. The Polar barely even got a shot on goal, and when they did, Galen shut them down without mercy.
At the final horn, the score sat at 0-5. My hat trick made them look like a JV team, not one of our most anticipated opponents aside from Verona.
My father stood stoic as ever, as if this were a peewee game, and made his exit through throngs of cheering Hawthorne Prep students banging against the glass.
I yanked off my helmet and poured my whole water bottle over my head.
Hawthorne students crowded around the half door from our box to the locker room.
Erik tumbled into his adoring fans, nearly taking three girls out at once when he stumbled and used his stick to right himself.
Galen kept his mask on and waved with his stick before heading straight to the locker room.
Calder didn’t have to worry about getting mobbed.
Only a few of the bravest souls approached him for a gloved fist bump.
He stomped past like he’d rather eat our winning puck than be under the adoring gaze of the student body.
After three seasons on first line and one as our captain, he still hadn’t gotten used to the attention.
The sea of students parted like they knew. Then Lilah was right there in front of me, ushered forward on the tide of celebration and victory.
I reached for a towel to wipe away some of the sweat, but she launched herself at me for a full-body-press hug before I could get it. She kissed me like she wasn’t being covered in all my sweat.
I dropped my stick so I could wrap my arms around her.
“You’re really good at this, huh?” she whispered into my ear as I set her down.
She raked her eyes across my face, then up and down my body.
Thank fuck I was wearing gear, including a cup, because being at full-mast in front of my classmates on the walk to the locker room was a hell-worthy scenario. But having Lilah in my arms after a win was the near side of heaven.
“Looks like I’ll have to do it more often to get rid of that question.” I kissed her again, infusing it with the lighter-than-air feelings flowing through me.
Calder clamped his hand on my shoulder. “Some of us would like to get home before midnight. Move your ass,” he said, shaking his head.
“Great job, Calder.” Lilah beamed at him.
He nodded, then jerked his head toward the locker room.
She squeezed my hand. It came so naturally now. “I’m taking the fan bus with Paige.”
“I’ll meet you back at the school.”
“You don’t have to worry about me. Go do your team stuff.”
I held her gaze. “I’ll meet you.”
She ducked her head a little, looking up at me. “If you want.”
“I want.” I nuzzled her neck and planted a kiss right above her collarbone.
She shuddered and looked at me with a new glint in her eye.
“Let’s go.” Calder grabbed me by both shoulders, perhaps sensing this goodbye could go on for a while, even though we’d see each other in an hour.
We showered and changed quickly, riding the high of a win. I walked out of the arena with the rest of the guys and headed toward the team bus with my kit.
Lilah texted that the supporters’ bus had already left.
I itched to rush everyone onto the bus so I could meet her at school and take her home. Maybe stop for some food. Had she eaten?
My father came around the front of the bus. “Mason.”
I froze.
A single, almost imperceptible lift of his chin.
And I followed.
Coach’s furrowed brow deepened and his jaw clenched, but he didn’t say anything.
My father never picked me up after games. If he had anything to say, it waited until I’d mentally kicked my own ass for long enough.
I popped his trunk and shoved my duffel and other gear into the dark interior.
Before I’d even closed my door, he pulled out of the parking space. Silence choked the air. The smooth suspension of the car meant not even road noises made it inside. He didn’t say a word for most of the drive.
I kept my mouth shut. I’d learned to wait until I had a clear idea of what was running through his head. Wait and see what exactly I needed to fix. But tonight I’d played the best I had all season.
“The gardener’s daughter.” He had recognized her.
Fingers of dread wrapped around my neck. I reset and cleared my throat, trying to keep my shock from my face.
“Her name is Lilah. She goes to Hawthorne Prep. The videos from this summer were a misunderstanding.”
“Misunderstanding.” He tested the word and, from the way his lip curled into a sneer, didn’t like the way it tasted.
Rain dotted the windshield.
“Yes. I know you wanted to protect me, but what it looked like in the videos wasn’t what was really happening. Ryker Ferris is her best friend. Nothing more. They were playing around and it didn’t look good from the outside.”
“So this girl has had nothing to do with this season’s…
” His jaw worked overtime. “Difficulties. Your hand, with my needing to ensure you do not have a criminal record after a fight, with you being pulled from your game before Thanksgiving?” He didn’t raise his voice.
He didn’t even look at me. Both hands on the steering wheel, he drove with the streetlights flashing over his hardened face.
“It was all me. All choices I made.”
“Because of her.”
“No, you raised me to take responsibility for myself. They were my decisions.”
“So you are wanting permission to what—date this girl?”
A smack of panic pierced my smooth, assured delivery, but then determination took hold and shoved any doubts away.
My fingers tingled with that pregame adrenaline burst. “I’m not asking for permission.
Lilah and I are together. My gameplay will be ruthlessly precise.
I will win the championship.” I could do this. I would do this for us.
We pulled down the driveway to Willowcrest. He cut his eyes my way. “This is a lot to promise for a boy who has spent this season and every other as a disappointment.”
A sharp stab plunged into my chest, but I left the pulsing metal there and didn’t back down.
“It’s not a promise. I’ll prove to you that I can handle this. If I screw up, I’ll give you three times the dedication to correct it and I’ll finally lock down the championship.” I squashed the churning in my stomach.
The dashboard dimmed when he turned off the car. Muted rain came down in droplets against the windows and roof, but hard enough to know it was a stinging shower outside.
Lilah had to be back at school now. She’d be walking. I didn’t move. I knew better. I hadn’t been dismissed.
The side of his jaw clenched. He stared out the windshield at nothing in particular.
My heart raced like I’d been running beside the car on the way home, instead of inside with him.
“Then you may have your fun. I will take your triple dedication but as you know, I will only tolerate your disappointments for so long.” He shot me a pointed look then left. His door slammed shut and the silence of the car no longer felt choking.
The second the front door closed, I punched the roof and shouted with relief.
I grabbed my gear and tossed it to the bottom of the stairs before taking off back down the driveway.
My car was still at school. Stinging rain pelted me on the run back to Hawthorne Prep.
Ideas raced through my head, things I wanted to do before we left for college in August. I’d take her away for a weekend.
Maybe we’d spend a few days down the shore.
Whatever it took to keep Lilah with me until we’d be separated for months.
Months apart. A keen pain flashed over me.
The supporters’ bus was long gone by the time I arrived, but I hadn’t seen Lilah on my way there. She’d waited for me because I’d said I’d meet her.