Chapter 21 Coming Out on Top #2
The third is that Mark will hate me if he ever figures out what I’ve been doing, and I hope he never does.
Because while I was sneaking past his defenses, he was evidently tiptoeing around mine.
It’s only been twelve hours, give or take, since I last saw him, but relief washes through me anyway.
It’s getting harder and harder to pretend that I don’t have serious feelings for Mark.
I think I might actually be falling in love with him, which would be a first. But even so, that’s not enough to stop me from killing Rhys Steichen and Garret Fischer. Maybe I’m more like my dad than I care to admit. At least what I’m doing contributes to the greater good, I tell myself.
“Hey, you’re early,” Mark says, ducking his head to speak into my ear so I can hear him over the music when he reaches me, his arm slipping around my waist.
“Yeah, Katie and I finished up our movie marathon early. You look nice. I wasn’t sure I got the right size costume,” I reply, lifting my hand to run it across the fake mustache he’s wearing. “I’m not totally sure you’re pulling that off though,” I tease.
He snorts. “What did you guys watch?” he asks, his mouth next to my ear as he leads me toward the bar.
“The Halloweentown movies.”
“What?”
I repeat myself, assuming he didn’t hear me above the noise, but he looks no less confused. “Have you not seen Halloweentown?”
“No. Should I have?”
“We might have to do a movie marathon of our own,” I reply into his ear as we stand in the crowd at the bar, waiting for service. I want to glance over my shoulder to see if Garret is still standing near the edge of the platform, watching us, but I don’t want to risk drawing his attention if he is.
“Only if we alternate who picks the movies,” Mark counters.
“Deal,” I reply as someone jostles me, sending me stumbling into Mark. His grip on my waist tightens, and he’s glaring over my head by the time I look up.
I follow his gaze to find the offending party already retreating with a hastily muttered, “Sorry.”
“I wish people ran away when I glared at them,” I joke, and his eyes snap back to me.
“Is there any chance at all you might want to leave? I thought this could be fun, but we’re just going to be shouting at each other and dodging assholes all night unless we’re in the VIP section. But Fischer and Steichen are both up there.”
“Yes,” I agree, jumping at the opportunity.
He nods, and we turn and head for the exit.
“Where are we going?” I ask once we’re outside and I’m finally able to speak to him at a normal volume.
“Have you ever been to Waffle House on a Friday night?”
“No. In case you haven’t noticed, Waffle House isn’t exactly endemic to the Pacific Northwest,” I snark.
Mark grins. “Believe me. I’ve noticed. But Portland does have Jack in the Box, which in terms of the late-night clientele is almost the same thing.”
I take his hand as we walk, and his skin is warm against mine. “Dining rooms close at ten, and it’s after midnight.”
“So we’ll go through the drive-thru, then sit on the hood of my car in the parking lot and see if anything interesting happens. It’s Halloween. It’s bound to be entertaining.”
“Alright. As long as we can stop by Voodoo Doughnut after that.”
“Deal.”
“Katie decided she wants to meet you,” I say around a mouthful of sausage croissant.
Mark and I are sitting on the hood of his car, which is backed into a parking spot facing the drive-thru, watching people come and go.
The air is cold, but heat from the engine is radiating into my body.
It’s nice. I never could’ve pictured myself here a month ago.
“What changed?” he questions, glancing at me as he pops a fry into his mouth.
“I don’t know. She researched you, I guess.” I pause before repeating her statement from earlier. “She said I should ask you about Wisconsin.”
“How the fuck did she find out about that?” he mutters, looking away from me to toss a fry to a late-night seagull that’s been stalking the parking lot.
“She has a master’s in library science. She’s good at research.” I shrug. “So, are you going to tell me?”
“That was when I started dipping my toes into coaching.”
“Why?”
“I went to school on a hockey scholarship.”
“Okay. And?”
“My scholarship was revoked after I was removed from the team,” he says, sounding annoyed, and I’m not sure if he’s annoyed at having to explain it to me, or if he’s annoyed that it happened.
“Okay. And?” I repeat.
“What do you know about the way the NHL draft works?” he asks.
“Absolutely nothing.”
“Alright. Quick overview,” he says, tossing another fry to the seagull.
He hasn’t taken a bite since I mentioned Wisconsin.
“Players can be drafted in high school as long as they turn eighteen no later than September fifteenth of that year. And after being drafted, they’re able to go to college and play in the NCAA.
Basically, the drafting team holds the NHL rights for anyone they draft for a set period of time—for college players, that’s typically four years.
Between being drafted and signing a contract, you’re just a prospect, and until the contract is actually signed, they can pull it. ”
“And that’s what happened to you?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“At the start of sophomore year, I put one of my teammates in the hospital.”
“So what? Don’t people get injured playing hockey all the time?”
“He wasn’t injured playing hockey.”
“Ah,” I reply, taking a bite of my sandwich to see if he’ll continue on his own. But he doesn’t. “What happened?” I ask eventually.
“We were at a party, and he disappeared. I didn’t think anything of it. But on my way to the bathroom, I walked past a door that wasn’t all the way shut and saw him raping a semi-conscious woman. I pulled him off her. We ended up in a fistfight. And I won.”
“And they revoked your scholarship for that?”
“Not exactly,” he says begrudgingly. “I threw him out of a window, and he ended up in a coma for a few days. The woman he’d raped didn’t want to go through a trial, so no charges were filed against him.
And no one wanted the bad press that would come from filing charges against me.
They settled on revoking my scholarship instead.
Once my scholarship was gone, I tried to sign a contract with the team who’d drafted me, but apparently they heard about why my scholarship was revoked, and they were no longer interested.
A month later, I landed an assistant coaching job with a rival school that either hadn’t heard what happened or didn’t care.
Then, I realized I liked coaching more than I liked playing anyway. ” He tosses another fry to the seagull.
“Why is it still such a sore spot, then?” I probe.
“He’s the one who should’ve had his scholarship revoked.”
“Ah. The principle of the matter. I can understand that. It sounds like you came out on top, though. Literally and figuratively.”
He snorts but says nothing.
“I can’t believe you defenestrated a guy. No wonder I like you so much.”