Chapter 13
WE ALL FALL DOWN
BJ
I wake on edge, which isn’t a surprise after last night. I messaged Winter when I got home and she hearted it, but she’s been quiet since.
I check again this morning, but it’s just the usual in the group chat.
Lovey’s working at the foodbank this morning, and Mav is coaching the boys’ team with Lovey’s dad and Darren Westinghouse.
Clover has the literacy program, but Mav said she’s hoping to make the second half. Rose is working at Boones.
I have new messages from Adele, promising she’ll be on time and saying she’s determined to make the triple twist work. I scheduled us early so I can be there to watch the game. I want Winter to feel supported, because from what I’ve witnessed, she doesn’t have much from the people who count.
I eat breakfast on autopilot and compulsively check my phone for new messages. Still nothing, though. Adele messages once I’m on the ice to tell me she’s on her way.
She shows up fifteen minutes late, which is a heck of a lot better than her usual half hour.
She’s dressed in a black leotard and a black skirt.
Her makeup is done as if she’s ready for an actual performance, not just a practice skate.
She’d probably be on time if she left it at mascara and lip gloss, but I keep that to myself since there are zero good reasons to make her feel shitty.
She falls into stride next to me. “Sorry I’m late.”
“You’re good. I can only stay until nine forty-five, though.” I booked the ice until ten, but then saw she’d added an extra hour.
She frowns. “Oh, I thought your schedule was open today.”
“My friend is playing her first game today, and I want to be there to support her.”
“Oh.” She does a two-foot turn so she’s facing me. “What friend is that?”
“Winter. I’ve been giving her lessons. You met her at the beginning of the week.”
“The girl with the long, dark hair?”
“Yeah, that’s the one.”
She chews her bottom lip. It’s a little raw, like she’s been doing this a lot. “You’ve given a lot of those girls lessons, and you’ve never bailed on practice for a game before.”
I cross my arms. “You’re chronically late and you’re on me about cutting a Saturday practice short so I can support a friend?”
She props a fist on her hip. “I just want to get this combination right so we don’t have to switch up our routine!”
Fighting isn’t how I want to start practice. “Let’s just make the most of the time we have.” I cue up the music and end the argument before it escalates.
I reach for Adele’s hand, and she slips it into mine, letting me lead, because Adele is more comfortable following cues than giving them.
She starts out strong, but as soon as we reach the triple twist, she misses her cue and we get the angle wrong. This happens on repeat for the duration of practice.
At nine forty-five, I call time. “I need to hit the shower soon if I’m going to make the first face-off.”
“Can we try a couple more times? I know I can get it, BJ.” Adele wrings her hands and gives me doe eyes.
I’m trying my best to be patient. I’m aware that this competition is a lot of pressure, especially since we need to place to move forward.
But we can’t spend every practice struggling through combinations that might be too difficult, and this is two days in a row that she’s having trouble with the same element.
It’s the common denominator, and we need to fix it while we still have time. But I concede so she doesn’t get upset.
“We can try it twice more. Then I gotta go.”
“Okay. Twice more through.”
She fumbles on the first attempt, but the second time she gets it. And of course, because she had success, she wants to try again. But it’s better to end on a positive note with her feeling good.
I rush through my shower, but by the time I’m dressed, I’ve missed a few minutes of the first period.
I take a seat behind the bench. There’s a good crowd; the local hockey lovers are all about supporting their teams. I knock on the plexiglass barrier and my dad excuses himself to come talk to me for a second.
“How’s it going?” The scoreboard indicates our team is up by one goal.
“They’re playing tight.” Dad doesn’t take his eyes off the ice.
I scan the rink and find Winter heading for the opposition’s net. The puck slides behind the crease, and she hits the boards before she can stop herself.
“Shake it off,” I mutter. “You got this.”
“She’s off today,” Dad says quietly.
“First-game jitters?” I ask, even though I know it’s more than that.
“That’s what I thought initially, but she’s…on edge.”
I worry about the ramifications of last night. I don’t know how much money she had saved for tuition, but I can guess that any amount going missing would be a major setback.
