Chapter 17 #2
The sound echoes through the empty shower room. For one suspended second neither of us moves.
My breathing comes fast.
His eyes are wide.
Not frightened.
Surprised.
I don't think he's ever seen me angry before.
Neither have I.
I hold his shirt tightly enough that my injured hand throbs. I barely notice.
I lean closer until only a few inches separate us.
My voice comes out low. Quiet. Far calmer than I feel. “I may have let you have control over me for the past few months. Let you fuck me, tie me up to your bedpost, call you fucking sir. But you don't have any control over me, Ash. It was only because I let you.”
Ash doesn't interrupt.
He just watches me.
His expression has changed completely.
The confidence is gone.
The teasing.
The certainty.
All of it.
“I said leave me alone.”
The words hang between us. For the first time since we met, Ash doesn't know what to say.
I slowly let go of his shirt.
The fabric remains wrinkled where I'd been gripping it. He stays exactly where he is against the wall.
Still looking at me. Still processing what just happened.
“I…” he starts quietly, “Kai…”
“No.” I step around him without another word.
The locker room feels impossibly loud despite only a handful of teammates being inside.
Equipment bags zip open. Tape tears. Someone laughs at the far end of the room. The ordinary sounds of hockey continue as though nothing has happened. I sit heavily at my stall and begin pulling on my gear.
My hands shake enough that tying my skates takes twice as long.
Across the room, Ash finally walks out of the shower area. No one seems to notice the silence following him. He moves more slowly than usual. When he reaches his own stall, he doesn't look at me.
I tell myself that's what I wanted.
Then why does it feel so much like I've made a terrible mistake?
The second the puck drops, I stop thinking. It's the first relief I've had all day.
No Ash.
No Noah.
No therapists.
No arguments.
Just hockey.
The crowd is loud tonight. We're home. Every seat looks full, towels spinning through the stands while music pounds through the arena speakers. The lights seem brighter than usual, reflecting off fresh ice until the entire rink glows white beneath us.
Coach had said before warmups that we needed momentum before leaving for San Diego tomorrow morning. Apparently, my brain hears that as commit crimes. Because within the first shift, I finish a check so hard the opposing winger folds into the glass.
The crowd explodes.
I don't even celebrate.
I simply skate away.
The referee raises his hand.
Two minutes.
Boarding.
Coach glares at me from behind the bench.
I nod once. Deserved. The penalty box feels strangely peaceful.
The crowd boos the call.
Someone pounds on the glass beside me.
Normally I'd feel guilty.
Tonight…
Nothing.
The game resumes without me. When my penalty expires, I jump back over the boards with fresh legs and far too much anger. A defenseman reaches for the puck. I steal it.
He hooks my stick.
I keep skating anyway.
Another defender steps into my lane.
I shoulder through him.
The puck slides onto my forehand.
Wrist shot.
Top corner.
Goal.
The building erupts. My teammates mob me against the glass. Dante is yelling something directly into my ear. The crowd chants something.
I don't hear any of it. The noise washes over me until it becomes something almost physical. It fills every empty place inside my chest.
The game restarts.
Another shift.
Another collision.
Another penalty.
This time for roughing.
Tyler laughs as I skate toward the box. “You trying to lead the league tonight?”
“Maybe.”
“Little psycho.”
“Probably.”
He shakes his head. “I kinda like it.”
Angela is sitting five rows behind our bench. I don't notice her until midway through the second period. During a television timeout I glance toward the crowd.
She's already looking at me.
When our eyes meet, she smiles.
Small.
Sad.
Then she waves.
I lift my hand automatically. The smile never reaches my face.
The timeout ends. The whistle blows. I throw myself back into the game before she can read anything else.
Everything feels sharper tonight.
Every pass.
Every hit.
Every sound.
Noah and I end up on the ice together more than Coach probably intended.
Our shifts overlap constantly. He never says a word. Neither do I.
We simply play.
Halfway through the second, he sends a perfect stretch pass through the neutral zone. It lands exactly where it needs to. I receive it cleanly in stride.
One fake.
Backhand.
Forehand.
Goal.
The arena loses its mind. I don't even look toward the crowd. I point straight at Noah.
Good pass.
Professional.
He stares at me for half a second.
Then skates away without acknowledging it. I tell myself that's okay. He doesn't owe me anything.
Third period.
Tie game.
Coach shortens the bench.
Every shift matters now.
My lungs burn. My legs ache. The exhaustion almost feels good.
Late in the third, Ash keeps the puck alive at the blue line with a diving glove save.
The crowd roars. He immediately dishes it down the wall.
