Chapter 21
Jamie
Jesus… oh fuck,” I groan, a bead of sweat running down my forehead. The bed creaks from my weight as I’m pushed farther into the cushion. “Oh my god, yes. Right there.”
“Alright, please stop with the sex noises,” Jared pleads, causing me to laugh hysterically.
“I’m laughing through the pain, Jared. If I don’t, I’m gonna start cussing and throwing fists. Neither of us want that.”
“You already are cussing.”
“Yeah, but not at you,” I point out.
“Yeah, well not yet anyway. You might be in a second though. Get up. Time for—”
I sit up quickly, giving him a desperate look. “Not the bands…”
Jared nods, a sinister smile forming on his face, probably because he knows these are my least favorite thing to do. They hurt like a bitch, and that’s crazy for me because it’s something that used to be so easy. Oh, how the mighty have fallen.
“Yes, the bands. Now get your ass up and on the mat,” he points to black yoga mat on the floor.
Groaning exaggeratedly, I reluctantly move from the bed to the mat. Jared hands me the bands and directs me on what to do with them.
I count the reps in my head the way I used to count shifts.
One.
Two.
Three.
Four.
The resistance band bites into my quad as I extend my leg, sweat slicking the back of my neck despite the rooms aggressive air-conditioning. I push through the searing pain in my knee, trying to picture anything else in my mind to keep me from thinking about how much it hurts.
“Don’t rush it,” Jared tells me for the third time.
I exhale through my nose and slow the movement, my jaw tight. My knee burns, but my need to get back on the ice is hotter.
As I huff and puff, I stare up at the ceiling.
And of course, like she’s a freaking beacon of light, Ellie’s face is there.
All gorgeous with her pink lips and green eyes and perfect smile.
Fuck, the way she was talking to me the other day, all demanding and straight to business.
The way she smiled when the details finally came into place.
Shit, I had to jack off in the shower as soon as I got home.
She’s a goddamn vision, and I don’t understand what my eighteen-year-old self was thinking.
Cleary he wasn’t considering I left quite possibly the most beautiful girl I’ve ever laid my eyes on.
I had her. I had her and I fucked it all up.
Now, I have to work like hell to try and get her back.
Jesus Christ, this hurts.
I finish the set and let my leg flop down on the mat.
“What were you thinking about?” Jared asks, curiously.
“How much I wanted to punch you for making me do that again,” I say with a straight face. He chuckles.
“You’re improving,” he states. “Your strength’s coming back.”
“Yeah,” I mutter. “Slowly.”
Everything’s been so goddamn slow lately. My healing, earning Ellie’s trust, my team.
The one thing that hasn’t been slow, though, is how much I want Ellie. It’s like having an itch I can’t scratch.
See, wanting her isn’t the problem. The problem is wanting her and knowing I don’t get to touch her.
That pain is worse than any pain I’ve felt in this room, and the worst part is, it’s all my fault.
Later that day, I’m in the locker room with the Wolves.
It’s loud and chaotic, and the energy is palpable.
They’re pumped for tonight’s game, and honestly, I am too.
They’ve been practicing their asses off and I’m actually a little proud of them.
Ridgewood Academy is good. They have some skilled players, and their coach is a hardass.
I can also be a hardass, but not as bad as Sean Morone.
I’m not completely sure what the outcome will be, but I’ll be proud either way.
I do hope they win though, because I have to break the news to them that they’re going to be dancing in front of quite a big audience in a few weeks. Can’t wait to see how that goes. But for now, we need to focus on the game.
After my pep talk, the boys are fired up and ready to go.
The arena is loud when the guys take the ice.
There’s cheers and screaming, the sound of hands banging on the glass.
Ridgewood’s guys enter the ice, and the stands erupt with boos.
I miss this. This feeling of adrenaline pumping through my veins. The rush of heat before a game.
Scanning the stands, I try to find the one person I want to see, but she’s nowhere to found. Not that she has a reason to be, we’re not together.
Skates carve into ice, sticks clack together, and I take my spot behind the bench.
It’s definitely odd being behind the bench instead of on it.
I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to this, but with any luck, I won’t have to.
I cross my arms over my chest and watch as the guy’s skate back and forth, hitting pucks at the goal and stretching.
Warmups are always chaotic. We chirp at each other, make snide comments about sleeping with someone’s mom or girlfriend to get them riled up.
It’s the best part of the game, aside from winning of course.
