39. Liv
Polly’s gentle hand on my arm kept me from bolting to the ice, but when she caught my concern, she gave me directions to the locker room.
Even though friends and family weren’t allowed in during the game, I charged down to the locker room.
The look of abject horror on Ash’s face after the other guy went flying had me on my feet, ready to jump the barrier to get to him.
A million scenarios ran through my head as I bypassed the other spectators and found the security guard at the door to the locker room.
“Um. Can I get in to see Ash? I’m his—we’re… together.”
“You and every other girl sneaking down here.” The tall man had pale skin and kind but tired eyes.
“No, I actually am .” Sort of. Maybe. Hopefully .
“Save it, sister.” Now he was annoyed, placing his hand on the flashlight strapped to his belt.
“Seriously, look!” Thrusting my phone at the guard, I waved it in his face.
The background depicted Ash squishing his face against mine.
He’d changed it weeks ago when I wasn’t looking.
It was one of the only photos we had together, so I couldn’t bear to change it. I couldn’t bear to look at it either.
“It’s a nice fake, but I’ve seen some better ones. Computers can do all kinds of things these days.” When he leaned back, his belt creaked.
“What the fuck, man? It’s real.” Should I try to make a break for it? I wasn’t fast, but maybe if I slipped past him...
“Liv?” A familiar voice called. Coach Olsen approached, the slap of his dress shoes echoing in the concrete hallway.
“Coach!” I waved frantically, warm relief flooding my system.
“She’s fine. You can let her in.”
“Is Ash…” I trailed off, meeting the coach’s warm, brown eyes.
“Go talk to him but make it quick. Intermission is over in ten.”
“Yes, Coach.” Saluting was stupid, but I didn’t know what else to do.
I was almost afraid to pass the guard after his interrogation, so I pushed past the barrier to get away before he changed his mind. “Thanks!” I called to him. He still gave me an ‘I’m watching you’ glare.
A few yards down the hall, I asked, “How did you know?”
“Ms. Polly texted me. How are you, Liv? Been a while.”
Our steps echoed as we passed through the halls toward the low thrum of voices.
“I’m good. I got a new job at Portland State.”
“Congratulations. Ash is in here.” We stood outside a door marked ‘meeting room’.
Coach pushed it open and waved me inside.
Dark and musty, the room was more like a cave.
At the back of the room, Ash sat with his back to us.
Stark white, his name glowed against the darkness of the room and the blue on his jersey.
Sitting with his head in his hands, elbows propped on his knees, I had never seen a man so despondent.
“Sitting in the dark never did anyone any good, Wilder,” I said, once Coach walked away.
“I’m fine.” His voice sounded… defeated. Hollow. And definitively not fine. He didn’t turn to face me.
“You don’t have to be.”
Ash shifted in the metal folding chair, making it squeak in protest. “You can go back up.”
“I don’t think I will.”
“Olivia—”
“Do you remember the concert?”
“I’m not the one with brain damage. Yet.” His voice sounded so broken.
“Ash.” The reprimand in my voice was mild, but still there.
“I remember.”
“Do you remember what happened?”
“A lot of things happened at that concert.” He really was low if he wasn’t going to tease. Little jerking motions jarred his limbs, giving the look of a marionette as he twisted his hands together.
“It was the best, worst night of my life. But specifically , you helped me through a panic attack when you hardly knew me. Remember that?”
“I’m not having a panic attack.” Desolation clouded over him, slowing his flat words and pulling his shoulders down.
“Not exactly.”
“What’s the point of this? I have to get back to the game.”
Damn. He’d never shut me out so completely. Maybe I needed to take a different approach.
“Ash. Why are you hiding back here?”
“I’m not hiding.” Rising so quickly the chair toppled backward, he towered over me. The skates added inches to his already considerable height, and the pads made him even wider.
The man was enormous.
His size might be intimidating, I realized, if he were barreling down the ice toward you at thirty miles an hour.
Ash had the potential to be terrifying, being so large.
Some men wielded their size like a weapon.
But Ash wasn’t scary because he was my Ash.
So many things he’d done for me, been there for me, kept me from falling apart.
It was my turn. Wrapping my arms around him as best I could, given the layers of foam and plastic, I held him, ignoring the reek of his sweaty gear.
“I fucked some guy up, and I can’t get a fucking handle on myself.” Short, panting breaths interrupted his words. A crack split his sentence in two.
“He’s going to be okay, Ash. It’s a minor concussion. A job hazard.” It wasn’t the best outcome, but not the worst either.
“Yeah. Yeah, I know. I just… still don’t know what I’m doing.”
“I do.”
“What?”
“Know. What you’re doing.”
“Care to enlighten me?” A faint trace of his usual self flickered back to life, buried beneath the doubt.
