Chapter 53
KAI
A heavy weight presses down on my chest when Monday morning comes around.
I fiddle with Diana’s hair clip as the boys and I head into the arena for practice. I shiver in my hoodie. My breath swirls into the cold, morning air tinged with the smell of grilled meat and red chili paste.
Rowan nods at the Pokémon lunch bag swinging from Luke’s arm. “What’s that?”
Luke shrugs. “Wallace forgot his lunch this morning, so I’m bringing it to him before his shift starts.”
Even with the tight knot binding the tote, I can smell Wallace’s homemade bibimbap from where I’m walking.
It’s the only thing swarming the air because reading week leaves campus empty and deserted.
No cars clog up the road. Only the stray student living in residence strolls around in sweats and sandals, while cradling the iced coffee they purposefully got up for.
As nice as it is to have a week off, I wanted to see Diana today. She’s the reason why Mondays aren’t so shitty.
“Strange art isn’t just paintings of men with elephant tushies,” Mellonbaum soliloquizes. “Strange art invites us to acknowledge how we humans oddly fuss and fret, dream and dread on this floating spinning ball that couldn’t care less if we live or die.”
Diana’s pinky brushes against mine before she leans towards me. “If you squint your eyes, that bobble head looks like Gregory if he was bald.”
I snicker into my hand.
“Mr. Kai Mason-Maiau,” Mellonbaum snaps, “is the concept of symbolic immortality that amusing to you?”
“Uh, no, professor.” My smiling lips drop into a serious, flat line. “I just had something in my throat. That’s all.”
“Hmph.” She clicks her pen and goes back to lecturing.
Diana and I smile at each other, fighting to tame back our laughter.
I can’t imagine what she’s feeling right now. She’s about to expose her brothers on the same evening her grandfather comes in from Taiwan.
Not to mention any hope I have of talking to her about us is gone, too.
The CEO vote hasn’t even happened yet and it already feels like Diana is being pulled away from me.
I swallow hard. My worries twist into a sadness that weighs so heavy on my chest.
When I walk through the doors of the arena, the rest of the Griffins are already there with cups of coffee and bottles of Gatorade in their hands.
They’re so out of it that half of them don’t have their student IDs.
“Kuso.” Rowan cups his hips like a stern, disappointed dad. “When was the last time you saw it?”
“At the Halloween party.” Jordan searches every flap and pocket of his wallet. “I think it fell out while I was fighting that Viper.”
The air goes stiff. The Griffins quiet down, their hands clenching up at the reminder of that disastrous night where fists were bruised and bad blood was settled.
Rowan relents. His hands drop from his hips with a resigned sigh. “Just use mine for today, then.”
I push the doors open. The hum of the HVAC system rises.
Then all I smell is blood.
“Putain de merde.”
Wallace lies on the ice, beaten and bruised beside his damaged zamboni.
“Wallace!”
Luke bolts past me; Wallace’s lunch bag drops to the floor as he rushes onto the ice. He skids and wobbles in his sneakers.
“Luke, be careful!” Rowan shouts.
Luke falls with a harsh thud. But it doesn’t stop him, as he desperately scrambles all the way to Wallace on his hands and knees.
Rowan curses under his breath before he darts out of the arena.
I watch as Luke lifts Wallace from the ice.
Wallace groans, slumping his head against Luke’s shoulder.
Dizzying anger steals the breath from my lungs.
A bruise swells on Wallace’s left eye. It trembles, struggling to stay open. Blood streaks down from a cut on his frowning lips. He coughs, wincing hard as he presses a hand to his stomach.
“L-Luke?”
“I’m here,” Luke croaks. Bits of shaved ice cling to his hands as he cradles Wallace’s head.
“I’m here, buddy. We’ll get you some help, okay?”
Luke’s attention snaps back to us. His eyes go black with anger. “What the fucking hell are you standing around for? Call for help!”
Rowan bursts through the doors.
“I just called the paramedics,” he pants. “They’re gonna be here in a minute.”
Our shoulders drop in relief, yet apprehension still winds around our necks like a noose.
The majority of the medical services at DHU are strategically placed near Balfur Arena because most injuries happen here.
But time feels like it’s crawling as the boys crowd around Wallace, trying to keep him conscious before the paramedics get here.
“What the hell happened?”
I whirl around. Coach Dawson runs onto the ice, while Coach Clark furiously pushes his wheelchair towards Rowan and me. He shuts his eyes and irritably pinches the bridge of his nose when Rowan and I tell him what happened.
“Go check the locker rooms and see if there's any damage there. I’ll keep an eye out here.”
I used to feel relief whenever I swiped my student ID and walked through the locker room doors.
Now I feel sick.
Yellow graffiti streaks the red and black walls of the main hallway. They slash through the motto the Griffins lived by: The ones who persevere are the ones who claim it all.
Except there’s nothing to claim. Not anymore.
All the puck display frames are shattered. Pucks and glass shards litter the floor next to Jordan and Eric’s dented student IDs. Banners celebrating our championship titles are stripped down from the walls. In the equipment room, globs of glue damage all the hockey sticks and helmets.
My breath trembles and my hands shake when I see the cubbies.
All of our jerseys are slashed through.
Tears burn in my eyes as I reach for mine. The seven and the eight slump off the locker hanger, torn in two in my hands. Uncle Manu’s words weaken into a hollow noise in the back of my head.
Soyez fiers jusqu'à la fin.
I know DHU has the money to replace all of this. I’m not fucking blind to that fact. But there’s not enough money in the world to make this broken, violated place feel like the safe space it once was.
Glass cracks and crumbles behind me.
I look up from my jersey. “Row?”
His dark eyes are stone-cold, his lips twitch with unspoken words. He’s so tense I swear he’s going to snap under the pressure. Rowan dials his phone. His breath catches when Mikhalkov’s voice drawls through the line.
“Kaneshiro—”
“Y-Your intel…” Rowan snarls. “Your intel was shit, Mikhalkov!”
Anger breaks through him, raw and unbridled.
“The Vipers didn’t just want to throw off the team! They did that to get our student IDs, so they can break into the locker rooms and fucking trash everything!”
“Hey.” Warning brews in Mikhalkov’s voice. “I said I’d tell you everything I know. I never said I’d connect the dots for you.”
“You fucking—” Rowan hangs up. He grips his phone tight, knuckles going white as they dig into his head.
“Rowan.”
He doesn’t answer. Panicked rage tortures his face, as he rakes his fingers through his hair, pacing back and forth across the broken glass with his breath sawing in and out.
I wipe the tears from my eyes and reach for him. “Come on, Row. It’s okay. You can let it out.”
Rowan stops. His fists unclench, fingers convulsing at his sides, before he snaps around and crushes me into a hug.
“I fucked up, Kai.”
“N-No.” I swallow hard. “No, you didn’t. You tried to warn the team. You did everything you could to stay on top of what the Vipers were doing.”
“I shouldn’t have let them go to that damn party,” he sobs. “Why the fuck did I let that happen?”
“You knew the team needed a break and didn’t want to take that away from them. You did what you thought was right. None of us could’ve seen this coming. We thought the fight would be the worst of it.”
Rowan’s fingers curl into my shirt. “The Vipers are gonna bleed for this.”
“They will.” Tears drip from my eyes as they glare at the tattered jersey in my hands. “We’ll make sure they do.”