35 - Grayson
Grayson
We should be in a better spot by now, but we’re playing off.
We have one more period to turn it around before we end right back up in New York playing game five.
Every single shift on the ice has turned into a war. New York is playing angry, and I don’t blame them. Getting this far in the playoffs only to lose in a clean sweep is embarrassing, which is exactly why we need to win.
We need to send Damon Woods and his whole team home crying. It’s the least that asshole deserves.
He’s always been bad on the ice, but tonight is next level. Between the late hits and slashes that are technically accidental but always landing in painful places, he’s acting less like a captain and more like an old-school enforcer.
And unfortunately, Avery’s warning about him hasn’t stopped circling my head. Especially knowing that she’s seeing every single hit from twelve rows up.
Aside from a shy smile when I first came on the ice, I hadn’t acknowledged her, but that didn’t mean that I wasn’t painfully aware of her watching me.
Of her watching Damon.
I shouldn’t have asked her to come tonight. Being in the same building as him can’t be easy after their last run-in. My mind hadn’t registered that when I asked her, though. I just wanted her here.
“We have twenty minutes,” Coach Rylan’s voice booms through the locker room.
I adjust on the bench, sucking down more water.
“One period is between us and a chance to fight for the Cup.” He points to the hallway. “They’re frustrated. They know we’re better. And the only chance they have is if we stoop to their level.”
Several guys nod because it’s exactly what they’re doing out there. They’re trying to get us to hit back.
“Don’t do it,” Coach continues. “You beat them by playing better hockey. Keep making smart decisions and keep your heads up. Let’s get it done.”
Sticks slam against the floor as the energy in the room grows. Coach claps his hands together and walks out of the locker room.
After years of playing for him, it’s still impressive how all it takes is a couple of sentences from him to completely motivate the team.
Everyone is ready to finish this.
The room dissolves into smaller conversations while I adjust the tape around my wrist. Nathan drops onto the bench beside me.
“God, Woods is a prick.”
I bark out a laugh because prick is too nice a word for him.
Nathan frowns. “What? That guy is supposed to be their captain, and he’s racking up penalties for the hell of it.”
I shake my head. “I’m aware.”
Nathan pulls his helmet into his lap. “It’s crazy to think that the girls used to hang out with him, especially knowing how his last relationship ended.”
“What?”
“I’m just saying, Wesley said he was always an asshole, but at least he kept his hands to himself back then.”
My stomach twists. The last thing I need when I’m trying to focus on the game is to think about Avery dating him.
“It’s good Avery ended things with him when she did.”
I stare at the floor. “You have no idea.”
Nathan’s eyebrows immediately pull together. “Why does that make it seem like you do?”
“Huh?” I look up to find Nathan and Wyatt eyeing me. While Nathan looks confused, Wyatt’s expression is far more knowing than it should be.
“Whatever, man.” Nathan rolls his eyes, heading back toward the tunnel.
I move to do the same, but Wyatt blocks my path.
“Does Avery have anything to do with that?” He asks, pressing his hand into my chest when I try to walk by him.
Now this is really the last thing I need. Thinking about Avery and that asshole was bad enough, but Wyatt interrogating me about it is putting me on edge.
“What are you talking about?” My jaw works.
“Dude, Nathan mentioned Damon, and now it looks like you have murder on the brain.”
I go to walk around him again, but he steps in front of me.
“I don’t have murder on the brain, jackass. Can we drop it?”
“I can. Can you?”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“I don’t know what you and Avery have going on. Or what Avery and Damon had going on, but…”
I cut him off. “They have nothing going on.” The words come out harsh, but I can’t bring myself to rein them in.
“That’s my point. I don’t care about any of it. Not fucking tonight.” He steps back, shifting on his skates. “And you shouldn’t either. This is for the conference championship, you know that, right? We need you to be focused.”
“I am focused.”
“Bullshit. Leave your shit aside for twenty more minutes, okay?” He watches me carefully.
“Fine. Whatever,” I mumble, then push past him into the tunnel.
Almost everyone is already back on the ice, so I slow my pace to get my head back in the game.
Wyatt’s right.
I’ve lasted over three and a half games pretending Damon doesn’t exist, and I need to keep it that way a little longer. Sure, having Avery so close to me–so close to him–is making it a hell of a lot harder, but it’s fine. I’m fine.
I run the game stats through my head as I move through the tunnel, the roar of the crowd growing louder with every step, the noise vibrating through the concrete beneath my skates.
As we line up, I think about Avery one final time before shoving every thought of her into a locked box in the back of my head, because right now the only thing that matters is ending this fucking series.
But five minutes in, and I’m failing miserably. Every time I glance toward the glass, my eyes find Avery, sitting exactly where she’s been all game and pretending not to notice me at all.
It’s logical. No one knows about us, and I knew she wasn’t going to show up in my jersey, even if I wished she would’ve. But having her watch the game, avoiding me, is distracting.
A part of me wishes she’d look at me the way she does when we’re alone. I wish she’d smile or roll her eyes. Give me anything.
