4. Calvin
CALVIN
Isit in the dressing room in street clothes while my teammates are in full gear, ready to take on the Blackhawks. Jealousy races through my veins. I want to be dressed and ready to head out on the ice and kick ass.
I zone out as Coach gives them all a pep talk. It’s not like I need to listen anyway. The only thing I can do tonight is watch. My presence will have zero impact on the result, and it fucking hurts.
I watch as everyone nods at whatever Coach is saying, and the second he’s done, Fletch pushes to his feet and begins his little pre-game talk.
He commands everyone’s attention—just as he should.
He’s a fucking outstanding captain, and I have no doubt he’s going to lead us to a Stanley Cup victory soon.
We got so fucking close last year. It was literally in touching distance.
But it wasn’t to be. As much as I’m going to fucking hate watching from the sidelines, I’m desperate for them to do it again this season.
They deserve it. Every single one of them.
A loud, booming cheer startles me, dragging me from my thoughts a beat before everyone jumps up and they begin filing out of the room.
Each of them is fired up, and the sight of it has my heart sinking even lower.
I fucking live for this, and right now, it’s like I don’t recognize myself without it.
“Darcy said your rehab is going well,” Coach says when we’re the last two left in the room.
I grunt in response. Darcy might see the progress, and deep down, I do feel it, but it’s not fucking fast enough.
Coach lifts his eyebrows, demanding actual words.
“Yeah, I can almost ride a bike again,” I deadpan.
“I know it’s frustrating. But your body will thank you for taking it slow in the years that come.”
Frustrating? That’s the fucking understatement of the century.
“You don’t need me to tell you what happens to athletes who rush their recovery. Trust the process, and you’ll come back stronger than ever.”
I force myself to smile. It feels alien. I can’t remember the last time I gave anyone a real one. I’m not even sure I’m capable of one right now.
“You’ll be back out there before you know it,” Coach promises, squeezing my shoulder before he turns to the door and disappears.
I want to say his words give me a little hope, but I’d be lying.
Sure, Coach has some power around here when it comes to the players on his team, but if those above him decide I no longer have a place here, there isn’t going to be anything Coach can do about it.
Lowering my ass to the bench, I let my eyes scan everyone’s cubbies before focusing on the Vipers logo printed on the middle of the floor.
This place is my home. Even more so than my actual apartment. I can’t imagine a time when it’s not a part of my life.
I stretch my leg out and climb to my feet before I allow myself to drown in my wallowing.
I might not be able to play, but I can support my brothers. And that is exactly what I do.
As I pull the dressing room door open, Handsy is announced as our starting tendy. I force myself to put one foot in front of the other, holding my breath, waiting for what I know comes next.
“Tonight’s starting defensive pair. Number seventy-seven, Everett Donnelly, and number ninety-six, Hayden Monroe.”
Pain sears through me.
That should be my name and number being announced alongside Rett.
I press my hand against my chest in the hope it eases the pressure, but as I’ve discovered during every single game since Cooper fucking Nash fucked up my knee, nothing fucking helps.
I’m proud of Monroe. Since his very first day as a Viper, he’s proved that the organization was smart to sign him right out of college.
I wasn’t surprised when Coach announced that he would be playing his first year on the second line.
But to have him up there in my place now?
Well, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t just a little bit bitter.
I know he’s not there because Coach has deemed him better than me. It’s nothing like that.
Still hurts, though.
By the time I get to the end of the tunnel, everyone is ready to get this game started.
My heart thumps in my chest as I scan the excited crowd.
I find the girls at Casey’s favorite spot, right behind the goal, jumping up and down and screaming for their boys. Seeing as it’s a school night, Sutton is missing. So is Hailee; she’s running around this arena bossing people around, no doubt.
I can’t help but wonder what it must feel like to have people that excited to see me step onto the ice. Sure, when I was younger, I had people in the stands, but it hasn’t happened for a long time now. And even back then, they were there because they had to be, not because they wanted me to be.
My stomach knots tightly as I think about the missed calls, the unheard voicemails, and the unread messages sitting on my cell.
I know they’re worried, that they mean well, but I also know how those conversations will go, and I just can’t hear them right now.
Maybe when I’m a little further into my rehab and I can see the light at the end of the tunnel, I’ll be able to have a conversation with them.
Maybe.
My eyes linger back to where the girls sit, all dressed in their boys' jerseys, but this time, I spot someone I didn’t see before.
Sienna Wentworth.
My breath catches at the sight of her, just like it always does.
That summer was the best one of my life.
I want to say it’s a shame only one of us remembers, but maybe it’s not. Maybe this is the way it’s meant to be.
I drag my hand down my face.
I keep my eyes on her, taking in the soft curls in her long blonde hair.
