Chapter 10
CHAPTER 10
T he jail cell reeked of piss. I was pretty sure someone had taken a leak in the corner not too long ago. Laying with my head on the bench, the fluorescent lights made my head throb. My buzz wore off hours ago, and now the hangover settled in.
They had yet to give me a phone call. An officer mumbled something about ‘letting me sleep it off.’ Over my dead body was I going to close my eyes in this Hell hole. Fucking Hunter St. James. Of all the shit he pulled over the years, letting me get arrested was taking the cake.
I mean, I hit him…
But, pressing charges? In normal circumstances, Jackson would have his balls in a vice grip over the situation. However, after that fight in the house, I couldn’t count on it. Even if he had been arguing with Hunter when I was arrested. He banned me from Hockey House. I don’t think a girl has ever been barred. Humiliation and devastation warred inside my chest.
What was Hunter even playing at? I didn’t need his help. I never would have driven my car drunk. At least, I don’t think I would have. The metal scraping of the main door opening jarred me from my thoughts. An officer meandered his way towards me, jingling his keys.
“Rae, you’re free to go. All charges have been dropped.” He stated, unlocking the cell door.
I jumped to my feet, not needing to be told twice. Mumbling my thanks, I scurried out the door. He directed me through a processing room where my keys and phone were returned to me, along with my jacket.
“Please don’t return,” the lady at the desk stated, signing off on my discharge papers.
Leaving the police station, the morning sun blinded me. I shielded my eyes and desperately hit the power button on my phone, hoping it had enough juice to power on. A loud whistle diverted my attention away from the screen. Looking up, Hunter leaned against his old F150. That black rust bucket had seen better days. It was a model from the eighties, and was pushing the two hundred thousand mile mark.
“What the hell are you doing here?” I said.
“That’s not the way to thank the person who got you out this morning,” He tsked.
Hunter’s mood changes were giving me whiplash. He needed to pick one and stick with it. The hot and cold game was driving me insane.
“Says the person who got me locked up in the first place?” I volleyed, walking towards him.
He pushed himself off of his truck and opened the passenger door, gesturing for me to get in.
“Get in Sunshine, I’ll take you home.”
“I can walk, thanks.” I bit out.
“Get in Maci, or I will throw you in.”
“You wouldn’t dare.”
“Try me buttercup.”
I rolled my eyes and walked away from him. He was full of himself if he thought I was getting into that death trap with him. His truck was older than his parents. Plus, I am pissed. He didn’t get to play the hero card after he made me spend the night in jail. Even if it might have saved my life.
Nope, not dwelling on that.
Arms wrapped around my waist from behind and hauled me off my feet. A high pitch yelp emitted from my lip. My back crashed into his chest as I thrashed. My small legs flailed in the air and he nearly dodged my skull, smacking into his own. He unceremoniously tossed me into his truck, slamming the door before I could launch myself out of the passenger seat. I let out a frustrated yell, glaring at him through the window. He returned my glare with a toothy grin. Climbing into the driver’s side, we took off down the road without saying a word.
I crossed my arms over my chest, looking like a petulant child. It was ridiculous, but where did he get off, hurling me into his truck like a caveman?
“Are you going to ask me why I dropped the charges?” Turning his head towards me, his eyes flitted back and forth from the road to my face.
I shook my head. It was obvious someone talked some sense into him. He didn’t need to gloat about his supposed chivalry.
“I didn’t do it because Jackson told me too, either.”
I grunted. He needed to realize he was getting the silent treatment.
“Maci, you’re spiraling out of control. I know I was out of line, but you need some kind of wake-up call. Jackson won’t do it. So I will.”
“Why does it matter to you?” I questioned.
“Because Jackson is my best friend. You’re annoying as fuck sometimes, but I don’t want to watch him destroyed by losing you, too.”
Jackson didn’t care if he lost me. That much was clear last night when he kicked me out of the house. There was a moment of weakness last night, but Jackson wouldn’t lose me. I’ve been a mess. But I have it handled. Hunter doesn’t need to stick his nose into my business.
I didn’t bother responding to him, instead opting to continue looking out the window and ignoring Hunter’s existence. The awkward tension in the truck remained until we pulled onto the street my apartment complex sat on.
Hunter slowed the truck, “Here’s how it’s going to go Maci,” he looked me dead in the eyes, one hand white-knuckling the steering wheel.
“Oh, this I have to hear,” I muttered.
“You’re going to help me at the rink. We can coach the peewees together. If you don’t, I won’t hesitate to march your ass in front of the University’s ethics board.”
I gaped at Hunter. This was ridiculous. “You’re blackmailing me?”
“I prefer a corrupt bargain,” he smirked before continuing, “I will pick you up every Sunday and Thursday at five sharp, you show up, sober, with your skates. Got it?”
Students sign a code of conduct when entering as freshmen. It was a formality, but there are plenty of horror stories about the consequences of violating it. Since he dropped the charges, I won’t be hearing from them. However, if he made a case against me, they could revoke my admissions or put me on academic probation.
“Fine.” Agreeing out of desperation to avoid him further, I exited his truck. For added effect, I slammed the door as I went.
Take that, jackass.
Halfway up the steps to my building, Hunter called out from behind me.
“ Sober , Sunshine. I don’t want to find out that you’ve had a lick of alcohol from here on out.” His entire demeanor changed. There he went with the hot and cold again. A shiver ran down my spine at the stormy look he gave me. Minus coaching with him, he wouldn’t know what I was up to. He didn’t have jurisdiction over my free time. Silently, I turned back towards my complex.
Needing to have the last word, he shouted one last thing, “Don’t forget, it’s Sunday. We start today. See you at five!”
