27. Killian
Killian
“ F ocus, Schultz!” Rhys, still in his sling, shouts from the bench. He can’t practice with us but he still shows up, mostly nagging us to not slack off. Rhys has been pacing around for our entire afternoon practice, determined that we keep our drive up.
What for, though? The season’s over, and I think we can afford to slack off, at least for today. I’m much more interested in thinking about the logistics of ordering Maddox blue flowers for the symposium he’s got coming up.
Obviously that’s the wrong mindset, because when I don’t block a puck, Rhys’s face flames up and he glowers at me. He looks ready to shove me to the ground, and I send him the most apologetic look I can muster.
I put in a solid effort though, especially with playing defense against the guys who’ll still be around next year. All things considered, we got pretty far this year, and I guess they need to remember that. These guys need to keep their motivation up and keep it up next season.
When Coach blows his whistle, signaling the end of practice, I yank my headgear off and skate over to our bench. I grab my bottle and, spraying water into my mouth, watch as Rhys calls over one of our rookies.
I stand there and listen to them, grimacing as Rhys rips him a new one for slacking off. Most of the other guys, even the coaches, are already heading toward the locker room, though this guy’s been singled out by Rhys and is forced to stay back.
“The season’s over,” the rookie argues. “We can relax.”
Oops. Bad move.
Rhys’s jaw drops, and even I wince at what I can see is about to be a tremendous crash out.
Fortunately for the rookie, though, it’s at that moment that Isaac emerges from the tunnel.
Rhys must see him from the corner of his eye because he turns his head swiftly toward him.
He presses his mouth together tight, and his posture stiffens.
The freshman’s brows furrow together. “Am I… free to go?”
“Yeah, go,” I mutter at him, and he quickly scurries away.
“Hey, Rhys,” Isaac says, walking up to us. He looks relaxed today, his hair smooshed under a cap and his coach jacket is unzipped. “How’s your shoulder?”
“Peachy,” Rhys says dryly, looking away.
The corner of Isaac’s mouth twitches upwards and he gives me an amused look.
I should probably go, but I feel bad and don’t want to leave my buddy Rhys behind right now with Isaac, especially in the state he’s in.
It took me too long—until that day in the hospital—to figure out why exactly Rhys is so odd around Isaac, and now that I know, I need to stay as a kind of buffer between them.
Smirking, I lean my elbows on the boards and distract Isaac. “My interview’s soon. You think I’m going to kill it?”
“Yeah, of course you are.” Isaac plops down on the bench. “You ready to spend nine weeks with teenagers who think they know better than you?”
“Eh, should be fun.”
Isaac chuckles. “Think you can stay away from your boyfriend for that long?”
That makes me groan. “No. If they ask me in the interview what’s going to be the hardest part of the job, it’s probably going to be that.”
“Hmm, yeah,” Isaac says, smiling. “The whole distance thing can be pretty tough. ”
Right. Isaac has a girlfriend. I tend to forget because she lives in a whole other state.
I’d love to ask him about it, but not in front of Rhys, who’s taken this opportunity to awkwardly fiddle with the straps of his sling.
When my phone rings and I see it’s Dad, I have no choice but to step away from Isaac and Rhys.
I still don’t want to abandon Rhys with Isaac, and right before I vanish down the tunnel, I steal one last glance at them.
Rhys is standing as far away from Isaac as possible.
My buddy tucks his chin to his chest as they speak, and Isaac seems to be the one who’s more chatty, as usual—but at least they’re having a conversation.
Sighing, I stop right outside the locker room and pick up Dad’s call.
“Hi, Dad,” I say.
“Killian. Hello. How are you doing?”
“I’m okay. Finals week is coming up, but I think I’ll be okay.”
“That’s good,” he says. “And how’s hockey going?”
I stare at the framed photos of the team on the wall. There’s one from back when I was a rookie. “Hockey’s the same as always,” I tell Dad. “We still have team practices even if we’re out for the season, but it’s mostly to help keep the guys who are staying next year going.”
Dad hums. “Listen, I’ve got great news.”
“Yeah?”
“My friend from Donlan Sports Group said to expect a call.”
Ah?
Dad continues to ramble about how even if the team lost in the first round of regionals, it wasn’t enough to completely close off all opportunities.
They still want me. He sounds happier than he’s been in a long time when speaking to me, and I know I should tell him that while I appreciate it, I… fucking can’t. It’s not what I want.
I want to coach.
“Thanks, Dad. I’ll wait for their call,” I tell him, because I’m a fucking coward is what I am .
