Chapter 4
The ice beneath my skates feels like home. I glide across the rink, the cold air whipping against my face as I push myself harder, faster. Practice is over, but for me, it's never really done. That's what separates the good from the great, and I'm aiming for legendary.
Harvey slaps my helmet, the sound echoing in the nearly empty arena. “Ready to run those drills?”
I nod. “Let’s do it.”
The rink is quieter now, most of the team having cleared out. It's just us and the ice, the way I like it. No distractions, no bullshit. Just pure, unadulterated hockey.
As we're setting up, Crew Nixon skates back on the ice, his stick tapping a rhythm on the ice. “Mind if I join?”
I exchange a glance with Harvey. More players mean more challenge, and I'm always up for that.
“The more the merrier,” I say, spinning my stick in my hands. “Hope you're ready to get your ass handed to you, Nixon.”
Crew grins, his teeth flashing white.
We're about to start when Crew lifts his stick, waving it like a flag. “Hi, Madlibs.”
Maddie Wilder waves at him with a smile as Grey walks straight to her and lifts her off the ground. My jaw clenches involuntarily, a familiar burn of anger and something else – something I refuse to name – coursing through me.
Crew shrugs at her, but I don’t glance in that direction again.
I lost my temper once, and I can’t let it happen again.
I can’t tell you if I’m pissed off about not having Maddie or if it’s because Grey has her.
Those lines have blurred so heavily that I don’t know the fucking difference anymore.
Grey going after someone I’ve dated isn’t a normal occurrence.
I don’t think we have the same taste, yet here we are.
He has the one and only girl I ever liked enough to date.
I liked her enough to not even sleep with her, and that’s saying something.
I only fuck, I don’t date. Grey, too. It’s something we have in common, and there’s something about Maddie that made us both wild.
Harvey says to Crew, “What was that about?”
Crew's a stand-up guy, always has been. He doesn't sugarcoat things, which I respect. “She doesn't want me being friends with a cheater,” he mutters, his eyes flicking to me.
I shake my head with a humorless smirk. I saw that one coming a mile away. The whole cheater label is bullshit but try telling that to Maddie.
Crew grabs my shoulder, his grip firm. “Hey, man. We all know you didn't cheat. It's all good. Mads is like my sister. The fucking video was uncalled for, but I told her I can't ignore you. We play together.” He bangs his stick with mine, the sound sharp and clear. “Don't let it bother you.”
I nod, appreciating his loyalty. “As if I'd let that bother me.”
Harvey laughs, but then his expression turns mischievous. “Speaking of being bothered, what about that Grind Stone girl, huh?”
My eyes snap to his, narrowing slightly. “What about her?”
“Bro,” Harvey chuckles, his eyes dancing with amusement. “You threw a fucking raisin at her.”
Crew cocks his head to me. “A raisin?”
“It's nothing,” I growl, suddenly feeling defensive. I don't need these idiots psychoanalyzing my every move.
Harvey whacks my ass with his hockey stick. “It's not nothing. She hates you.”
I roll my eyes, trying to play it cool. “That's why there was a raisin in my sandwich,” I agree. “And I needed to return it.”
Crew's eyebrows shoot up. “Another hit it and quit it?”
I scoff, wishing that could be it. “No. Can we fucking focus on hockey? I need to stop wasting my time on dumb shit.”
“Fine, dibs,” Harvey says, a sly grin spreading across his face.
I bark out a laugh, the sound echoing off the rink walls. “Dibs?”
“Yeah,” he says. “Grind Stone girl is mine then. I’m calling dibs.”
I scoff. “Good fucking luck."
He shrugs at Crew. “She's cute.”
“Yeah, yeah, you probably should keep your distance from that one,” I mutter, skating away with the puck.
Crew adds, “I need to meet this girl. If she hates Matt, then we have something in common.”
I flip him off and then fly the puck at his face.
“Hey!” Crew snaps, and I laugh.
“Relax, hater,” I mutter, knowing that he’s just fucking with me.
Crew chases the puck, and I’m stoked he’s getting competitive. Just what I need.