I gave him the middle finger while he pulled away, laughing. Leave it to Hunter St. James to begin the torture immediately. My head was pounding, and my hangover refused to relent. If I had to teach a bunch of peewees hockey today, I needed a greasy burger and a shower.
True to his word, Hunter showed up at my apartment at five o’clock on the dot. I groaned, hearing his obnoxious knock rattling my door. How he was the product of two sweet, caring teachers who were the definition of docile, I will never know.
“Jesus, you caveman, chill out,” I berated him, swinging open my door. He stood with his arms crossed, a black henley gripping his forearms, and his trademark smirk on his face. He wore a pair of dark-washed jeans and boots and stood, not really caring that he just banged on my door like the police.
“Have your skates?” He questioned, walking away, not bothering to wait for me to close or lock my door. He was halfway down the stairs to his truck by the time I caught up.
Flinging my skates onto his passenger seat, I slid in, “Happy?” I asked sarcastically.
“Elated. How’s the head?”
“You care?”
“No. But you will.” Hunter smirked.
“What the hell does that mean?”
“You’ll see.” He pulled away from the curb and drove us through town. Our conversation didn’t continue. Hunter hummed along to the radio making a few turns before pulling into the parking lot of the BU ice arena. The arena loomed before us. It was a large, rounded building that stood out amongst the other sports facilities around it. A list of years BU won the Frozen Four hung on a banner above the entrance. Most of the years listed were while Dad coached.
Hunter placed the truck in park and turned towards me. “Okay. Ground rules.”
I bit my tongue when he put his index finger up in the air.
“One. You do not treat these kids like shit. You have your issues, I get it, but they don’t need your baggage on top of their own, so be nice.”
“Fine.” I bit out.
He added his middle finger to his index, continuing on without heeding my acknowledgment.
“Two. In there, I’m your boss. Respect me as such, and three—” He added his ring finger to the other two fingers — “You practice with me after we’re done with our duties for the night.”
“Why would I practice with you?” I was genuinely confused. Hunter got enough ice time as it was. He didn’t need additional practice outside of their regular training routine.
Hunter’s eyes grew serious, “Because, one day you’re going to snap out of this and realize you miss the feeling of a stick between your hands instead of the one shoved up your ass…when that day comes you’re going to wish you didn’t waste all your time self-destructing.”
That was oddly nice, in a weird, off-the-cuff way. There wasn’t much to lose by skating with Hunter. At this point, I’ll never play in a game again. The Olympics were definitely off the table. Not that anyone knew about it.
A few months before the accident, I received a call from Team USA. They were interested in scouting me for a spot on the women’s team. I didn’t want to pursue it, and my dad did. We argued about it a lot. We agreed on one thing where that topic was concerned—Jackson couldn’t know. Jackson needed to focus on the NHL draft. He’d been asked to fly out and meet with a few teams around the same time Team USA called.
Jackson was always my biggest cheerleader. He dropped everything and jumped on the Maci bandwagon if it meant I would do something. Dad and I both didn’t want him to lose focus on himself for once. As kids, Jackson pushed me toward my goals over his own. One time, I had gotten the idea of trying to play volleyball over hockey. I was determined to make the middle school team. Jackson spent hours helping me serve and pass over, focusing on his skills. He missed a chance to make the junior Olympic team that year.
I didn’t even make the team. As athletic as I was, contact sports were my DNA. The coaches asked me to not come to the second day of tryouts after I shoved Taylor Thompson out of the way for a pass and she sprained her ankle. Jackson said he didn’t care, but I did.
I didn’t want to go to the Olympics, not that I’d qualify, anyway. There was no point. At most, I’d get a cool medal and a sponsorship out of participating, but Jackson had the potential for a career. Being in the NHL was something most kids dreamed of, but very few got a chance at. I’d never take that away from him. Unless he signed with the Penguins. Then all bets are off. Fuck the Penguins.
Did I miss the ice, though? Next to painting, skating was my favorite escape. It brought Dad and me closer and gave us something to talk about.
“Alright, I’ll skate with you, but don’t tell Jackson, okay?”
Hunter appraised me. “Why would you care if he knew you were practicing again?”
I sighed, “Because then he’ll have hope that I’ll get pads back on, and if he thinks there’s even the slightest chance that I could come back…” I drifted off. Hunter knew how Jackson was. I didn’t even need to finish my thought. Even if Jackson ap peared to hate my guts right now, we were still family. He’d jump at the chance to see me skate again in a heartbeat.
Hunter nodded from the driver’s seat. There was no need to continue.
“I won’t tell him. He’s pissed enough at me as it is.”
I snorted, “No shit, Sherlock, you made me spend the night in jail.”
“You hit me,” He sang, cutting the engine on his truck. “Not to mention I heard you nailed some chick inside, too.”
I rolled my eyes. “She started it.”
Hunter laughed, “Sure she did, Sunshine. Let’s go.”
With that, he got out of his truck and walked towards the arena. I watched him for a moment as he went. I hadn’t skated on that ice in months. The fact of the matter was, I was afraid to get back on the ice. What if I still wanted to play hockey? What if I let myself have hope again? I received a letter two weeks ago from Team USA. They were still interested. Would it even be possible? I was horribly out of shape.
Hunter turned around when he noticed I hadn’t left his truck yet. “Come on, Sunshine, nothing to fear here.”
There was the Hunter I was used to. I still didn’t understand how he could have been so cruel to me last night. It was a conversation I intended to have with him in the future. I didn’t want to deal with his Jekyll and Hyde shit anymore. He needed to choose the Hunter he wanted to be.