Chapter 11 ~ Bellamy
The prodigy has returned and is declaring war
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The second my skates hit the ice, I knew it was going to be an ugly game. Not because we aren’t prepared—no, we are, and it’s not because I think my team isn’t talented; they are. We work exceptionally well together, like brothers working toward a common goal.
But some games, mainly the ones that start the season off, have always had a feeling to them, an energy I have always been able to pick up on right before they start.
And tonight feels wrong.
The arena is packed, every seat filled with parents, townsfolk and students dressed in our green and silver colours from Eden University and our rival, Clayton U’s colours, red and yellow.
The roar of the crowd echoes through the rink as lights flash across the ice, momentarily blinding me as Noah says something I don’t hear from my left as we get into positions.
Cold air burns my lungs, but all I care to think about is why this game feels off. Clayton U’s team isn’t even our biggest rival; we’ve beaten them before, so I shouldn’t be worried.
And yet, for some odd reason, I am.
That is, until I am faced with the one person who annoys me more than Minho and not in any of the fun ways I am thinking of when my stepbrother comes to mind.
“Ready to lose, Maddox?” My eyes lock with those of Jamie Gallagher, who grins like he’s already won the game, making my spine stiffen. “What’s the matter, mate? Your cute brother didn’t get your dick wet before the game?”
“What—” My eyes widened, lips parting, before the referee dropped the puck and the familiar whistle was blown.
I hear Jamie laugh as he takes the puck, and Noah, who's on my left, skates beside me and shouts something before I shoot into action, my skin burning and not because of the cold.
Fucking Galangher.
That’s why I’ve been worried. The little shit transferred from Briarston to join Clayton’s team after he beat the crap out of one of his own who’d checked out his sister or something.
To my left, Roy Parker, our newest addition to the team, but our best left winger, follows my lead the moment I cross the blue line when the puck accidentally slides free from Galangher’s hockey stick, heading for the boards.
I watch as Roy gets the puck and attempts to sidestep, that quick lateral move he’s pulled countless times, the one that leaves our opponents' defenseman reaching for air. And yet, this time, Parker’s skate catches a rut.
It all happens so quickly.
The sound that follows isn’t just a hit when Galangher’s hulking body meets with my left winger, making the crowd roar throughout the arena as blades screechingly grind against the ice, and Roy is body-checked into the boards.
I swear I flinch when his body drops like a sack of potatoes, before he reaches for his right knee, and I have half the mind to strangle the life out of Jamie fucking Galangher when he gets up, laughs like it was just another clean hit and goes for the puck that skitters off into the corner.
But I don’t; I go to Roy, who still hasn't gotten up
What the fuck just happened?
“Whistle!” I hear Noah shout as he gets to Roy before I do, crouching down to our teammates' level, though the ref is already bringing his arm up to do just that when Noah screams again, the sound ear-shattering before the whistle echoes through the silenced arena. “Whistle goddammit!”
That’s when I see Roy’s pale face, him curling into a ball, and hot fury surfaces to the forefront as I turn to face Jamie, who looks at the scene he caused with a smug grin on his face.
“You fucking did this,” I seethe.
Jamie raises his hands in mock surrender, a smirk ghosting his lips. “Not my fault; he didn't move in time.”
I swear I blacked out during what happened next, but one moment, Galangher was a few feet away, and the next, Oliver, my goalie and Benji, one of my defenseman, are pulling me off a bloodied Jamie before I spit on his face as he laughs.
Fucking piece of shit.
***
It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.
Losing this badly, I mean. At least not in the way the scoreboard above the ice shows it glaringly like a personal attack.
We lost our first game of the season, 4-2, and now the opposing team from Clayton University celebrates on the far side of the rink while mine are sitting scattered across the bench in exhausted silence—like I mean not a peep has left a single one of their mouths.
None of them even looked at each other because the loss in itself isn’t the worst part—the injury one of our own took is.
Roy and Jamie were taken to the hospital—I may have broken Galangher’s nose before I was benched by Coach for the rest of the game, and Noah hasn’t said one joke to lighten the mood.
The team's mood only got worse by the time we all got to the locker room.
It was too quiet.
Marcel, our other defenseman, doesn't bother blasting his music; still, no jokes were thrown around, and I half expected someone to shout at me, tell me this is all my fault.