Harvey sends the puck flying my way, and I intercept it smoothly. Crew tries to steal it, playing monkey in the middle, but I'm too quick. I weave around him, my skates carving paths in the ice.
Just as I'm about to make a shot, I hear my name being called. It's a female voice, cutting through the silence of the rink. There's only one person it could be, and I feel my mood instantly sour.
Michelle Swift.
We ignore her at first, continuing our game. I'm determined not to let her interrupt this. I need this practice, need to prove to myself and everyone else that I can get over my personal life bullshit.
But Michelle's persistent. She starts clapping when Crew makes a shot into the net, the sound grating on my nerves.
Fuck.
Harvey nods towards her, a knowing look in his eyes. These two know exactly what's going on with me and this girl. She really can't leave me alone, and it's starting to piss me off.
I skate over, unable to hide my annoyance.
Michelle's standing there with that smile on her face, the one that says she thinks she's got me all figured out.
She loves the fact that I'm a hockey player, probably thinks it makes her special or something.
My ego might've been raised a few notches when we first started hooking up, but now?
My dick fucking shrivels at the sight of her. Jesus Christ.
“Hey, I was looking for you after practice,” she says.
I stare at her, wondering why the hell she needs to keep tabs on me. Yeah, we fuck, but that doesn't mean we're on each other's schedules.
“I told you to stop coming in here,” I say, my voice flat.
Her face drops, and I shake my head, annoyed.
Then I realize that my sentence matches Amber's words from the coffee shop.
Shit, am I Amber right now, and Michelle is me?
Michelle really doesn't take a fucking hint.
I swear she never hears me. I don't know how many times I have to tell the girl to be fucking done with me.
Shit, is she messing with me like how I'm messing with Amber?
The thought makes me uncomfortable. I blurt out, “Are you fucking with me?”
“What?” she asks, bouncing her boobs as she shrugs. It's a move that might've worked on me before, but now it just irritates me. “What do you mean?”
“I told you I'm not fucking talking to you until you take down that video.”
“That's why I'm here. The people want more.” She scowls at me like I'm supposed to be turned on by that. Frankly, I don't have time for this shit.
“Okay.” I turn and skate away, done with this conversation.
“That was a joke! Matt, I'm just kidding.”
I stop, turning back to her. My patience is wearing thin. “I'm a little fucking busy right now if you can't see.”
“Okay.” She nods, finally seeming to get it. “I'm sorry. I just wanted to make sure you'll be there on Friday.”
“Yeah.” I shrug and skate off. Why the fuck would I skip out on a party?
As I rejoin Harvey and Crew, they're looking at me expectantly.
“Everything all good?” Crew asks, his brow furrowed with concern.
I nod, not wanting to get into it.
Harvey, never one to let things go, pipes up. “Are you still fucking her?”
I shake my head at his question. “What do you think?”
They laugh, and I feel some of the tension leave my body. This is why I like these guys. They accept things for what they are.
Harvey changes the subject, thankfully. “Was she talking about the party this weekend?”
I nod, already thinking about how I can use the party to my advantage. Maybe scout out some new chicks, blow off some steam.
“Do you think Grind Stone girl would come?” Harvey asks, and I feel a weird twinge.
I shrug, trying to play it cool. “I don't fucking care.” All I care about right now is working on trying to steal the puck away from Crew Nixon. How the fuck is this guy that good?
“Come on,” I demand, pushing thoughts of Amber and Michelle and parties out of my mind. “Again!”
We dive back into our game, the sound of skates on ice and sticks hitting pucks filling the air. This is what I need – the physical exertion, the mental challenge. It's the only thing that makes sense sometimes.
Hours pass, and by the time we finally call it quits, I'm drenched in sweat, my muscles aching in that satisfying way that tells me I've pushed myself to the limit. As we're heading to the locker room, Coach stops me.
“Pearson,” he calls, his voice gruff. “A word.”
I nod to Harvey and Crew to go on without me, then skate over to Coach. His face is unreadable, which usually means I'm in for it.
“What's up, Coach?” I ask, trying to keep my tone light. “If this is about that hit on Johnson, he totally had it coming.”
Coach doesn't crack a smile. “It's not about Johnson. I’m glad to see you actually care about improving.”