But she won’t, because she’s petrified of what could happen if she lets herself love again. And the reason for that is skating around the ice, plowing into my teammates left and right.
My temper flares as I refocus on the game to make sure we send New York home as losers.
Midway through the period, Nathan wins a battle behind their net and throws the puck up the boards.
Liam picks it up in stride, and when he gets moving, I know it’s going to end up in the back of the net.
He dekes out two defenders and buries it, the red light flashing as the crowd goes insane over the first goal of the night.
I throw my arms up immediately. “Let’s fucking go!”
The goal should send the momentum swinging our way, but then I see Damon mock-waving to Avery, her face turning pale.
A raw anger comes to life in my stomach, and I completely lose focus, reading their offense too late and letting them slide a pass through the middle.
I recover, but their winger is already behind me, and Wyatt might be the best goalie I’ve ever played with, but he can’t stop the shot that’s slotted into the bottom right corner.
My stick slams against the ice as their bench erupts.
I don’t need to look at Wyatt to know exactly what his face looks like. That’s on me. One hundred percent on me.
As the teams line up for the next faceoff, I skate backward into position, my eyes flicking toward Avery against my will before I refocus them on the ice. When I do, I find Damon staring at me, his scowl turning into a smirk as he follows my sightline.
In my mind, it’s the same disgusting smile he’d give Avery when he planned to practically lock her in his apartment.
My skin heats as the puck drops. I’m not surprised when Damon and I get tangled up along the boards deep in our zone. I clear the puck, sending the play in the opposite direction.
For a second, it’s just him and me, shoulder to shoulder. He leans close enough that only I can hear him.
“You know,” he says casually, “I figured you’d realized the truth about her.”
My grip tightens on my stick.
“Shut up.”
He laughs. “She probably told you I’m the bad guy. As if she didn’t forget how to act, every single time I gave her freedom.”
“Are you fucking serious?”
The casualness of his tone has my stomach turning over.
Behind me, I hear Wyatt yell my name, but I don’t budge.
“Oh, c’mon, Shaw. You have to know that sluts like her aren’t worth the trouble. I wasted a year trying to teach her how to behave. Clearly, I should’ve used a stronger hand.”
Something inside me snaps instantly. The world narrows. My heartbeat becomes the only thing I can hear. I don’t think. I don’t hesitate. My gloves are off in a blur, the crack of my stick hitting the ice barely registering.
Damon’s eyes widen as I grab his jersey and drive him sideways, sending us crashing onto the ice. The whistle screams, and somewhere in the back of my mind, I register players yelling.
I don’t hear any of it.
All I see is Avery’s cellphone shattering on a wall behind her. I see Avery flinching when I tried to pay for her groceries. Avery expecting every argument to turn into a war. Avery walking into my house, convinced she needs armor.
Because of him.
I hit him before he can get his gloves off, and pain shoots up my arm. Then, I hit him again. We’re both swinging, but I manage to keep him pinned.
“You’re a piece of shit,” I seethe, hitting him again.
He spits out a mouthful of blood before sneaking in a punch against my jaw. My head jerks back, and he smiles wildly.
The grin sends me further over the edge, and I hit him again. And again.
Officials rush in, and I can feel people grabbing me from behind, but I keep swinging until I can’t reach him anymore. Even then, my body strains against the people holding me back, the need to lay him out again stronger than my common sense.
He doesn’t deserve to be on this fucking ice. He doesn’t deserve to be under the same roof as her.
His words rattle through my head, my hands tightening into fists again reflexively as I’m pulled across the ice.
New York’s trainer filters onto the ice, checking out Damon while he sits on the ice, blood dripping down his face.
I can’t remember the last time I got into a fight on the ice, let alone one that wasn’t based on a game move. I’m supposed to be the Captain. The example. I’m supposed to be better than this.
But all I can think as I watch Damon stand up, wiping blood onto his jersey as he skates to his bench, is that I should’ve hit him harder.
I can hear Coach yelling at me as they shove me through the door, but I have no clue what he’s saying.
My hand rubs at my jaw, smearing the blood on my knuckles.
My eyes catch Wyatt’s as he tosses my stick and gloves over the boards onto the bench, but he just shakes his head, body slumped with disappointment.
He’s been my best friend for years, and he’s never looked at me like that. Hell, Coach has never yelled at me like this either.
My head throbs as the sound of the stadium slowly filters back in just in time for me to hear the announcers eject me from the game.
I knew they would. The second I slammed him to the ice, I knew there’d be consequences. But I couldn’t bring myself to care about any of them, not when it comes to Avery. I never seem to think about the consequences when it comes to her.
The knot in my stomach tightens as the gravity of my actions hits me.
Tossed from the game.
Probable suspension from additional games.
Letting my team down.
Letting Avery down.
I promised he wouldn’t get to me.
I promised nothing he said would come between us.
As I’m shoved toward the tunnel, I glance up one time to try to catch her eye. Something to let me know that it’s okay.
That we’re okay.
But her seat is empty.
Fuck.
What the hell did I just do?