“You’re underestimating yourself. Just like you said everyone else does. You’ve acted the part so long, you believe it now.”
Only his breathing, sawing through his lungs like he just ended a shift on the ice echoed through the room.
“Of course, I believe it. I’m failing. Coach never should’ve let me try. Everyone who thought I wasn’t good enough was right.”
“Why, exactly, do you think you’re failing?”
“Because I’m doing a horrible job.”
“Ash, you've been acting captain for three seconds. Settle into it a bit.”
“But—”
“No buts unless you’re grabbing one.” Oops, poor timing on my part. I winced.
A beleaguered sigh sounded above my head.
“Too soon for jokes?”
“Probably.”
A sweaty drop fell on my neck, then another. “You’re leaking on me, Wilder.”
“My bad.” He shook his head, raining more sweat down on me.
“This is probably a terrible time to tell you, but I’m back. In Portland, I mean. Permanently?” Why am I babbling? This shouldn’t be so hard. “And, um, I love you. Even when you’re disgusting.” Would he forgive me so easily?
“That’s nice to hear. Especially when I’m disgusting.” The stormy depths of his eyes met mine, and relief fell at finding a hint of his usual playful streak and his acceptance of my admission. One of those puzzle pieces floating around in my mind settled into place, filling out the scattered image.
“Yeah, you’re disgusting pretty frequently.” I prodded him in the arm.
Gently, though, because I’d learned my lesson about poking him with too much force and earned a sore hand for my trouble.
“You usually like it when I’m all sweaty.”
“Context, Ash. Context is important.” I tightened my fists in the fabric of his jersey, needing to get us back on track. “Are you going to be okay?”
“I… need to think about some things. But I’ll make it through the game. Thank you.”
“Can’t be captain if you’re not on the ice.”
“I don’t know if?—”
“Ash, I say this lovingly— shut. Up. You’re still learning, and everyone makes mistakes. You’ve got this, okay?”
“I’ve got this,” he repeated distantly.
“Well go on then, you’re out of time.” I swatted his rear the way I’d seen his teammates do.
He grinned, still dimmer than usual, but brighter than the past few minutes. “The fuck, Barnes? You spanking me now?”
“Only if you ask nicely.”
“Hmm. We’ll see who does the asking.” He pulled in close, pressing his lips to mine in a quick, hard kiss. “I love you too, you know.”
“That’s nice to hear when you’re all sweaty,” I parroted his earlier words. It had the intended effect, making his mouth twitch upward for a moment. “Go kick some ass, Ash.”
Back in my seat, I watched the Knights skating with renewed energy. Whatever Ash said to them was unintelligible through the arena noise, but it was working. It had to be a confidence booster for him.
The other team was out for blood, targeting him, but his usual agility and focus were back. He slapped the puck across the ice, straight toward a waiting Goldstein, who shot it toward the goalie.
“Number twelve, Kevin Goldstein scores, assisted by number eighteen Ash Wilder,” the announcer called.
Fans jumped out of their seats as the Knights skated around Goldstein and Ash, banging them with sticks and gloves. People smacked the barrier and screamed, igniting a fire under the Knights’ asses.
The goal was the birth of an entirely new team, and with three more goals in the final period, the Knights won, with Ash scoring the final goal with seven seconds to spare.
For some reason, people stayed in their seats after the buzzer announced a Knights win. “What’s going on?” I asked Polly.
“Just watch.” Ash’s grandmother nodded toward the ice, where the team hadn’t yet cleared the ice.
Then the first few notes of “I’ll Be There for You” blasted through the arena. The first line rang out, and damn, the lyric hit like what I imagined a puck to the heart would feel like. A sharp thud before a throbbing ache right in the center of my chest.
The overhead lights swirled around like a rock show before illuminating the Knights as they circled the ice.
What the hell is going on?
As Jon Bon Jovi sang, they… skated. To the song. Not quite figure skating, but sort of like a dance.
Twenty-odd massive, uniform-wearing hockey players dancing to a song written before most of them were even born.
Ash, front and center, grinned the whole time, his real smile, not the fake Basher rictus I hated. The sight of him pulled harder on the ache in my chest. He’d been slowly shedding the Basher persona in the months I’d known him, but him being so genuine on the ice punched through me.
As far as hype routines went, it wasn’t what I would’ve expected, particularly coming after the game.
And the whole team was in on it. Together, the boys did choreography full of hand motions and side steps.
It was the adorable and hilarious and a testament to Ash’s leadership skills.
When the lyrics came to “I’ll be there for you,” the team made hearts with their hands, pushing them away from their chests with so much gusto a few of them wobbled.
In the end, with a big photo finish, the entire team surrounded Ash, doing jazz hands to frame his goofy pose.