Dante chips it toward the slot.
The puck bounces once.
Straight to me.
I don't think.
I shoot.
The red light flashes. Hats begin raining onto the ice.
One. Then ten. Then hundreds.
My teammates tackle me against the boards.
Someone yells, “Hat trick!”
I hadn't even realized. The noise inside the arena becomes almost animal.
People are screaming my name.
Kai!
Hayes!
Kai!
For one terrifying moment, I love it. The feeling is intoxicating. Raw. Violent. Like every ugly emotion inside me has finally found somewhere to go.
The final horn sounds minutes later. We win. The handshake line isn't required during the regular season.
Everyone begins skating toward the benches.
I finally allow myself one long breath.
Maybe tonight is over.
Maybe—
“Guess the real Hacker Hayes finally showed up,” Noah says.
His voice cuts cleanly through the celebration. I stop skating and slowly turn.
He's only a few feet away. His helmet is already off. Blood trickles from a cut near his eyebrow.
His expression is cold. “I wondered how long it'd take.”
I stare at him.
He laughs once. “Funny. You looked real comfortable throwing people around tonight. Is that how you played that night too?”
I don't answer.
Something inside me finally snaps. My gloves hit the ice before I consciously decide to drop them.
Noah drops his a split second later.
Then we're moving. He swings first. The punch catches my shoulder.
I answer with one straight down the middle.
His head snaps backward. The crowd, which had been filtering toward the exits, suddenly erupts again.
Players begin shouting. Someone grabs my jersey.
I shove them away. Noah comes back swinging.
His fist catches my cheek. Pain explodes behind my eye.
I barely feel it. We collide again. Another punch.
Another shove. My fist connects cleanly with his nose.
Something crunches. Blood immediately pours between his fingers.
Grove's blood. Grove's blood on the ice.
The screaming.
My skates.
The hands pulling me back
The officials finally get involved. Hands grab both of us. Voices yell from every direction.
“Kai!”
“Enough!”
“Break it up!”
I'm still trying to get to Noah when someone wraps both arms around my chest. I'd know that grip anywhere. Ash hauls me backward with frightening ease. “Hayes.”
I struggle once.
“Kai.” His voice is lower this time. “Enough.”
Across the ice, Tyler has Noah pinned against the boards, talking directly into his face while trainers hurry over with towels. Blood drips steadily onto the ice. I stop fighting. Not because I'm calm. Because I'm suddenly exhausted.
Ash doesn't say a word as he drags me down the hallway beneath the arena.
Past equipment rooms.
Past storage closets.
Past curious staff members pretending not to stare.
He pushes open the door to an empty conference room.
The second it closes behind us, he rounds on me. “What the hell was that?”
I don't answer.
“Kai.”
Still nothing.
“You could've been suspended.”
“He deserved it.”
“That isn't the point.”
“HE FUCKING DESERVED IT!” My own voice sounds distant. Like someone else is speaking through me.
Ash runs both hands through his hair. “Kai, this isn't you.”
Ash stops pacing. His expression changes. The anger fades. Concern takes its place.
“Kai.” He steps closer.
I look at him. I really look at him. The worry in his face. The crease between his eyebrows. The bruise forming where I'd shoved him into the shower wall this morning.
Everything inside me suddenly hurts. Without thinking, I grab the front of his jacket.
He starts to speak.
Instead… I kiss him.
Hard.
Desperate.
Like if I can just get close enough, everything else might disappear.
For one heartbeat, he kisses me back. His hands are in my hair, pushing me against the table.
My tongue pushes against his as my hands try to force his pants down.
Then his hands settle firmly on my shoulders.
Not pushing.
Grounding.
He gently breaks the kiss.
His forehead rests against mine.
His breathing is just as uneven as mine. “Kai…”
I close my eyes. “Don't. Don't deny me.”
He exhales slowly. “Baby…”
I pull his hips against mine. “I need you.”
“I know.” His thumb brushes my jaw. “But I can't. Not like this.”
“Then fucking leave.”
He searches my face for several long seconds. Then he steps back.
Then he leaves me standing alone in the quiet room.
The door clicks shut behind him. I can't fucking do this. I can't fucking keep living this disgusting, idiotic life.
I rip my jersey over my head and throw it hard enough that it hits the wall before sliding to the floor. Then my elbow pads. Then anything else I can get my hands on. Gear scatters across the conference room carpet. A chair scrapes backward when I kick it.
The sound is ugly.
Satisfying.
Not enough.
Nothing is enough. Because Ash is right. That is the worst part. He is right, and I hate him for it.
I was trying to use him.