CAMERON
Chapter Six
I clutched my stick and stood still, inches away from Riley, as the cool air bit my nostrils. Assistant Coach Brent Heller walked in with a lopsided grin at exactly seven in the morning.
For the past four minutes, Riley and I had been standing in total silence. In fact, all he had said since we crossed paths at the team house was: “This is bullshit.” I couldn’t agree more, but I knew to keep that to myself.
“Morning, guys,” Brent said. He was a handful of years our senior and normally played the part of a mediator between the team and Coach Murray. He was the good cop when Coach Murray’s patience thinned. Which, in just over a month of being on this team, we had managed to do many times.
The talk among the teammates last night had been that Coach Murray was at the end of his wits with us.
Nobody had seen him agitated this often and this much in the past. The fact that it correlated with my arrival meant I had to be extra careful to prove there was no causation.
Just because Riley decided to make everything hard because he was pissed at my presence, I wasn’t actually the cause of this mess.
Not directly, at least.
He needed to grow the hell up and I needed to get him out of my head. It was easier said than done when he pouted like a brat and I had the strongest urge to spank him into obedience.
My cheeks heated and I prayed to all the gods listening that it could pass as being cold this early in the day.
We greeted Heller and waited for instructions. This ridiculous exercise was going to suck balls twice as hard now that I’d considered spanking Riley.
I pursed my lips and breathed slower to get my pulse down.
“Right,” Heller said into the open folder. “Seems like easy drills to me.” He looked up at us and tossed the folder on one of the seats nearby. As he crossed his arms on his chest, his blue eyes catching a mischievous glint, he gestured at the puck with his head. “Can anyone tell me what that is?”
I snorted and Riley visibly tensed.
“Alright. Enough fooling around. Let’s start from the top,” Heller said, chuckling to himself.
“Coach Murray wants you guys to practice the very basics, so that’s what we’ll do.
I’d love to know what you’ve done to earn that fate, but we can leave that for later.
I’d also love to know what I’ve done to be tasked with this when I have a pregnant wife at home to take care of, but that, too, can wait.
As for right now, Brooks, you’ll be our goalie, and Martinez, you’ll be learning how to lead the puck.
Nothing fancy, alright? Just…lead the thing and try to score.
Alright? Alright.” He clapped his hands, signaling us to get in our positions.
Exhaling in annoyance, Riley skated over to one of the goal posts and I dragged myself and the puck to the middle of the rink.
“Do I need to explain any of the rules?” Heller asked.
“No,” Riley and I replied in unison.
“Let’s go, then,” Heller said, his impatience rising. I felt sorry for the guy. He was supposed to be off and there was no way he didn’t blame the two of us for being dragged to campus when his wife benefited from his company more.
I held my breath, then began to play as instructed.
I didn’t understand what the point of this exercise was, but I could do my part and make sure Heller was free sooner rather than later.
Slowly, almost clumsily, I led the puck across the ice, my blades cutting against the frosty surface and the cold biting my cheeks and eyes.
Riley, who was as baffled as me at the mystery of our purpose here, stood at the goal post and glared at me.
Obviously, my meager attempt at scoring was exaggeratedly clumsy.
He defended his goal with two swift moves of his skates and a predictable switch of his stick.
In an instant, Riley had the puck and began showing off as he led it away from me, across the rink, and to the other goal post. He was spinning skillfully, seemingly lost in some mixture of ballet and battle, until Heller blew his whistle.
“Nothing fancy, Brooks,” he shouted from against the boards. “Beginner lessons, remember?”
Riley mock saluted Heller and finished his maneuver by scoring into an empty, undefended goal post.
“Well done, Riley,” I called across the ice, slow-clapping with my gloves on. “You really showed me how it’s done.”
He spread his arms wide in defense. “What’s the point of this?”
Heller answered the question before my silence could reveal I knew as little as Riley.
“The point is to get you two to work together, Brooks. And if you can’t show Coach Murray that you’re able to set your differences aside for the duration of practice, it’s not gonna be nice.
Let’s try this again, alright? Martinez, you’re the goalie. Brooks, keep it simple.”
Brooks did not keep it simple. He tried to, but the moment he lifted his gaze off the puck and met mine, he did the old bait and switch, trying to fool me.
