Chapter 23
NOW
Bennett
“Again,” I hear the sneering yell of Coach LaBlanc.
Toren curses beneath his breath where he’s sprawled after getting taken down by a sophomore on his way to the net. I stopped the goal, but it was a messy play on both parts—and still, it’s Kane and Dougherty taking the blame.
“This time, Koteskiy—your line.”
Rhys steps forward—Freddy on his left and Hathaway, our first line right winger, on his other side.
I’ve watched Rhys from between the posts for most of my life, and he’s still just as golden.
I sometimes wonder if he knows that he skates like a more sophisticated version of his dad.
He’s fast and intense, but Rhys Koteskiy is always steady.
Toren and Holden, to me, work seamlessly together.
But against their own line, it’s a fierce competition.
I keep my eyes on the puck currently on Freddy’s stick, flicking my gaze to where the other forwards are—trying to make assumptions on what play they’ll attempt, to guess at it faster than they can complete it.
I see the flicker of movement from Hathaway and angle toward him as Freddy passes—nearly intercepted by Holden—and then there’s a mess of commotion as Rhys and Toren collide.
Everyone stops.
“Watch it,” Toren snaps. Usually he’s quicker with his snark, but today he just seems agitated. Holden stops short beside them, his free hand hovering to interfere if need be. I skate over, too, eyes watchful. Tension brackets the group, filling the air until it’s suffocating.
Rhys frowns but doesn’t take the bait, only knocking his shoulder against Toren as they pass.
After their near fight last semester, Coach doesn’t like for them to play opposite each other. It doesn’t surprise me when Harris blows the whistle and switches out the entire line before giving me a signal that I can switch with Mercer, the backup goalie.
I bump his glove with mine as we switch off.
Behind the boards, I see Paloma, and my breath catches.
I haven’t seen her since the party at the Hockey Dorms, when she saw me with another girl from my class. I was too scared to guess at her expression, to give myself hope in the face of her possible jealousy. Was it terrible if I hoped she was? Knowing full well she had no reason to be?
It didn’t matter. I hadn’t been able to resist the pull of her—I never have.
We haven’t spoken since then. I’d gone home alone soon after she left, indulging in my ritual of scrolling through her photos and stories.
As usual, nothing helped.
Neither did her warning about joining practices, because seeing her now feels just as much like a punch to the gut as it always has.
She’s so perfect, so beautiful, bright blond hair gleaming and pulled back off the smooth unblemished skin of her face.
The thick Cupid’s bow of her top lip slides between her teeth before she chews on the bottom one as well, distracting as she always is—though now she’s not just in my sight, alone in the locker rooms after everyone has left.
Now, she’s here, in front of the team. In front of so many of my teammates who have openly talked about her, flirted with her, shared stories that make me sick with envy and fury.
Even now, I repress the urge to swipe my skate across the faces of guys I otherwise like as they stare at her along the boards.
Beside her stands a redheaded girl I recognize from the grocery store, though I wasn’t paying attention enough to catch her name.
And while Paloma looks dressed for her coaching session on the ice—leggings and a navy quarter zip with the Waterfell logo—the girl next to her does not, in a skirt and nylons with a plaid blazer overtop and heeled boots. She looks entirely in the wrong place.
“Holy shit,” one of the freshmen mutters, eyes locked on the girls as the make their way down toward the benches. Toren’s gaze shoots over his shoulder immediately. “Who the fuck is tha—”
“Who’s who?” Toren asks, grabbing the guy by the collar with a shake. “Either way, close your eyes.”
“S-sorry,” the guy mutters, jerking out of Toren’s hold. The freshmen may not respect Kane, since they know how the rest of the entire team feel about him, but they are afraid of him.
Kane locks his gaze with mine and nods.
Unease simmers. There’s a reason Toren Kane has never bothered me as much as he does the others. And as much as I wish I could say it’s the way he helped Ro last semester or how good of a defenseman he is, it’s mostly centered around Paloma.
At first, I’d been almost raging with jealousy that I’d never show—but then I’d seen them at a party, him hovering over her like a protective brother.
Helping her. And then it had been multiple parties—and it wasn’t jealousy I felt, it was relief.
To know that one other person in the damn town cared about Paloma Blake enough to defend her.
To be there when she wouldn’t allow me.
The girls disappear before they come out of the tunnel and onto the coaching bench, close to me on the opposite end of LaBlanc and Harris, though the redheaded girl keeps her eyes on the newest coach for a long time.
My breath huffs out and I opt for pulling off my cage.
“Hey, P,” I offer as she steps closer.
“Hi, Bennett,” she says. “You remember my roommate, Lily?”
I nod to her, though she barely takes a glance at me before she’s stepping forward toward the boards with a hissed, “Hey.”
Toren looks at her over his shoulder and rolls his eyes. “Yes, doll?” he says, his tone sarcastic and cutting enough that I straighten at the pure venom.
“Watch it,” Paloma snips. “Don’t you have some puck to chase?”
Toren grins almost sinisterly, and I scoot slightly in front of Paloma, annoyed with him even looking at her like that. He tones it down just a bit but before he can reply, Holden slams into his side.
“A puck? Or a puck bunny? Gotta be clear with me here, Paloma.”
My stomach churns, and I toss my water bottle back in its spot before slamming my cage closed. I’ve been privy to Holden’s flirting with Paloma for three years now. Maybe I’ve reached my limit. Or maybe touching her skin again has awakened the possessive, desperate beast in my brain.
Lily looks almost close to tears, like the idiotic defensive pair have said something personally offensive, before her entire demeanor changes as Coach LaBlanc steps into the circle.
“Distractions in practice and you at the center, Kane,” he huffs. “Wish I could say I was surprised. Let’s go. Reiner, you’re back in net.”
We all break apart. But I do see Paloma take Lily’s hand in hers and usher her out.
I’m still minorly confused that she brought her roommate to practice in the first place.
But there is a softer feeling beneath it—something in my heart comforted by the fact that, for the first time since I’ve known Paloma, I know she’s not completely alone.
Maybe, for now, that’s enough.
· · ·
Everyone should be gone, but as I’m doing my usual after-practice routine, I hear a stumbling sound and the low grunt of voices. Then Coach LaBlanc comes through the room, straightening his tie.
He eyes me for a moment with a quick smile and nod. “Great work today in the net, Reiner. Reliable as always.”
And then he’s gone. But the sounds continue: an irritating spitting sound, then a sink turning on.
Nearly done and fully dressed, I round the corner to see Toren Kane, pads off but pants still on, skates shucked along the tile like he rushed to pull them off. He’s spitting up blood, more of it dripping down over his eye like he took a blade or a puck to the face.
“Shit, Kane,” I mutter, brow furrowing as I step toward him. “Are you okay?”
Golden eyes darken as he sneers up at me through the mirror. “Get that fucking pitying look off your face, Reiner.”
He spits again, using his hand to cup water and splash it over his face.
“And get the fuck out of here.”