I blink, caught off guard. He can be a dick, so this is new. “Yeah.”
His eyes bore into mine, searching for something. “I'm serious, Matt. This is who you need to be. There’s no giving up in life. You either let it kill you, or you get back up and out there. Keep it up! Not too long ago, I was going to bench you if you didn’t get your act together.”
The words hit me like a body check, knocking the air out of my lungs. Me, benched? That’s dramatic. I'm one of the best players on this team, and everyone knows it. But as I look at Coach's face, I can see he's dead serious.
I nod, suddenly not feeling so cocky. “Thank you, Coach.”
As I hit the showers, letting the hot water pound against my tired muscles, I can't help but wonder if I’ve been that obviously depressed since the whole thing with Maddie.
It’s insane that Coach was going to keep me out of the game.
Hell, what the fuck have I been doing? It’s time to get my head on straight and focus on improving.
My mind wanders to my biggest distraction.
For once, it’s not my dick. No. If I didn’t crave a sandwich on that random Tuesday evening, I wouldn’t have run into the only person who wished I never existed.
God, I’m glad to remind her that I do. And I will keep reminding her.
Now I’m hoping she comes to the party with Harvey.
I wake up the next morning with a mission. Operation: Annoy the Hell Out of Amber. It's not the most creative name, but hey, I'm a hockey player, not a poet.
I stroll into The Grind Stone, fully expecting to see Amber's scowling face. But instead, I'm greeted by some pimply-faced kid who looks like he's never seen the business end of a razor.
“Welcome to The Grind Stone,” he squeaks. “What can I get for you?”
I scan the place, hoping to catch a glimpse of my favorite sandwich maker. No Amber. Damn, I was lied to about her schedule.
“Where's Amber?” I ask, not bothering to hide my disappointment.
The kid shrugs. “I guess she’s not here. So, uh, did you want to order something?”
I sigh dramatically. “Fine. One protein shake, extra protein. No raisins.”
The kid looks at me like I’m crazy, but I just smirk. He'll never understand what I mean unless that is some insider trade secret that I’m only finding out now.
As I wait for my shake, I can't help but feel deflated. It's like showing up to a fight and finding out your opponent called in sick. Where's the fun in that?
I take my shake and head out, my grand plans for the day thoroughly derailed. As I sip the disappointingly normal-tasting drink, I realize just how much I was looking forward to our little verbal sparring match. Who knew annoying someone could be so entertaining?
Back at my place, I live with three non-hockey playing roommates. And they’re all home for some reason.
“Yo, Matt!” calls out Christian from the couch. He's sprawled out, controller in hand, eyes glued to the TV screen where he's undoubtedly getting his ass handed to him in whatever game he's playing. “You left early just for that?”
I flop down next to him. “Yep.”
From the kitchen, I hear a snort. That'll be Zack, our resident culinary genius (and by genius, I mean he can make mac and cheese without burning down the house). “Their shakes taste like shit.”
“Not once you get used to it.”
“Pain in the ass,” comes a new voice. Ah, there's Alex, emerging from his cave where he spends most of his time coding or hacking or whatever it is computer science majors do.
Alex looks at the screen and then at me. “Don't you have some paper to do? Are you done? Need me to proofread it?”
I wince. Shit. I'd forgotten about that. “Yeah, about that.”
Christian pauses his game, turning to me with a grin. “Let me guess. You haven't started it.”
“I've started it,” I protest. “In my head.”
They all groan. We keep each other accountable in this house.
“Dude,” Christian says. “You can't coast through everything on your hockey skills.”
I know he's right, but I'm not about to admit it. Instead, I haul myself off the couch. “Alright, alright. I'm going to work on it now. Happy?”
As I settle into my desk chair, textbooks spread out before me, my mind wanders. I think about Amber, working in a suit at our age. It doesn't add up. Shouldn't she be in college, drowning in textbooks like the rest of us?
The mystery of her intrigues me more than I'd like to admit. Who is this girl, really? It's like she's living some kind of weird double life. And for what reason?
I think I need her to come to the party now, so I’ll bank on the idea that Harvey will follow through with asking her. And I know exactly what I’m going to do.