I wasn’t going to rise to the bait. I wasn’t going to fall for his taunting.
We were here for the exact opposite reason.
And yet, as he shared a smug smirk, the space between my eyebrows creased and I found myself skating out.
He had been needlessly harsh yesterday. And sure, the rules allowed as much, but he had gone into me for a reason, rather than simply snatching the puck from me like he could have.
And for all my forced calm, I hated being in this position. So, when I found myself nearly clashing into Riley, we began a fierce battle for the puck. I stole it, but he was as swift as ever in catching up with me and kicking it aside when he couldn’t control it.
The whistle blew furiously, but we didn’t pay attention to Heller until the second time. “Stop. Guys, stop this. I…I gotta…”
Riley and I slowed down and Riley gave a little twirl on ice just to spice up his performance, then faced Heller.
“Guys, that’s all wrong,” he said hastily. “You’re not listening.” He was holding his phone and backing away. “I gotta take this. Just wait there and stop flaunting.” Heller spun away and disappeared while Riley and I caught our breaths.
“What’s the matter with you?” I asked in a low growl, taking my helmet off.
“Jesus, Cameron. This is ridiculous. Can we agree on that?” he asked.
My silence was all the confirmation he needed.
He tore off his helmet and revealed his heated cheeks.
His blond hair was matted and darker now that sweat had dampened it.
His cold gaze was like fury and it rubbed me the wrong way.
I pressed my stick against the ice and slid toward him until we were barely a couple of inches apart.
“You’re risking both our careers just because you’re a brat, Riley. ”
“Screw you, Cameron.” He pouted and my vision narrowed, a dark vignette framing it and Riley glowing in the center. I wanted to grab him, and shake him.
“You’re effectively screwing me already, Riley.
” I leaned in until I could feel the heat of his face on mine.
“And if you want to tank your future because of this, be my guest, but I won’t be dragged down with you.
” I glared at him as he opened his mouth to speak, then continued.
“I know you don’t actually want to destroy yourself, Brooks.
So get off your high horse and play, dammit. Can you do that much?”
He chewed his lower lip as his face hardened. This moment of silence felt like an awkward eternity. A brief tremor passed around the corners of his mouth and he frowned. “How is this so easy for you, Cam?”
I clenched my jaw. He was relentless. “Why is it so hard for you?” I asked coldly.
An air of determination passed over him as I relaxed a little and pulled back from him. “I don’t know,” he said in a flat tone.
He truly wasn’t over it all. He hadn’t forgiven me, but he’d never given me a chance to explain, either. I opened my mouth, although I had no clue where I was heading with this, and inhaled to speak.
“Sorry, guys, I’m going to have to leave you to practice on your own,” Heller said, rushing back in.
“It’s my wife. We’re having a baby.” His voice was ecstatic and Riley and I managed to exchange a confused look before spilling awkward congratulations and wishing them well.
Heller barely noticed us as he collected his things from the bench and dangled the keys before us.
“Murray said to leave these with you. Lock up when you’re done.
Or he will. Not sure what he said. Sorry.
Gotta go.” Frantically, Heller picked up the folder and his backpack, then ran out.
Riley and I stood still, dumbfounded, and let the realization sink in. Coach Murray still expected us to do these drills.
I exhaled and yanked the helmet back on my head.
“What are you doing?” Riley cocked his head to one side.
I spread my arms and shrugged guilelessly. “Let’s just play.”
“Play? I, um…” He moved the helmet around in his hands, then gave in. “What the hell,” he sighed and pulled the helmet on. We left the puck in the middle of the rink and skated in opposite directions. What followed next was forty-five minutes of blood-thirsty battling, skirmishes, and body checks.
For a short while, as sweat, fire, and ice mixed and merged, I forgot who he was.
Hell, I forgot who I was. I forgot the way I had felt for the past three years.
I forgot the hopes that had led me back to Michigan.
I forgot the bitter disappointment when none of the things I’d expected came to pass.
The only thing that mattered, for a little while, was the rubber disk sliding between Riley and me.
We weren’t keeping a score, for once. We had tried, in the first few minutes, but we soon lost count. And so, we let a short while pass. We let this thing play out and we struggled to outdo the other, but there was something so profoundly different that I was certain Riley felt it too.
It was fun.