Because it is, I got distracted over something so stupid, and then Roy got injured. I threw the first punch when I should have checked on my teammate, and I got myself benched with Eden U’s baby-faced benchwarmers—probably for the next few games, too.
I deserve the entire team's anger.
Now more than ever.
I’ve failed them as their captain.
But instead, I got their silence, and I think that is worse than being shouted at for being a hothead. I glanced to my right out of the corner of my eye and saw some of them staring at the floor, while to my left, they were staring at nothing.
Noah sat beside me, texting Yeseo, most likely about everything that occurred.
Benji was in the showers, along with Oliver.
Marcel stood in front of his locker and looked exhausted, head hanging low as he put his gear away, while scardy-cat, Brett Fraser, our other left winger, kept tapping his stick against the ground, the repetitive sound echoing through the room.
Other teammates were either on their phones or in the shower, where I could hear Ollie start his annoying, loud humming.
I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding in when Coach Walker walked in fifteen minutes later, at the same time Benji and Ollie entered the locker room from the showers in nothing but towels.
“How is he?” My voice comes out rougher than I intended it to.
Coach removed his cap, running a hand through his chestnut brow hair. “He’ll be okay.” Relief visibly hit the team collectively before Walker adds, “But he’s done for the season.”
An uncomfortable kind of silence falls over the locker room like an itchy blanket as my chest sinks in on itself.
Done?
Was the hit that bad?
Fuck.
Coach’s words echo in my mind as I take in what this means. Roy’s dreams of making it to the NHL with Noah and me just went out the window, and he was one of our best players—fuck, he’s one of my best friends and reasons I’ve gotten this far and so damn close to getting drafted.
I don’t think I could do this without him or Noah.
And now Roy is gone.
Off the team.
Coach looks around the room, meeting every player’s eyes that land on him.
“I don’t want you guys to think this will be a setback; we will adapt as a team.
” No one moved, not even a nod in agreement.
“We’ll be holding open tryouts,” he adds before looking in Brett’s direction.
“No offence, but I need a left winger that isn’t scared of getting roughed around a little. ”
That gets Brett to smile and nod, but I know that must have hurt. I am the reason he is on the team; after I listened to Roy, I told Coach to let him join.
Before anyone can ask Coach anything, he’s turning around, leaving us in the silence of the locker room, his words echoing in the back of my mind.
The finality of them, no room for questions or complaints. Roy would be replaced. Permanently.
***
A few minutes later, after getting off the phone with my mom, I step out of the locker room and stop dead in my tracks, my bag shifting uncomfortably on my shoulder, leather strap digging into my palm as I register the person leaning against the wall.
He almost looks the same, minus the greying sandy blonde hair and receding hairline. But everything else is the same, from the expensive suit that doesn’t seem to fit to the gold watch I swear he never takes off.
Leonardo Maddox pushes off the wall, and I take note of his hands trembling as he straightens, a tremor I’ve never seen before, not in all the years I have watched him dominate every room he entered with ease.
But when I look at him, truly look, his suit hangs loose at his shoulders, and his face has gone gaunt in ways that make bright light above us seem crueller on the eyes than they already are.
Is he not eating?
I don’t let the bag drop, but instead, I keep it between us like a leather shield. I hate the reaction he brings out of me when I see him, the way my heart stutters like it might give out. I hate that when I look at him, I am not excited to see him.
I need to breathe.
“You are not supposed to be here.” My voice comes out flatter than I expect when in his presence, but I stand a little taller and square my shoulders.
“Bellamy.” He says my name like he is testing whether he still has the right to use it, and he doesn’t, but I don’t know why he is here. “I know—I know I’m not, but—” He takes a step toward me, and I flinch back.
I realise I left the locker room without my shoes as the cold concrete floor seeps through my thin socks.
I notice I left with hardly anything, just a pair of jeans, a fitted t-shirt, and my varsity jacket wrapped around my waist. My hair is still wet from the shower under my backward cap, and I can feel water dripping slowly down the back of my neck.
I don't like noticing all these things and how uncomfortable I am in my dad’s presence, and all I know is that I want him to leave; I don't want to see him or talk to him.
“Then why are you here?”