Winter recovers and makes a nice pass, but her teammate misses the opportunity to score.
My dad returns to the bench when Winter gets called off the ice and leans in to talk to her as she takes a seat.
Her eyes stay locked on the game, and her jaw tics, but she nods, as though she’s agreeing with whatever he says.
I wonder if this is something she’s used to doing—being agreeable so she doesn’t rock the boat.
Not to mention being afraid to lose this opportunity.
Winter glances over her shoulder and gives me a small smile, but she looks tired and anxious.
Her knee bounces a few times as she turns back to the game, and she keeps pulling at the chinstrap of her helmet, like it’s too tight. One of her teammates pats her shoulder, maybe in reassurance.
Winter rotates back onto the ice as our team gains control of the puck.
She passes to her teammate and skates behind the net, staying in control in the crease.
It’s a great setup, but I see what Winter can’t, and that’s the opposition coming up from behind, looking to get between Winter and the boards.
The player moves in tight to Winter, causing her to lose her focus and her balance.
One second the puck is kissing Winter’s blade, the next she’s sprawled across the ice, taking the opposition down with her.
Winter gets to her knees, gloved hand going to her face. Red spatters her white and black jersey and dots the ice under her. She touches her chin, face contorting in a grimace.
“Shit, she’s injured.” I start to stand, but realize I can’t do anything. Besides, she’s not the type who likes to be fawned over, especially under these circumstances.
The refs call the play, and the buzzer sounds.
Winter yanks off her gloves and spins around, as if she’s looking for someone to go after.
Thankfully the ref and her teammates have surrounded her.
Fern Harmer, the team captain, steers her toward the bench, and the opposition gets a penalty for interference.
Blood drips from Winter’s chin, leaving a trail on the ice.
A thin stream travels down her throat and soaks into her jersey. Her eyes are on fire.
Once she’s on the bench, my dad is there, helping unclip her helmet while the action on the ice is paused.
Winter takes the wad of tissues Uncle Alex hands her and dabs at her chin while he and my dad inspect the wound and the team doctor steps in. I can’t hear the conversation, but all my time spent at an arena means I’m pretty good at reading lips. Winter’s body language reads tension and worry.
She tips her head back for the doctor. Even from here, I can see she needs stitches.
When the team doctor echoes that thought, Winter’s eyes widen.
She shakes her head, but after more back and forth, she finally follows Dr. Fellows down the hall to the therapy rooms, where he’ll presumably stitch her up.
Dad watches her leave, and his eyes catch mine. I have questions, but they’ll have to wait until after the game.
Winter returns halfway through the next period with fresh gauze on her chin, but they don’t rotate her into the game.
She gives me a chin tip when the team heads for the dressing room, but doesn’t acknowledge me otherwise.
I have to guess she’s upset about being benched after the injury.
Our team won by one goal, which is awesome, but I’m sure Winter would have liked to be a bigger contributor to that win.
I stop by the offices so I can catch up with my dad once he’s done giving the team a pep talk. I stretch out on the chair in the hall to wait. The next thing I know, he’s shaking me awake.
“You waiting on me?”
“Yeah. Just wanted to make sure Winter’s okay.” I didn’t tell him about last night, partly because it isn’t my place. I don’t want to betray Winter’s confidence.
“She’s all stitched up. Doc says no concussion, but she’ll have a headache, and she’ll need to take it easy.” My dad rubs his beard. “She was worried about the cost of treatment. She didn’t realize the medical forms she signed meant she has full coverage.”
Healthcare is one of the biggest perks of being on the team. “Is that all she’s worried about?”
“She’s concerned about proving her worth to the team from the bench.”
“She’s used to opportunities slipping through her fingers, and she doesn’t like to ask for help.” And last night proved that her fears are valid.
Dad leans against the wall, his expression pensive. “I met her mother at the diner yesterday.”
“I know. She hadn’t told her parents she was playing for the women’s team.”
His brow furrows. “Well, that explains her mom’s reaction when I asked if she was coming to watch Winter play today. Fuck. I wish I’d known that.”
