Chapter 42 Colton
FORTY-TWO
COLTON
NOVEMBER | COLUMBUS, OHIO
The timing was either predestined or predamned.
We were playing Dallas at home that night. And I was reading the first book that wasn’t going to work for Violet.
Violet wanted to be able to read this book, but I could tell very early on that it probably wasn’t going to be a good match. She said she loved dark romance spice and the “touch her and die” vibes, but it was the romance subgenre most likely to set her off.
“It’s healing for some people to read bad things that have happened to them, and I respect that,” she’d said. “But I can’t read it without getting sick.”
I rubbed my eyes for a third time sitting at team lunch. I sniffled so many times, Dottie asked if I was getting a cold. But it was no cold you can catch from germs. I was getting choked up reading a scene that felt too close to the story Violet told me that one stormy night in my car.
I coughed to clear my tight throat. I hated that she had been through this. That anyone had to go through it. I hated that men like this had normal jobs and normal lives and would likely never be held accountable for what they did.
The female main character described feeling helpless. Terrified. Worthless. Confused. Trapped. I could almost feel it myself, a restless ache in my skin, a need to run.
Violet felt this. She went through this at the hands of someone I knew well and treated like a brother.
Or maybe a weird cousin, because the guy never did act right.
Of course I had thought about the scenario.
Pieced together the fuzzy images she described.
But reading it here, like this, well-written and descriptive—
“I’m gonna get sick,” I mumbled, rushing off for the bathroom, but not making it.
I bent over the trash can at the edge of the lunchroom and emptied my stomach.
My teammates jumped, covering their eyes and giving out random, “the fuck, bro?” cries.
I excused myself to the bathroom, splashing cold water on my face with shaking hands.
Pete had done that to Violet. Probably to other women too. That little piece of shit damaged the best part of my life. I almost lost everything I had with Violet because of him.
But my feelings aside, he hurt Violet. My precious, determined, tough-as-nails woman.
I hated him, and I didn’t hate anybody.
I felt like I was going to crawl out of my skin. I was shaky, sweaty, almost dizzy. Did I actually want to kill him? Flashes crossed my mind. Ways I could hurt him. Ways I could make him pay. I wasn’t even worried about getting away with it. I just wanted him done.
And that night, I’d be facing him.
Violet and I made a plan for how to handle this.
We decided it was best for her to stay home and not watch the game.
I didn’t want to force her to look at that fucker’s face any more than I already had.
She scheduled a therapy appointment for the Monday after the game, to be sure she had somewhere safe to let out any feelings that came up.
Plus, while I didn’t have a specific plan for how to hurt him, I knew I’d act if the right opportunity came up.
I had no plans on being Mr. Nice Guy. Pete was about to get the other end of the stick.
“You sure you can play, Cap?” Dottie asked while we were getting dressed for the game.
“Medical cleared me,” I said. “It was just mental. My book had a graphic part and it got to me.”
He touched my forehead with the back of his hand like a mother. I didn’t know he had a single nurturing bone in his body. “Did you catch the air?”
“The air?” I asked.
“Yeah, uh. When the air moves in a room. The wind?” He gestured with his fingers.
Owen perked up. “You mean the draft?”
“Yes. The draft.” Dottie snapped his fingers. “Thanks, rookie. The draft makes you sick. Very bad for you.”
“What?” I took a swig of my water.
“Yeah,” Owen shrugged. “My Polish Babcia said it was true and she’s like 102. She knows stuff.”
“Sounds like an old wives’ tale,” Leroy said.
“It’s real,” Owen and Dottie said in unison.
But no drafty wind created this feeling inside me.
I felt responsible. I knew Pete was weird, but did I make any moves to kick him off the team?
No. Did I monitor his behavior? No. Was that my job?
Probably not, but my Violet was the fallout of all this.
My Violet suffered because of me. Because of him.
And he had to pay.
Warmies.
My muscles felt charged, like every fiber was a cannon ready to explode.
I stood on the red line dividing Dallas from Ohio. Pete Doyle was stretching a few feet away. An antsy feeling built in every limb and I kept shaking them out. Could I get away with sinking a skate between his legs? Cup be damned, I could do some damage.
He stood and skated my way, his goalie helmet in hand. “Oh, hey, what up, Cap? How ya been?”
A jolt flashed through me, fantasizing about all the ways I could end him. End his career. Maybe even end his life.
I never thought I’d be a murderous thoughts kind of guy, but he took something that wasn’t his to take.
“Don’t fucking talk to me,” I warned.
He blanched. “What’s up with you? I thought we were friends.”
I spat on the ice between our skates, wishing I could shoot my spit right in his face. And maybe that it was poisonous dinosaur spit or something. “We are not friends. You are the fucking scum of the earth.”
He held his hands out, milky white from all the time spent in a blocker and glove. “Why?”
I leaned in so close his breath fogged my visor. “I know what you did to Violet and you’re lucky you’re not already in the fucking ground.”
A flash of recognition passed over his face before he recoiled. “Who is Violet?”
“Don’t,” I said. “Don’t fucking do that. You don’t get to disrespect her like that. You’ve already ruined enough.”
He was putting on bravado, but his face showed some degree of panic. “Look, I don’t know what you’re talking about—”
“Watch your fucking back, fuckhead,” I hissed. Fuckhead is not the best curse, but I wasn’t sure calling him a rapist out in the open was the wisest move. Better to talk in non-specifics.
I spat again and skated away, firing pucks as hard as I could to try to shake him off.
“You alright, Cap?” Sorrento asked.
“No.” I said it with enough finality to tell him I didn’t want to talk about it. “We need to crush him.”
His eyes went concerned. “Him?”
I tightened my jaw. “Them.”
He nodded and bumped my fist, but his eyes stayed concerned. “We will.”
A whistle and a faceoff in front of Dallas’s goal. I skated with my stick trailing behind me, and wouldn’t you know it, when I pulled my stick around to my front, the blade lifted right under a certain goalie’s chin. His throat guard kept him from getting it too hard, but I still heard him startle.
Good.
“Watch it, Jonesy,” Dallas’s forward warned me.
“I didn’t do anything,” I scoffed.
Leroy won the faceoff, and I moved next to the goal.
Sorrento got the puck and fought out front to punch it in.
This was my moment to move, a perfect scenario. Pete was between me and Sorrento, and if I wanted to help Sorrento, I had one excellent, albeit illegal, option.
As badly as I wanted to, I didn’t plan on actually hurting him. I just wanted to rattle his cage so I could maintain my good boy status.
But maybe part of being a good boy was taking down the bad boys. Making sure they couldn’t succeed. Giving him a taste of his own poison.
I made my move.
I plowed through Pete. Through his head, more specifically.
Sorrento jammed it in the goal as Pete went facedown on the ice.
The whistle was immediate. The fists were even faster.
I got a check to the back of my head, and though it stunned me, I turned to grab for a jersey. I don’t remember taking my gloves off, but they were gone. The only thing that kept me from judo-throwing the green jersey in my hand was the continued whistles and hands forcing me off him.
I ran my mouth, a constant stream of cusses and nonsense I couldn’t recall if I tried. The metallic smell of blood surrounded me. I was out of breath going to argue with the ref, my vision scrambled. Then I was pulled to the ground for another round of pounding.
All the while, the arena was eerily quiet. Pete still hadn’t moved.
I couldn’t find it in me to care. He was already dead to me. I knew I should have feared that in myself, but I didn’t.
Every drop of blood, spit, and sweat was worth it. Because that fight woke me up to my deepest truth: I loved Violet Gennari, and I would stop at nothing to bring her peace.