“Great,” he says. After a beat, he adds, “And how’s your friend? Maddox?”
I frown. Why’s he asking about Maddox? We haven’t talked about him since that nightmare of a dinner, and it’s unusual for Dad to ask about my friends like this. “We’re actually dating now,” I tell him. “Is that going to be an issue?”
“No, Killian, it’s not.” His response comes immediately, though his voice is calm.
“I was… I was reading around a bit. Researching. I looked up the few out professional players. They’ve got quite the number of unpleasant comments, which proves my point that being out would put you under a lot of unnecessary scrutiny. ”
“Dad…” I grumble.
“But,” he interrupts. “They don’t care. They are happy. And that’s what matters, right?”
I jerk upright.
Dad continues. “All I’m saying is I was wrong, and you were right. And I apologize if I ever made you feel lesser for who you are.”
Am I hearing this right?
“Thank you,” I choke out, because what else do I even say?
As soon as I hang up on him, I close my eyes and sigh.
What the hell was that? There’s so many things going on in my head right now that I don’t even know what to latch on to.
I wasn’t ready for such an emotionally charged conversation, even if…
even if it fucking thrills me that Dad said that about being out.
I’m thankful that Dad accepts me for who I am, and that he’d be all right with me publicly dating Maddox even if I went pro. That said, I don’t want to go pro.
Eventually, I’m going to have to actually talk to Dad about what I plan to do after graduation.
I’m holding it off for now, but the conversation’s going to have to happen.
The only thing that makes me believe it’ll be okay is that Maddox promised he’d be right beside me when I finally decide to speak to Dad.
Still, the drastic way my mood is going back and forth is rattling. I need to see Maddox. He’s the one person who can help settle the storm in me .
When I get inside the locker room, loud music and scattered conversations greet my ears. Most of the guys are already in the shower, though Vega, Walters, and a few of the rookies are still hanging around.
“Hey, Schultz!” Vega says. “Maddox stays at Athena Hall, right?”
“Yep!” I instantly perk up. If they want to talk about my boyfriend, then I’m here for it.
“Miller’s girlfriend stays there,” Walters says, pointing at a rookie who gives me an awkward smile. “There was apparently a fight, someone’s laptop got smashed, and campus security had to be called in. We don’t know who, though! You think Maddox would know?”
I laugh. “Maddox is probably cooped up in his room studying and has no idea what’s going on.”
Grinning, I pull my phone out again, ready to ask Maddox anyway. I already have a message from him— yes!— and hope he’d be okay with me coming over.
When I open up his message, though, what I read makes my heart drop to my stomach.
Maddox: Viktor came to my dorm. Yelled at me and broke my laptop. He didn’t hurt me though and he’s gone now. He was angry because I’ve been ignoring his texts and calls. I’m sorry. I should have told you sooner.
I see red, fisting my hand so hard that my nails nearly pierce my palm.
I’m going to fucking kill him.
***
My heartbeat thunders in my ears, and I swear to god I’ve never felt so much rage in my life before. When a red light stops me at an intersection, I slam the wheel and curse.
God. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
Maddox’s hallway is quiet when I get there .
For a minute or so, I only stand outside his room, calming myself down and evening out my breathing.
It doesn’t work.
Sighing, I knock on his door. Maddox doesn’t answer, though I do hear noises from inside, making it obvious that he’s ignoring me.
“Maddox,” I call, knocking again.
The noises from inside stop. The door slowly swings open, and one look at my boyfriend and my chest tightens.
His hair’s a mess, as if he’s been running his hands through it, and he’s got bloodshot eyes. Maddox looks defeated, his shoulders slumped, and the too-big shirt he’s wearing makes him look even tinier.
And I know that nothing about Maddox is frail, but Viktor is twice his size, and I’ve seen the way Maddox freezes at the sight of him.
I should have been here.
Maddox steps aside, letting me in, and my gaze instantly snaps to his broken laptop. He’s haphazardly pushed it to a corner of his room. Its screen is shattered, the keyboard’s in pieces, and the bottom of the laptop lays like it’s barely even connected to the base.
“I haven’t thrown it away because I’m thinking maybe I could salvage some of the storage.” He stares at the ground. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you he was bothering me again.”
“All those unknown numbers trying to get in touch with you… that was him?”
Eyes still looking at anything but me, Maddox slowly nods.
He flinches when I cup his face and pull him to look at me. He frowns and meets my eyes, and there’s still some wetness on his cheek that I brush away with my thumb.