I might be on the other side of the ice, but even from here, I know her makeup is flawless, emphasizing those glittering gray eyes that haunt my dreams. Or maybe my nightmares, I’m not sure.
And just like the others, she’s wearing a jersey.
My fucking jersey.
Honestly, the whole situation is like one big, massive fuck-you from the universe.
Maybe it’s karma—though I’m not sure what I ever did to deserve this kind of punishment.
The crowd erupts, but I’m too enthralled by Sienna to see what’s happening on the ice. Although I get a good idea a few minutes later, when the arena explodes with noise and Kodie’s goal song floods my ears.
But still, I don’t look toward the guys to see them celebrating their first goal of the night. Instead, I watch as Sienna turns to the guy next to her and throws her arms around his shoulders.
As if my heart wasn’t already in the pit of my stomach. Sienna hasn’t just come to watch a game; she’s here on a fucking date.
“Hey,” a familiar voice says from behind me, forcing me to tear my eyes away from the girl who haunts me to focus on Hailee. “How’s it going?”
“Well, I’m standing here without any skates on my feet instead of being out there,” I mutter, jerking my chin toward the ice.
“They miss you too, you know.”
My chest compresses at her words.
“They don’t look like it. They’ve been killing it with Monroe in my spot.”
“Do you have any idea how hard he’s working to try and make you and everyone proud of him?”
My mouth opens and closes.
I guess it’s easy to think that he’s just stepped into my shoes with little effort.
We’re hockey players; we’re the masters of hiding our inner struggles and going out there looking like we have all our shit handled.
Spoiler alert: we do not have any of our shit handled.
We just have the best form of therapy there is: skating and slamming grown-ass men into boards.
“He’s doing a fantastic job,” I say. It’s the truth, and that fucking terrifies me.
“Yeah, he is,” she breathes with nothing but pride in her voice.
“They’re not going to need me once I’m recovered.” I don’t mean to say it aloud, but the words spill free regardless.
“What? Are you crazy? Of course they need you.”
As she tries to convince me of that fact, the arena explodes once again.
Shit. They’ve barely been playing for five minutes and we’re up by two.
“We’ll see,” I mutter as Hailee shouts and screams for her team and her man.
“I’ve gotta head off. You belong here, Calvin. Never forget that. Try and enjoy the game, okay?”
She disappears, leaving me to watch while making the most of the obscurity the tunnel provides me so that no one pays me any attention.
We continue to dominate the game, and by the time the guys hit the ice for the third period, we’re sitting pretty with four goals to their zero. Handsy is having one hell of a fucking game.
As the clock counts down to the end of the period, I consider what I’m going to do when the final buzzer sounds.
There’s a big part of me that’s desperate to slip out and head home.
But I also know that the guys are worried, and avoiding celebrating tonight’s win with them will only feed into that fact.
They’re not used to me spending all my nights at home alone. I guess it could be worse, though—they could actually be inviting me out to party and pick up bunnies. They’re all doing me a favor, really, being happy and coupled up.
A loud gasp rips around the crowd as the Blackhawks shoot down the ice on a breakaway. Unable to stop myself, I step out of my hiding spot, wanting to see if they manage to ruin Handsy’s shutout game.
My heart is in my throat as I watch Rett and Monroe do everything they can to clear the puck, and when they finally manage it, I breathe a huge sigh of relief. I might be frustrated not to be out there, but this is still my team, and those are still my boys.
I’m just about to slink back into the shadows when my skin begins to prickle, as if someone’s looking at me.
I scan the crowd, searching for the reason, and the second I look behind the goal, I discover it.
My breath catches as my eyes lock onto a pair of gray ones that are so familiar to me despite the years that have passed.
Unfazed that she’s been caught, Sienna doesn’t look away. Instead, she elbows her date and points in my direction.
The moment he sees me, his entire face lights up.
Oh, great. Her date is my number-one fan. That’s…wonderful.
Forcing one side of my mouth to lift up into a pathetic smile, I nod before ducking back into the shadows.
Out of all the people in the world, Sienna is the last one I want to see me at my lowest. But equally, she’s also the only person I want anywhere near me. Makes no fucking sense, but there’s fuck all I can do about it.
Despite wanting to escape, the chance of Sienna following the girls up to the friends and family suite has me lingering in the tunnel, waiting for the team to head back to the dressing room.
“Great game, man,” I say as Monroe approaches. He lights up like a fucking Christmas tree at my praise.
“Thanks. I’m sure you’d have done it better.”
I scoff. “A shutout game against the Blackhawks? Hardly.”
“You coming out with us tonight?” he asks, his eyes searching mine as if he’s looking for something.
I lock all my insecurities down. “Yeah, of course. A result like that needs celebrating.”
His smile widens.
“You gotta shower first though, man. You fucking stink.”