CHAPTER 26 #2
The whistle blows again, cutting off whatever snarky reply he had prepared. We skate back into position, the tension between us heavier than ever. If this scrimmage is any indication, next week’s game is going to be one hell of a challenge—and not just because of the other team.
Brad, the centre in our team, faces off with Zach from the other team, and Zach wins the face-off easily, passing the puck to his team with a proud smile on his face.
Both teams are locked in a fast-paced scrimmage, the puck flying across the ice as we prepare for the homecoming game. The air is electric with focus and energy—everyone’s pushing hard, trying to prove themselves. Everyone except Hayes, apparently.
He’s been holding onto the puck like it’s his damn birthright, refusing to pass, no matter how open I am. I circle the rink, keeping my position, waiting for the puck. Hayes cuts across the ice, weaving through defensemen, and I call out, loud enough for everyone to hear. “Hayes! I’m open!”
He glances in my direction, but it’s fleeting, dismissive, like I’m not even there. Instead, he tries to take on three guys at once, predictably losing the puck in the process.
I grit my teeth and push forward, recovering the loose puck and skating it back down the ice.
The tension in my chest tightens with every stride, every moment of his smug, infuriating attitude flashing in my mind.
He’s been like this since detention—acting like I don’t exist, like I’m some extra on his personal stage.
The next time he has the puck, I’m wide open again, and I call out, louder this time. “Pass the puck, Hayes!”
Nothing. He ignores me completely, taking another risky shot that gets blocked. I skid to a stop, my frustration boiling over as I slam my stick against the ice, ripping my helmet off my head. “Are you fucking serious right now?”
The play stops as the whistle blows. Everyone’s eyes snap to me, and I don’t care. Hayes skates to the side like he’s above all of it, brushing the snow off his blade as he removes his helmet.
“If this was a real game, you would have cost us the win, Hayes!” I yell at him and I don’t hold back. “What the hell is your problem?” I shout, my voice echoing across the rink.
Hayes turns slowly, his expression unreadable, but his tone is cutting. “My problem? Maybe if you stopped whining and actually played, we’d get somewhere.”
My blood feels like it’s on fire. I skate toward him, closing the distance. “You mean like passing the puck? Or is this just you showing everyone how you’re ‘Captain Hayes’ and don’t need a team?”
He steps closer, and now we’re face to face, his glare matching mine. The sharpness in his eyes ignites something reckless in me, but I don’t back down. I’m done with his ego, done with him acting like he’s untouchable.
“You’ve got a problem, Miller?” he asks, his voice low and clipped, like a warning.
“Yeah, I’ve got a problem,” I snap, my voice rising over the sound of skates slicing across the ice. “My problem is being stuck on a team with someone who thinks he’s too good to pass the damn puck.”
His lips twitch into something between a smirk and a sneer. “Maybe I don’t trust you to do anything with it.”
The words hit harder than I expect, but I don’t let it show. Instead, I close the distance even more, the space between us almost nonexistent now. “Or maybe you’re too scared to let someone else shine for a second. Is that it, Griffin? Scared someone might actually outplay you?”
His jaw tightens, and for a second, I think he’s about to snap. His stick shifts in his hand, and his shoulders square up like he’s ready for a fight. The fire in my chest burns brighter, and I meet his glare head-on, daring him to make the first move.
“Admit it, Hayes. You only play for yourself.”
“Is that so? You’re a liability, Miller,” he snaps, his voice low and venomous. “Always have been.”
My chest tightens, and before I can stop myself, I shove him back, “Say that again and I’ll knock your fucking teeth out.”
Hayes shoves me right back, his hands gripping his stick so hard his knuckles are white. “You heard me.”
We’re inches from each other now, and the air is thick with the kind of tension that can only end in fists flying. The team is silent, everyone watching like it’s a show they can’t look away from.
“Break it up!” Coach Rivera’s voice cuts through the tension like a slap. He’s in between us now, his glare slicing through both of us. “Griffin, Miller—my office. Now.”
We sit across from Coach Rivera, the weight of his stare pressing down like a lead blanket. The office is cold and quiet, and I’m still seething, my arms crossed as I glare at the wall. Hayes is sitting beside me, his jaw tight, his hands clenched into fists on his knees.
Coach Rivera finally speaks, his tone sharp and steady. “I don’t know what’s going on between you two, but whatever it is stops now. I’m not letting your personal issues ruin this team.”
“It’s not me,” Hayes says quickly, his tone defensive. “I’m just trying to focus on the game.”
I let out a bitter laugh. “Right. By ignoring your teammates and acting like a one-man show?”
Coach slams his hand on the desk, silencing both of us. “Enough!” He leans forward, his glare cutting through the tension. “You don’t have to like each other, but you damn well better learn to work together.”
Coach’s words hit like a slap, echoing across his office. I glance at Hayes, whose jaw is clenched so tight I’m surprised it hasn’t cracked. For once, he doesn’t have a snarky comeback. Instead, he stares straight ahead, his hands tightening around his stick.
“You’re both talented players,” Coach continues, his voice firm, “but this isn’t about you as individuals. It’s about the team. And if you can’t figure out how to work together, you'll both be kicked off the team.”
I open my mouth to respond, but Coach holds up a hand, silencing me before I can get a word out. “Save it, Miller. I’m not interested in excuses or finger-pointing. I want solutions.”
Hayes and I both stiffen. “What does that mean?” I ask cautiously.
Coach leans back, his expression unreadable.
“It means I’m done with the excuses. Tomorrow, you’re going to do something, maybe an activity that needs both of you to rely on and trust one another.
Bond, or whatever the hell you need to do.
And when you’re done, you’ll have a one-on-one scrimmage on Sunday morning.
No team, no distractions. Just the two of you. ”
Hayes finally speaks, his voice low but edged with defiance. “You’re kidding, right? You want me to waste my time babysitting—”
Coach cuts him off with a glare that could freeze fire. “You’re not babysitting anyone, Griffin. You’re learning how to be a leader, and that starts with learning how to put the team first. Got it?”
Hayes doesn’t respond, but his silence speaks volumes.
“Good,” Coach says, turning his attention to me. “And you, Miller. You’ve got just as much to prove. I don’t care how good you think you are—you’re not above this team. Understand?”
I nod stiffly, swallowing the retort bubbling in my throat. “Yes, Coach.”
”Now get out of my office.”
We both stand, the tension between us still crackling, but neither of us says a word.
“And one more thing,” Coach Rivera says, halting our footsteps.
“I expect progress by the time we hit the ice next Monday. If you two can’t be cordial for the sake of the team, I will be forced to kick both of you off the team.
I won’t have the two of you jeopardize the team because you can’t learn how to put your personal issues aside. Am I understood?”
“Yes, Coach,”
“Good. Now get out of my sight,”
As I leave the office, my mind races with the thought of being forced to spend more time with him, knowing it’s only a matter of time before everything we’ve been trying to avoid comes crashing down.