Chapter Twenty-Seven
Monroe
It’s early, before the clinic. The show must go on, and all that.
My mind should be on the kids coming in this morning. They only have one week of clinic left, and they’re making so much progress. Rhodes and I have been like proud parents watching them skate. I look up at a clock on the wall. Seven-thirty-six. Twenty-four minutes until the chaos begins.
I replay Rhodes’ last text to me.
Will be gone for a day or two. Taking care of a few things.
My texts in response have gone unread, and I’d be completely lying if I said it wasn’t stressing me out. My dad did help fill in some of the blanks, but none of us are totally sure how serious Rhodes is about physically taking down his father, so everyone is concerned with him being out of reach.
I’m mostly caught up with the media storm—I’d have to be both blind and deaf to have missed the NHL insanity that’s been plastered on every social media site as of this morning.
Rhodes McKnight: Was the Wolverines Captain intentionally throwing games earlier this season?
It’s all garbage.
There was so much going on when he left his house yesterday—I woke up without him next to me and assumed he was up grabbing breakfast or in the shower.
When he came back to his room and gave me his house key, we just sped right past the “here’s the key to my house” conversation we probably should have actually had.
That we are absolutely going to have once he gets back.
I’m giving him grace, because yesterday was shit for him. My dad is losing his actual mind trying to figure everything out and figure out what steps they need to take in order to clear Rhodes’ name.
I should have told my dad weeks ago. I should have made Rhodes tell him.
Now, sitting alone at the rink, watching the ice stretch empty beneath the buzzing overhead lights, all I can think about is how much worse we let this get.
I let the we part of that sentence hang in mid-air. We. Rhodes and I are a we. And I want to be part of that we. Fully. I’m all-in. But he can’t make a habit of disappearing like this, because I am clearly not taking being out of the loop well at all.
I’m worried for him. For his safety, especially if everything I’ve heard about his dad is true.
I cross my arms, staring at the scuffed-up surface. If I close my eyes, I can still hear my dad’s voice from this morning.
‘Did you know about this, Mo?’
I had barely stepped into his office before he was on me, his expression dark with frustration. I knew this was coming—I just hadn’t expected it to hit quite this hard.
I had shifted on my feet, guilt creeping up my spine.
‘Yeah, I knew. I thought he was going to tell you.’
Dad had scoffed, shaking his head. ‘Well, he didn’t. And now he’s in a hell of a lot of hot water, and there’s only so much I can do until the investigation is over.’
His voice had been clipped, the way it got when things were out of his control.
‘The commissioner is involved now, there is supposedly some kind of evidence they have to look into,’ he’d gone on. ‘I’m gonna lose my best player because he’s got pride growing out of his fucking ears and didn’t tell anyone his dad was back in the picture.’
I’d had nothing to say to that—because he hadn’t been wrong.
And now, we’re here. It could take weeks for the NHL’s investigation to conclude. I let out an audible sigh.
I’m startled when a voice pulls me out of my thoughts.
“Hey, Monroe,” Beck says, sliding into the seat next to mine. I scoot over to give him some room. “I’m filling in for Rhodes today. I wasn’t sure if Elsie told you or not.”
She didn’t, but I assumed someone would, since Rhodes wasn’t even in Connecticut right now.
“Sure. No problem. Do you have Rhodes’ notes? I can walk you through how we usually run the practice. They’re getting pretty good now. You shouldn’t have to pick anyone up off the ice today.”
Beck chuckles. “Yeah, I looked them over. I’ll let you take the lead. Should be a fun couple of hours.”
We sit a beat in silence together as the clock ticks closer to the clinic start time.
He clears his throat before speaking next. “Don’t be too mad at him,” he says. “He means well. His execution is sometimes off, though. He’s not trying to piss people off.”
I let out a dry laugh. “I’m not mad. I’m…frustrated that he feels like he can’t talk to me. He just took off.”
“Yeah, well. If it helps, none of us got anything more than that, either. He’s a closed book about his dad. It’s taken me years to even know how bad it’s been. Sloane probably knows the most, honestly.”
“It does help a little,” I say quietly. “He gave me a key to his house.” I don’t know why I offer that information but it slips out. Beck smiles at the statement.
“He’s pretty far gone for you, Monroe. I don’t know if you can tell.”
“I’m sure you say that to all the girls he dates,” I tease. Part of me hopes it isn’t true, though.
“He doesn’t really date,” Beck says casually. “He’s only had one girlfriend in the time I’ve known him, and that was over last year.” I knew it. My Instagram stalking had paid off.
I let his words sink in.
“For what it’s worth…” he says, standing up. Parents and skaters are starting to trickle into the rink. “This is real for him.” Leaving me to let those words sink in, he turns and starts corralling kids onto the ice, introducing himself. I like Beck. He’s a good one too, I think.