“It’s a small town. They would have found out eventually.”
“Still. She didn’t say anything about it today.” He strokes his beard.
“She holds her cards close to the vest.” I tap on my knee, restless.
“What’s going on, BJ? What aren’t you saying?”
I bite my lip, debating. “I don’t want to betray Winter’s confidence, but financial constraints are only part of the problem. Maybe talk to Logan.”
He strokes his beard again. “Is she in danger?”
“Seems like a lot of words are being thrown around in that house, but I don’t know if that’s where it ends. She can hold her own, but she shouldn’t have to.” And the whole stealing her tuition money says a lot about her dad.
He claps me on the shoulder. “I had a feeling things were tough in that house. You’ll tell me if there’s cause for concern?”
“Yeah. Of course.”
He nods once. “This will stay between you and me. And I’ll do my best to reassure her that her place on the team is secure when we take them out for lunch.”
“Okay. Sounds good.” Dad heads down the hall, and I check the time.
I teach a lesson in half an hour, so I send Winter a message congratulating her on the game and asking if she wants to hang out later.
But that heavy feeling in my stomach keeps growing.
I worry that what happened last night is just scratching the surface.
After lessons, I check my phone. I have a new message from Winter and a pic of her stitched-up chin. It’s not the first time she’s had chin stitches. The previous scar is jagged and messy, but this one is clean and neat.
Winter
bringing sexy back
:Justin T dancing GIF:
Have house stuff to take care of *eye roll* Team said they’re going to the beach later. Might go if I don’t catch heat for the chin. We could meet up there?
BJ
You’re a sexy badass *heart eyes*
message when ur on ur way to the beach, I can pick u up if u want
The humping dots appear, then disappear, then appear again.
Winter
Suck Face Saturday doesn’t sound quite as appealing as Fingerbang Friday and Tongue-Fuck Tuesday.
It’s hard to believe she’s over last night already. Or maybe this is her way of escaping the bullshit. Regardless I want to see her, that way I can see for myself that she’s really okay.
BJ
How about Sweet Spot Saturday?
Winter
I’m down. Tlk l8r *dynamite*
Quinn is heading back to Chicago tonight, so I spend a couple of hours hanging with him and Mav. Lovey and Lacey invite me to watch rom-coms with Rose, but I take a pass and a nap in the hammock overlooking the water while I wait for Winter to message.
My phone buzzes on my chest, waking me. The sun has set, and it’s already after nine.
Winter
At the beach.
Two photos follow. The first is a selfie of Winter dressed in an oversized T-shirt, braid hanging over her shoulder, chin covered with gauze, one brow arched. It looks like she’s in the parking lot. The second is of the starry sky.
Winter
It’s ambiance central here.
BJ
I wld have picked u up.
Winter
Needed to get out of the house. We still on for SSS tonight?
BJ
Hell yeah. omw
Winter
*water splash*
Several GIFs follow, including a cartoon hot dog thrusting.
Yeah, she’s definitely deflecting and looking for an escape.
I brush my teeth, change into jeans and a fresh T-shirt, pull my hair back, and hop in my Jeep.
Halfway to the beach, I pull over so an ambulance and fire truck can pass.
My heart lodges in my throat when those vehicles turn down Winter’s road.
I slow as I approach the T-intersection, which is blocked by a cop car with flashing lights. Logan is standing at the mouth of the T, so I stop and roll down the passenger-side window.
He approaches, expression grim as he rests his forearm on the sill and leans in. “Sorry, BJ. The road is closed.”
“Yeah, I figured. This an alarm activation or something?” The Winslows and Kingstons have systems that sometimes get tripped by curious wildlife. The squirrels are notorious for chewing through wires.
Logan shakes his head. “I wish it was just an alarm activation.”
“That doesn’t sound good.”
His walkie-talkie crackles. “Victim is in her mid to late thirties. Multiple breaks. She’s in and out of consciousness.”
“Fuck.” He blows out a breath. “You know where the Marks girl is?”
“She’s at the beach. I’m heading there now. What the hell is going on, Logan?”
“There was an accident.”