The time starts on the clock and they start off strong.
For the first ten minutes, they hold their own.
They’ve got smart passes, our defense is tight, and Levi Petrolla, our mammoth of a goalie is guarding that net with his life.
It’s a promising start, and although I should be completely focused on the game in front of me, I can’t help but check the stands every few minutes in case Ellie miraculously decides to show up.
Get your head in the game, Jamie.
Shaking my head, I refocus on what’s happening on the ice, barking orders and definitely some words that should probably not be said at a college game.
I watch as one of Ridgewood’s forwards comes barreling down the ice with the puck.
Jacob Rostolvic gets in front of him, effectively stealing the puck and heading in the other direction.
Ridgewood’s players are tough. They’re aggressive and they don’t hold back.
It’s like they can sense fear, and right now, my guys are acting scared.
Their pulling back on shots, not getting close enough to the goal, and making stupid mistakes.
The first goal comes from Ridgewood after Logan Bergstrom loses the puck in the neutral zone. One second he had possession, and the next, the puck was in the back of our fucking net.
I take a deep breath through my nose as I try not to react. I watch Levi as he slams his stick against the ice in frustration.
If I had a stick, I’d be doing the same thing.
These guys are not giving it their all. I don’t care if it’s practice, I don’t care if it’s a beer league game.
You show up and you give it one hundred and ten percent of everything you’ve got.
You prove to yourself and to others that you are meant to play hockey.
You’re meant to be there. Ridgewood seems to have gotten that memo.
“Move,” I snap as Paul, one of my wingers, hesitates to steal the puck. “Jesus, Novak, move your god damn feet.”
That makes him move faster. He races toward Ridgewood’s net while their goalie is distracted and dumps the puck deep inside. Fucking finally!
The score is finally one to one, and by the looks of it, Ridgewood is not playing around. They came to win, and that’s what they’re going to try to do.
When the end of the second period comes around, I feel like I’m about to have a coronary. My heart is racing and I’m sweating. I wasn’t even on the damn ice but with the way I’ve been shouting and pacing back and forth, it’s no surprise that I’m dying of a heat stroke.
“Gap! Close the gap!” I bark for what seems like the thirtieth time today.
But it’s too late.
The shot rings off the crossbar, the sound sharp enough to rattle teeth. I lean over and take calming breaths, as if that’s going to help me right now.
“You okay, coach?” one of the Wolves asks, looking a bit concerned. Is he shitting me right now? With the way this team has been playing, how could I possibly be okay?
“Shut up and turn around.” He does. I know, that was an asshole move, but I’m so riled up right now. I can’t tell if it’s because they’re playing so poorly, or if it’s because I wish it were me out there on the ice.
By the third period, the game is already lost. I turn my back on the ice and drag a hand over my face.
“Unreal,” I mutter.
I make the decision to take Petrolla out of goal with over two minutes left. It’s risky, but I’m putting in one of my best guys.
“Congratulations,” I tell him. “You get one more chance to prove you deserve this damn jersey, do you hear me?”
“Coach, there’s no way we’re winning this. It’s four to two. It’s over.”
I grab him by the collar and bring him close.
“It’s not over until the damn buzzer goes off, kid. Get out there,” I spit, shoving him toward the ice. He recovers quickly, hopping the barrier and skating into the chaos.
Of course, he was right. Ridgewood beat us four to two. The buzzer signifies the end of the game, and I try my best not to break my clipboard over my damn knee.
Silence swallows the rink as the boys make their way off the ice and into the locker rooms. I follow after them, my adrenaline boiling at an all time high.
“Did that feel good? Huh? Did it? Because that feeling is only gonna get worse if you keep this shit up. We’ve worked and worked for weeks. That shit out there? That looked like deer on skates.”
The locker room is so quiet you could hear a damn pin drop.
“Drills at six a.m. tomorrow. If you’re not here you’re off the team. If you bitch, you’re off the team. I don’t care how much money mommy and daddy throw at this school. I won’t have this bullshit again. Got it?”
No response. They all stare at me as if I’ve got three heads.
“I said, got it?”
“Yes, coach,” they say in unison.
“Get the hell out of here. NOW,” I growl.
And then I’m alone, pacing and trying to catch my breath.
I’m pissed off, annoyed, and not all because of the game. Ellie wasn’t there, and I don’t know why it bothers me so much. I don’t know why I expected her to.