Chapter 16
NOW
Paloma
It’s loud.
I remember that much from freshman year, though I’d been in the locker and equipment rooms before. Now I’m seated in the chair outside Coach Harris’s office, waiting for him to approve my schedule, so being able to hear the entire team from here tells me just how loud they are.
A door slams as I spot Toren Kane escaping one of the offices like a bat out of hell. Or Satan out of heaven.
Toren Kane—the new barnacle latched onto my side. The dark outcast of the hockey team I can’t seem to shake, though my life would be far easier without him always playing both angel and devil on my shoulder.
“I’m not done,” another voice snaps, drawing my attention to the well-dressed man standing in the doorway of the room Toren just left.
Toren spins on his heel and stretches his arms out wide, nearly touching both sides of the concrete hallway.
“Like I said,” he sneers, “I don’t give a fuck. Suspend me if you want to. Kiss the whole team’s season goodbye.”
There’s confidence and arrogance in his voice, but he looks distressed. Head bent low and midnight black hair messy, he nearly darts past me without a second glance. As if he doesn’t know I’m there.
The familiar man in the navy suit eyes me briefly and shakes his head, ducking back into his office and slamming the door.
“Does everyone hate you then?” I snip, making Toren pause in his steps.
Golden eyes scan over me; his brow furrows only for a second before a smile reveals his eerily sharp canines.
“It’s my specialty, actually.” He crosses his arms. “Here to try out for my spot? Or just to stare at Reiner until you feel sick?”
My stomach rolls and I scoff, looking away from him before his intense, irritating gaze can see more than he already has since last semester.
Though he’s always seen right through me.
“You’re drooling.”
I rear back, away from the voice that snuck up on me in a corner at the Hockey Dorms Halloween party. I’m greeted by the sight of a tall figure in a Ghostface mask and a white button-down. Chuckling, he slides off the mask.
“Don’t you have a summer camp to terrorize?” I snap out, heading away from him.
“Wrong movie,” Toren grumbles, following behind. “And wrong direction—the Ninja Turtles you were so enamored with are back in there—”
“Stop it,” I snap, spinning on my heel toward him and immediately regretting the move as my eyes lock onto the large green man in the kitchen just yards away.
He’s turned the opposite way, broad naked shoulders coated meticulously in green body paint and the tie of a blue eye mask half covered in messy brunette curls. He’s so handsome it hurts, even now.
I usually avoid the Hockey Dorms when it comes to parties, because seeing Bennett relaxed or semi-drunk with a little smile on his usually frowning lips ignites an ache that pushes me toward him. That fills me with the false confidence of maybe and what if.
Bennett turns, eyes meeting mine briefly over his shoulder, the blue of them somehow more intense through his mask. My eyes grow as hot as my cheeks, gnawing want like a chasm in my stomach.
Turning away before I can do or say something to make this all worse, I grab the handle of the sliding door and step onto the lantern-lit patio. Toren follows me closely, tucking the mask into the waistband of his pants.
“Poor little Blake,” Toren sneers, grabbing for my wrist and pulling me close. “So in love with a boy who loves her back but she won’t let herself have him. Pathetic.”
“You don’t get it.” I feebly shove at him as he crowds me against the nearest wall, hiding me completely from the view of anyone else outside with us.
“No?” He tilts his head over mine and whispers in my ear. “Self-hatred runs deep, Blake. And mine runs through every vein in my goddamn body. I bleed it.”
I push him, harder this time, but he grabs my wrists to stop me. His hands move, fingers dusting over the strands of my dyed red hair, his golden eyes glazing over like a trance at the auburn color before he startles himself out of it.
“Poison Ivy?” He smirks, scoffing as he runs disinterested eyes over my costume. “Fitting.”
“Fuck you.”
His eyes sparkle. “You wish you could. But that’s some twisted line you won’t cross, right? You don’t want to hurt him; you want to hurt you.”
Like arrows to a target, the words easily find their mark.
“I’m not in love with him. You’re just a psycho.”
Something flashes in his eyes, and he slams a fist against his chest, like stabbing a knife into his heart.
“Yeah?” He laughs, eyes wet. “You’re the one who has what you want within reach, and still, you treat him like shit. But I’m the psycho, right?”
Toren mumbles under his breath, shoving his hand into his pocket and pulling out a sucker. He unwraps it and pushes it between his lips, then presses himself into the wall, perched like the grim reaper watching the party with hate-filled eyes.
Even without the Ghostface mask, even sucking on a grape lollipop, he’s terrifying. Most give him a wide berth as they move through the party, but I see the girls whose gazes linger a little too long. Like they want to see exactly what the bad boy has to offer.
I spend the night avoiding Bennett Reiner.
