Chapter 21
Ash
Today started off bad.
Thayer had a meeting on campus well before I had to be up, so even though I got to say goodbye to him, I woke up alone a couple of hours later. I had breakfast alone at home and watched TV alone, finished homework alone–Thayer didn’t come back home until it was time for me to leave for practice.
And he only came home to get changed for practice, too.
He apologized–he thought it wouldn't be that long, and though I appreciated it, it didn’t fix the irritation in my spine.
Practice went bad next–I was fine, but the rest of my team was off-kilter.
We all went out partying last night, but I went home at eleven to sober up and get railed by my boyfriend. They all stayed out, and now they were hungover and unhelpful on the ice.
And then one of them threw up on my foot, and I was done.
Practice ended, and I went home to eat and sleep, expecting Thayer to come home at some point, but he didn’t. It was game day, and to satisfy my routine need, I had to jerk myself off for the first time in weeks…
It kind of sucked, too–not half as good as if Thayer had done it for me.
My routine was off, my irritation level was high, and I had a headache.
I was primed to have a shitty night…
Enter Notre Dame.
Notre Dame had an amazing defense. Their goaltenders left much to be desired, but their defense was truly a sight to see at work. It meant little to me, since I mostly dealt with forwards, but it meant they were a true force to be reckoned with.
And our only real contenders when thinking of the Frozen Four.
They were a vicious bunch, and my defense was nowhere when I needed it. They were sluggish and casual because this game didn’t matter as much as some others, but it mattered to me.
And I was getting fucking beaten up.
There was a pretty loud rule in hockey–you didn’t touch the other team's goalie, or face the wrath of the whole team.
Only my whole team was a good shove from falling over and staying down.
My back hurt, my arms hurt–my leg was honestly killing me for the first time in months. I had Thayer work on it during intermission, but it was already hurting again, and we still had over half the game left–it was brutal.
The puck dropped again, and I let out a quick groan, already tired of what I knew was about to be a brutal attack on my goal. I'd been playing well and had only let one past me, as opposed to our team's three so far, but that only made Notre Dame hungrier to get past me.
There was a lot of confusion around my net at once.
Too many Notre Dame players and too many of my guys, batting at a comparably tiny piece of black rubber. I was trying to keep my eyes on it, get it away from the crease, but someone's stick got caught in my skate.
The stick pulled me down, smacking the back of my head into the goal post, and knocked off my helmet, just in time for my head to hit the ice.
Everything was suddenly too much.
It was too bright, too loud. I couldn’t open my eyes fully, but I heard the piercing whistle sound that stopped play. I heard my teammates talking way too loudly and felt too many hands on me, trying to get me off the ice, but everything was warping around me, and I felt sick already.
It was jarring.
Whoever helped me off the ice set me on the bench with something cold on the side of my head that got hit. They gave me all of two minutes to start collecting my thoughts and recentering before flashing a light in my eyes and asking me to follow a finger.
One of the trainers went over my cognitive test, just as a quick assessment for whether I had a concussion, which I already knew I had passed. I was out of it for a second there, sure, but I knew what a concussion felt like, and it wasn't this.
I’d had my bell rung once before, and that wasn’t a feeling you ever forgot.
“I’m fine,” I grunted, pushing the cold press off my head.
Very few things actually stopped play in hockey, but a hurt goalie always did. It was a debate about whether or not to put me back in because shifting goalies out wasn't as easy as shifting a normal player.
Still, they wouldn’t hold the game forever.
I knew I was fine, so when everyone backed off, I started making my way to the ice again, only to get stopped by a heavy hand on my shoulder. I looked back, expecting it to be Reed or a trainer, but no.
It was Thayer.
“He’s good?” Thayer asked the trainer, not even looking at me.
“He’s…within range,” the trainer answered, almost reluctantly. “Barely, but he’s in range.”
That fucker.
“I’m fine,” I said calmly, pulling my shoulder back to lose his hold on me.
“Ash–”
“Don’t do this,” I interrupted, holding his gaze like it was just us–the rest of my team and staff didn't exist. “We had a deal–I am telling you I am fine.”
Thayer hesitated for a second, searching my face with a flare of something I didn’t recognize in his eyes before looking past me to Reed and shaking his head. “Tommy. You’re in.”
All the noise–the fan screaming, players bickering, staff shoveling ice– it all turned to a screech in my head. Everything was loud and aggressive–my skin heating up and pressure in my head building like I was one step from blowing up.
Thayer sent Tommy in and had to stay for him, but I sure fucking didn’t.
I barreled right past him, ignoring every call of my name as I stomped down the tunnel, back into our locker room.
We had a deal–I was just stupid enough to think he meant it!
I trusted every word out of his mouth because what?
Because he helped with my leg?
Because I liked him?
Because he was hot?
Because my bi-awakening centered on him?
He painted such a pretty picture of life with him that I didn't even consider the possibility that it was a lie. I didn’t think about how too good to be true it was–I thought he cared about me and saw me–understood me.
Maybe parts of it were real, but all it did was give him access to more of me than he deserved.
“Ash!” Thayer called out, stopping me just as I was stomping out of the locker room–out of the rink. “You need to see one of the medics–they need to watch you–”
“Fuck off,” I spat, shouldering past him, into the hallway.
“Ash!” he said harshly.
When I turned back around, his hand was fisted at his side, flexing like he was fighting the urge to grab me. “Calm. Down. Go see a medic–we’ll talk after the game–”
“Fuck. Off,” I said back, mocking his annoying-ass calm. “We had a deal–I upheld my end. You lied to me. You said you’d trust me–”
“Stop–”
“No–you stop–stop all of it,” I shouted. “You don't get to do that to me and act like I’m the one out of line here–go fuck yourself, Thayer.”
“You didn’t see your head hit that ice, Ash–I did!” He yelled back, stepping closer to me and breathing hard, almost fanning my face now with our proximity. “I watched every second of that–”
“Don’t act like you care now.”
Thayer reached out to grab me, but I stepped back, clearing his reach. I watched him realize what he did–broke our boundary, right after breaking his promise to me.
Breaking things left and right because they only mattered to him when they benefited him.
Anger was still driving me, but stomping out of there, I felt the lump in my throat and the wobble in my chin. I was so pissed and scorching the earth with every step I took, but at the same time, as soon as I was in my car, I coughed out a cry.
Anger was one thing, but I'd never felt what heartbreak actually was like before.