Rhodes has good people.
“Okay, everyone,” I say, gliding toward them on my blades. “Let’s get started.”
* * * *
I’m pulling my skates off in the locker room when I hear him behind me.
“You really know how to pick ’em, M.”
My gaze snaps to the side. Aaron.
“What could you possibly want?” I grit out. Did nobody on the Nationals team have anything better to do than bother me?
Every time I see them, they’re slinking around the rink, whispering, staring. It’s getting under my skin. I get that it’s going to be hard to start over in the same place my accident happened, but it’s even harder when everyone refuses to just let me exist without it being a spectacle.
Aaron leans casually against the boards, smug as ever. “Just heard about your little hockey boyfriend and the gambling scandal. That’s tough.”
The smirk on his face tells me he’s anything but sorry about it, and I have the urge to smack it right off his stupid mouth. How I ever considered him my closest friend is beyond me now. How did I miss how condescending he is?
I fold my arms across my chest. “Well, not that you care, but it isn’t true.”
Aaron lets out a low, knowing chuckle. “You’ve never been na?ve before. Don’t start now. There’s a reason none of us fucked with hockey players.”
I roll my eyes. “Aaron, I’m sorry, but seriously—shut up. You don’t know anything about it, and you’re just trying to start shit.” I turn back around to the locker to gather my belongings, my attempt at a dismissal.
“Just extending an olive branch,” he says, holding up his hands like he’s the picture of innocence. “You’ve moved on from your…edgy phase. You’re getting back to your old self.”
I bark out a laugh. “Okay, right. And you’re just itching to be my friend again?”
He shrugs, still too nonchalant. I bristle. I don’t know what his angle is yet, but it’s not this. It’s not friendship.
I narrow my eyes. “You have Natalie. You skated for the Olympic team. I didn’t. I will likely never skate at that level again. So what do you want?”
His expression doesn’t falter, but there’s something calculating in his gaze.
He shrugs, playing it off like it’s casual, but I see the gears turning in his head. “We both know what happens when you hitch your future to someone whose reputation is circling the drain. Sometimes you’ve gotta know when to jump ship, consider it a fun time had, and move on.”
My jaw tightens. “And you’d know all about that, would you? Was I just a fun time had, Aaron?”
“All I’m saying is that I know exactly what happens when someone goes down,” he says smoothly. “And what it’s like to be standing next to them when they do. And you have time now to get out before you add more bad press to your name.”
I blink at him, my stomach twisting. “You know you’re talking about me, right? Just, like, to my face?”
Aaron exhales, shaking his head like he’s being so patient with me. “I did what anyone else would have done, and what you would have done, too. Get off your high horse, Monroe. And I’m not here to piss you off—”
My face must betray my feelings, because he holds up a hand to stop me from talking before I start.
“I’m here to give you an opportunity.”
I don’t say anything, just arch a brow, waiting for whatever bomb he is about to drop on me.
“Nationals are coming up in a few months,” he says, pausing just long enough for the words to land. “Petra has an opening for an alternate. If you start training now—”
I laugh. A sharp, humorless sound. “Oh, you’re out of your actual mind.”
He shakes his head, like he expected this reaction.
“You said yourself that you’ll never compete at that level again, right?
That you won’t skate Olympically again? Nobody is asking you to.
But even injured, even recovering, you’re still eons better than half the girls on that team.
If you come back for Nationals, that’s a shot at the Worlds team.
So maybe not the Olympics, but your career can still be resurrected. I can help with that.”
I step closer, lowering my voice. “Are you actually trying to recruit me? After everything?”
Aaron sighs, tilting his head. “Look, you can’t deny that we made the best pairs team in the entire country. And let’s be honest, M—if you want back in, even a little bit, this is probably your only chance.”
My stomach twists.
“Consider this your comeback-kid moment.”
I don’t know what pisses me off more—the fact that he thinks he has any sway over me or the fact that for a split second I actually consider it. What would it be like to skate competitively again? That was my life.
I take a long breath to quell the anxiety weighing heavy on my chest.
His lips curl, slow and deliberate. “Skating for Nationals, for Worlds, is a hell of a lot better than skating clinics at a local rink with some guy you didn’t know three months ago and who won’t even have a job in two weeks.
Whatever this is,” he sneers, gesturing vaguely in my general direction, “it’s a waste of your talent. ”
That lands like a grenade.
“Just think about it, M.” Then he walks off, leaving the weight of his words in his wake.
I’m still standing in silence when my phone dings with the arrival of a text message. My heart leaps up into my throat, hoping it’s Rhodes with an update.
It drops right back down to my feet when I see who it actually is.
Mom (10:57am): Hi, sweetie!! I’m back in town—let’s grab lunch!
Oh, for fuck’s sake.