36 #2
The front room’s got a couch, a TV on a stand, and a coffee table with a laptop on it. Greeley’s standing in the middle of it in a Woodbury hockey T-shirt. He knew I was coming. He’s not sitting down, and he’s not acting surprised. He’s not smiling like I thought he would be. He’s as angry as I am.
“Why are you standing in my house?” he says once we’re all inside.
His eyes drop to my hands. I hadn’t realized I was clenching them.
“Take it down,” Koda says.
Greeley shrugs. “Why would I do that? People deserve to know the scum walking this campus.”
I step forward.
Greeley laughs, and there’s the fucking smile I want to wipe off his face. “I didn’t make you do anything, Kennebeck. That’s the thing, isn’t it? You still did what you did.”
And there’s the whole argument. He’s been carrying it around for a month.
“You want to know what I’ve been doing all weekend?
” he says. “Standing in a tunnel in a suit. Scouts in the building Friday, and I’m in a suit.
My second year in that room, every early skate, every video session, and a fucking freshman shows up in August who puts a guy through a wall at a party, and he gets the second line and the last draw of the game with Montreal watching. ”
“That’s hockey,” I hear myself say, like a reminder to myself.
“I know it’s hockey. But now everybody knows who you really are.”
I stare at him, and that smile crawls back onto his face. There’s half a second where I almost close the distance. I could have him on that coffee table before Rafe got to me.
“Go ahead,” Greeley says.
Rafe shifts behind my shoulder. Koda’s already moving to my left.
“Come on,” Greeley says, quieter. “Nobody’s going to record it this time.”
I take one big step, close enough that he has to look up, close enough that I can see his pulse going in his neck, close enough that Rafe says my name behind me.
“You keep waiting for me to hit you,” I say.
His mouth twitches.
“Keep waiting.”
I watch it come off his face, all of it, the corner of the mouth, the whole thing, and what’s underneath is a guy standing in his own living room with nothing left to do.
Nobody says anything. Then Mathers puts his cereal bowl down on the shelf by the door. “We’re going to Berwyn.”
Greeley looks over at him. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“Yeah, you are.” Mathers’s already pulling a hoodie off the hook. “Look at your phone.”
Greeley looks at his phone and sees the missed calls.
My hand’s still shaking, and all I can see is red, but I walk out of that house knowing I can tell Kylie I didn’t fucking touch him.
Berwyn’s behind his desk with his laptop open and his phone face up beside it. The door opens, and it’s me. Then Rafe. Then Koda. Then Mathers. Then Greeley.
Berwyn looks at the five of us filing into an office built for two. “What the hell is this?”
“Coach—” I start.
“Don’t,” Koda says to me.
Greeley opens his mouth.
“You too,” Mathers says to him.
We shut the door.
Mathers starts. He doesn’t do a lot of talking.
He puts his phone on the desk and plays a video of Greeley hitting me across the back with the stick, from before the part on the internet, and then a different angle of what came after.
Coach watches the whole thing. Then Mathers tells him the way the whole night went, the way it had been escalating before that, the heart of the problem, and why he thinks Greeley posted a month-old video tonight.
Koda fills in what Mathers missed. Rafe hands Berwyn his phone with the picture he took of my back that night.
Berwyn looks at the image of my back for a long time. Then he looks at the video of Greeley hitting me with the stick. He turns the phone sideways. Then he sets it down and looks at Mathers.
“Why am I seeing this now?” Coach asks.
Mathers looks at the floor. “Because he’s my roommate, Coach.
We played juniors together. He said we’d handle it in the room, and if I showed anybody, he’d find a way to get me thrown off the team.
” His voice goes rough. “Then Kennebeck got second line and Dec went quiet, and I told myself it was over. I tried to say something to Kennebeck twice and couldn’t get it out.
” He swallows. “And then tonight he posted the part where he looks like the victim because he pissed he didn’t play with the Montreal scout there.
This is his retaliation, and I’m not holding it for him anymore. ”
Greeley doesn’t say anything.
Berwyn looks at Mathers for a long moment and nods once. Then he leans back. “Okay. Kennebeck.”
“Yes, Coach.”
“You still beat the hell out of a teammate in his house,” he says bluntly.
“Yeah,” I answer. “I did.”
I don’t add the excuses. I could say he hit me first, that he provoked me, that he’s had it out for me since August, and every one of those things is true. But none of them is the reason my hands were on him. Berwyn watches me not say it.
“The video’s public,” he says. “That means it’s not mine anymore.
Athletics is going to see it, compliance is going to see it, somebody’s mother is going to email the president about it, and I’m not going to sit on any of it, and I wouldn’t if I could.
” He pulls a pad over. “Which means until I’ve been through this whole thing with them, your status is under review.
You’re not guaranteed to dress Friday. You understand what I’m telling you? ”
“Yes, Coach.”
He looks at the rest of them. “Anybody else posts anything, says anything, comments on anything, sends anything to anybody, you’ll answer to me. Nobody talks to anybody about this. Out.”
We all stand up. I get to the door and stop. “Coach.”
Berwyn looks up.
“I didn’t hit him today.”
He doesn’t say anything. He just looks at me.
“I wanted to. I walked over there to do it, and I didn’t.” My voice comes out worse than I want it to. “I’d like that to be worth something.”
Berwyn looks at me for a good three seconds. “Get out,” he says.
I turn around and reach for the door.
“Kennebeck.”
I look back.
“It is worth something,” he says. Then, past me, into the hallway, “Greeley, get back in here. Shut the door.”
It’s cold walking back, and none of us talks. Mathers peels off toward his house. Koda goes up to his floor. Rafe walks down the hall on three with me, looks at my bag outside our door, and says he’ll bring it in, because it’s obvious where I’m going.
Kylie’s door is unlocked. I knock as I walk in.
She’s sitting on her bed in her T-shirt and leggings with her back against the wall and her phone in her palm, like she’s been waiting for something. Her eyes find mine across the room, and she gets off the bed and takes my face in her hands.
“Hi.” She looks into both my eyes. “Are you okay?”
I think so. “Yeah.”
She takes my hands to inspect them. There’s a split knuckle from Friday, scabbed over. “Friday’s game,” I tell her.
She kisses the knuckle. “Okay.” She lets out a breath and presses a small kiss to my mouth. “Okay.”
“I didn’t touch him.”
She nods like she already knew. “I’m sorry. I know I said don’t hurt him, but I was kind of hoping you would.” She starts laughing, and I drop my forehead to hers. “He would’ve deserved it,” she whispers.
She runs her fingers through my hair, and I close my eyes and let her.
“For what it’s worth, Nash, I’m proud of you.” She closes her eyes too. “You did the right thing.”
That’s worth everything.