As much as I hate him for it, Toren is right. I don’t want to hurt Bennett.
I want to hurt me.
Shaking myself from the memory, I open my mouth to respond to Toren.
But Toren has turned away, heading into the roaringly loud locker room. On his entrance, I hear a lull in the excitement before it starts up again, far quieter.
“Miss Blake,” a voice says. I turn to meet the soft gray eyes in Coach Harris’s kind face. He smiles at me, reaching out his hand to shake mine. “Good to have you back. Come on in and let’s chat.”
He leads me into his office, letting me settle in one of the chairs across from his large desk.
Trophies line the shelves, and next to them are several photos of him with players of all ages.
But mostly, of him with a woman—dark olive skin and almond brown eyes, smiling brightly up at him.
His wife, I assume. His office is flooded with photos of her, of them together over decades.
“I’m going to have you shadow me on the days you’re here,” he says. My brow furrows deeply, mouth opening. “Is that okay?”
“Yeah, I just assumed . . . I thought I’d be with one of the assistant coaches.”
“No, you’ll be with me.”
He examines me thoughtfully for a moment, hand reaching up to readjust his baseball cap. “I had no clue you were interested in coaching,” he says. “If I had, I would’ve asked if you wanted to work on staff.”
The fact that he remembers me at all feels . . . different. Flattering, though anxiety inducing in some measure.
Why does he remember you? I can think of a few reasons, Polly.
I cross my arms over my chest.
“Do you have any questions for me?”
I shake my head, eyes darting down toward my tapping feet. Coach Harris stands and grabs a bag from the corner, then tosses it to me.
“School-issued warm-up jacket for you. I’ll get you some more merch.
You can wear whatever athletic gear you want for practices, but I’ll make sure they get you some jackets and sweats from the team gear.
” He sits back at his desk and signs off on my schedule paper, spinning it back to me.
“And you’ll work at least three games on the bench with me. ”
“Okay.”
“All right.” He nods his head and smiles.
“Today is half strength and conditioning before on-ice time. Let’s go deal with the pack of idiots I call my team.
” The words are sarcastic, but there’s a glimmer of mischief in his eyes as he rounds his desk and opens the door for me. I follow him into the weight room.
I nearly trip and slam face first in the middle of the room at the sight that greets me.
Bennett, one leg extended to his side, the other bent back so his heel is nearly touching his ass. He’s bent over the extended leg to stretch, but only briefly, before he lays flat forward and switches his legs.
Coach Harris starts writing a few things on his clipboard and speaking low with one of the strength trainers.
And my eyes are focused, ashamedly, on Bennett Reiner’s ass as he settles onto the ground in a position like the splits, but with both legs bent at the knee, heels toward his butt.
A frog pose with his groin flush to the ground, hands planted in front of him as he rocks back and forth into the stretch.
My mouth is bone dry, face hot.
“Feel sick yet?” A voice laughs, low in my ear. I blink at Toren as he walks by, grabbing a roller from the stack at my side. “Looking a little warm, Blake.”
He sits near to Bennett’s space and starts to dramatically roll out his hips, nearly obscenely humping the floor.
“Kane,” Coach Harris snaps, eyeing him with an exasperated glare. “This is a gym. Not a sex club. And there is a lady present. Act right.”
The same blue-suit-wearing assistant coach steps forward and snorts, muttering beneath his breath, “Toren Kane couldn’t act right if his life depended on it. I’ll take him to the ice early, if that’s all right, Harris?”
Harris observes Toren for a moment before nodding. “Work your magic. I hired you for a reason, LaBlanc.”
“Kane,” Coach LaBlanc snaps out, voice booming over the blaring music. “C’mon. Show’s over.”
Toren looks like he’s been handed a death sentence, his eyes ghosting over the crowd of his reluctant teammates. Holden stands up, adding a quick, “Need me, too?”
It makes sense—Holden Dougherty is Toren’s defensive partner. They’re a pair, so they should practice together. But LaBlanc shakes his head and follows a sulking Toren out of the room.
“Meet you all on the ice in a half hour,” Coach Harris announces, turning toward me. “Hopefully they show you something actually impressive.”
I can’t help the grin that forms at feeling more a part of this team than I ever have before.
· · ·
After practice, I wait until I’m sure the locker room is empty, taking my time to stall and walk the arena halls before chancing a quick glance through the door.
Bennett is the only one left, slowly and meticulously working on his gear.
A rush of longing blares through me at the memory of so many nights like this—him and me, washing his pads and doing his routine together.
My eyes dart around the room as I stay hidden behind the doorframe for a smidge longer. I can see the past versions of us around me. The place where, arguably, we fell in love.
I miss him.
I leave before he can see me.