20. Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Eighteen
Steven
Sweat drips down my back as the rest of the guys make their way to the locker room for showers and cold therapy. The sounds of skates scraping the ice get quieter as I make my way over to Coach.
“Definitely settling in, Bennett.” He’s focused on his clipboard, not looking up. “Good to see you and Graham working together on the front line. Good job putting the past behind you. Keep at it, and I can see you playing the next game.”
“Thanks Coach.”
He dips his chin, still not looking at me, and I take the dismissal for what it is. The sound of my lone blades scraping the ice echoes throughout the arena as I follow the path my teammates just took.
Stepping onto the rubber mat, I turn at the sound of my name to find Declan waiting for me inside the tunnel.
“Dec.” I lift my stick in his direction, with no intention of stopping. My only goal is to get to the rest of my teammates and avoid whatever my nemesis has to say.
The only way I’ve been able to work with Declan during practice is by pretending he’s someone else. It’s easy while his head is covered with a helmet, not so much when it’s off.
“Bennett.” Dec’s hand grips my upper arm in an attempt to stop me from moving forward. Glaring at his hand, he lets me go. “Can we talk?”
My jaw clenches, his voice grating on every nerve of my bruised body. I force myself to take a deep breath before nodding.
“Look, Bennett. I owe you an apology.”
My hand tightens on my hockey stick. And I glance toward the voices coming from the locker room, hoping for anyone to come out or call my name.
“I’m not asking you to forget what I did. Just asking that you find a way to let bygones be bygones.”
Slowly, my head turns toward him, and I let my gaze meet his. I hate the sincerity I see reflected back at me.
My other hand grips my stick, and I squeeze. My father taught me to try and be the bigger person in any situation that called for it.
Not to be a pushover but to be aware that people have hidden struggles we don’t always see or understand.
The man standing in front of me took advantage of one of the hardest things I’ve ever been through and used it as a way to drag me down.
To break me.
He almost succeeded.
“Why does it matter?” My eyes narrow, lips pressing together. “It was years ago.”
“We’re teammates now.”
“We were teammates then too. Or did you forget?”
“I know…I didn’t forget.” Declan rakes his hand through his hair and blows out a heavy breath. “Which makes what I did even worse.”
“Graham, I don’t care.” I pivot away from him, moving toward the voices down the hall. “Let’s just get—”
“Bennett.” His hand falls on my shoulder, stopping me. “Please. Let me finish.”
Huffing out a sigh, I stop moving, but don’t turn around to face him.
“You remember my Uncle Martin. My mother’s brother?”
His Uncle Martin was a surly man who yelled at everyone and anyone in the stands. Sometimes even the players on the ice. Graham and I were never best friends, but when his uncle showed up, it was like I became a target for Dec.
Gritting my teeth, I don’t say anything as Declan continues.
“He was always someone I looked up to and wanted to be like. When he came around that last time, he started criticizing everything I was doing. Every strike I took. The way I passed the puck, and especially if I let someone other than me score.”
Something I forgot comes back to me. The day before Dec started his whole attack, he had passed the puck to me, and I took it around the net and was able to hit a snapshot, sneaking the biscuit in the basket. Getting our team the winning score.
The crowd went wild. My teammates surrounded me, lifting me up on their shoulders. I now recall one voice that stood out against all the others. The voice was angry and critical—screaming specifically at Declan.
I also remember the look in Dec’s eyes going from excited to pain-filled and confused.
“After that pass, Uncle Martin told me if I was going to rely on others to do my job, I would never become anything. My mom and dad told him that he needed to leave, and that he didn’t understand what he was talking about, but his words wounded me.
And I needed to prove to him, and me, that he was wrong. ”
Laughter and running water fill the hallway.
Memories I had pushed down resurface. All about Declan taking quiet shots at me that no one heard or saw. Nearly breaking my confidence when my biggest supporter was in hospice, dying. An icy fist squeezes my lungs. The pain resurfacing.
“Steven. There will always be someone trying to break you, make you doubt yourself and your ability. You need to do your job, and let what they say slide off you. Trust your team, your coach, and let them support you. Hockey is a team sport. You’re never alone on the ice.”
Dad’s words break through the pain, and for a moment my chest feels hollow. The ache of his passing has lessened, but there are moments when missing him is a physical pain.
He would’ve known how to handle what Declan did. How to walk me through it, maybe even see something I couldn’t.
Me? I just got angry.
And nearly let it steal my future.
My shoulders sag, the weight from the past crushing me. Scrubbing my hand up and down my face, I growl. “What do you want from me, Graham?”
“An opportunity. I don’t expect you to trust me right away. I know I’ll need to earn that. But I want the chance to show that I can be better than I was in the past.”
Turning to face him, I pin him with my gaze. Looking to see if there’s any deception in his expression.
All I see is earnestness.
When I dip my chin slightly, Declan blows out an exhale and his lips curl up.
“Thank you, Bennett.” Graham stretches his hand out, and I stare at it. “I know I don’t deserve it.”
“It’s okay to give someone a second chance, Steven. It’s the third time you need to pass on.”
“Everyone deserves a second chance to make things right.” Slipping my hand into his, we shake on it. When he tries to pull away. I grip tighter. “But don’t even think about asking for a third.”
Graham snorts. “If I mess up again, I give you permission to deck me. Heck, I’m surprised you haven’t already.”
“My dad wouldn’t have approved,” I murmur, shrugging.
“Bennett—”
“No, Graham. We aren’t going there.” A tiny glimmer of shame passes his expression. “Let’s just start here. Today. Clean slate.”
“Thanks man.” He slaps me on the back, and we start moving toward the now quiet locker room.
“So is Millie the reason for this change?” Declan stumbles, and I hoot. “Guess that’s a yes.”
“Did Scarlett tell you?” Dec pushes the door open, and we step into the empty room. Our teammates' voices carried over from the therapy room.
“She mentioned it after seeing you and Millie in the coffee shop a few weeks ago.” Putting my stick in my locker, I rest on the bench, leg out, untying my skates. “But if I hadn’t seen it for myself, I would have thought she was crazy.”
He slips his jersey over his without answering.
“Your best friend’s cousin, huh?”
“Wow.” Declan’s head whips toward me. “Do you two not have any secrets?”
“Only one.”
“What was that?”
“I said she is my best friend.”
“About her, I’m sorry about how I acted about that.” He stops unlacing his skate and looks up at me. “Once I started being a moron, I couldn’t stop. Besides, I never once thought I had a chance with her.”
“Really?” My brows knit together, and I think about all the times that I saw Scarlett talking to Graham before everything happened. Multiple times I thought there might be something. “I’m surprised to hear you say that.”
“You’re joking right? It was obvious to anyone with eyes that the two of you were into each other. I’m just surprised it took you this long to get together.”
“I’m working on it,” I whisper, slipping my jersey over my head. A groan falls from me as a sharp pain shoots through my left side.
“I thought the hit Reeves gave you was gonna leave a mark.”
“Nothing a little cold bath shouldn’t fix.”
“True. But the subzero temperature is a form of torture by itself.”
Tossing my skates under the bench, my phone buzzes.
Scarlett:
Would you mind grabbing something to eat before you come over?
I’m not going to have time to stop for something.
Steven:
I can do that.
Scarlett
Thank you!
Scrubbing my hand over my face, gripping my chin, I grumble
There’s another form of torture that’s far worse. Like spending hours with my ‘fake’ girlfriend pretending that I’m not in love with her.
Yeah. I’ll take the cold therapy every day of the week over that.