12. Sucker Punched
SUCKER PUNCHED
LIAM
The next few weeks pass in a blur of away and home games.
Unlike the hockey season passing in a haze, any interaction with Aubrey lingers like a cold sore.
She’s maybe said a total of ten words to me since the night we were both at trivia.
I try to keep my head down, focused on getting through the season and my crazy course load.
Thankfully, athletic training and school are the two aspects of my life I am back on track with.
I love working with the guys, helping with their injuries and recovery.
Having experienced it firsthand gives me a real purpose and a better understanding of the mechanics.
I wish I could specialize in the rehabilitation portion.
But I don’t want to spend another second longer on this campus than I have to.
It’s not that I don’t love it here. Quite the opposite, as this place has become like a home. It’s the memories that haunt me, that I can’t escape, that I relive everywhere I go.
I don’t think I’ll ever be able to fully move on until I distance myself from this place.
I keep thinking about trivia night, the memory of Aubrey smiling and laughing, playing like a song on repeat. It’s like that everywhere I go around here.
There is not one place that doesn’t make me think of her.
I know I said horrible things to her. That I claimed I was sorry to have ever fallen in love with her.
It was a lie—of course, it fucking was. But the way she looked at me, searching my face, practically begging me to look at her like I once did.
It’s killing me.
Being near her. Wanting to touch her. Talk to her—
It’s fucking killing me.
We are on two completely different courses, heading in opposite directions. She wants to move on, to be friends and hash out the past. And all I want is to go back and change it all.
I clench my mouth tighter and push the thoughts of Aubrey away, though it will be impossible for much longer since I’m about to spend the rest of a long night with her.
Tonight is one of the biggest games of the year—Delleth VS. Chadlington.
As the last game before Thanksgiving week and finals, it draws a big crowd: students eager to see friends before heading home for the weekend, letting loose before the stress of finals sets in. There is no better way than by celebrating a win against our college’s rival.
Opening the players’ entrance into the arena, I can tell that even the atmosphere feels charged.
There is a buzz in the air, the anticipation for the holiday and the game thrumming with energy.
When I begin my walk into the underground tunnels that snake below the rink above us, I find Reid pacing the halls.
He always gets like this before games.
“Reid,” I call out. But he keeps pacing back and forth.
I know he probably can’t hear me over his headphones, so I run up and tap him on the shoulder.
He ignores me, looking down at his phone, his face one of hard lines.
I try to get a better look, but fail when he slowly turns around, tucking his phone into his sweatpants. He pulls his headphones off.
“You want me to wrap your ankles?” I ask.
Reid shakes his head. “No. Aubrey does it better,” he admits, popping his headphones back over his ears.
Damn. Okay.
I guess he doesn’t want to talk.
I wave him off and head for the athletic trainer’s room. My body stiffens in surprise when I see that Aubrey isn’t here yet. Usually, she always beats me to the arena.
I begin prepping supplies, making sure my pack is fully stocked.
Considering this is a huge game—Chadlington’s hockey team and ours have a rivalry nearly as old as the universities themselves—I know there will be more fights and more injuries than usual.
The team certainly feels more wired than usual.
A noise pulls my attention away, as I hear someone enter through the door, fully expecting it to be Aubrey. But my eyes meet my other friend instead: Brennan.
“Tape,” he demands, moving toward the table and taking off his socks.
Grabbing my supplies, I angle his ankle to 90 degrees before I begin. I reach for the adhesive spray, but Brennan grumbles, “Dude, no. Aubrey doesn’t use that shit, and it’s so much better.”
I roll my eyes and instead reach for the pre-wrap, lightly twisting it around him from mid-calf to mid-foot.
“Try to stay out of the penalty box for me tonight. I really don’t want to have to work my ass off to stop you idiots from bleeding all over the ice.”
Brennan shrugs as I begin taping the anchors, one around the lower leg and one around the mid-foot.
“You’re talking to the wrong friend,” Brennan states as we both laugh in agreement.
“Feel okay?” I ask before I start taping the medial and lateral parts. He nods, and I continue. I begin rolling my figure eights, wrapping from ankle to foot, under the arch, and back to the ankle.
When I’m done, Brennan stands and tests it out. He stares down at his ankle, then back to me.
I offer him a look that says, “Well?”
“Reid is full of shit,” he admits. My mouth cracks open as I try to figure out what he’s talking about. “He said you suck at taping, but you’re just as good as Aubrey,” he reports, throwing his head back in laughter as Aubrey walks in and overhears us.
Her face beams as she lays her pack down, hands on her hips, shrugging. “Oh yeah, Reid totally thinks I’m better at ankles. Did he finally grow a pair and tell you?”
I nod slowly. Aubrey only grins, bending at the waist like we’re applauding her for being named athletic trainer of the year.
I know I shouldn’t stare, that for someone who’s trying to keep her away, trying to prevent her from having her heart broken by me again, I shouldn’t be watching her with an aching pit in my stomach.
But I’m a weak man. I’ll always take every opportunity to stare at her, to admire her smile.
Brennan hits me in the gut, knocking the wind from me. I shrug my shoulders, but he mouths: You’re staring. PLAY. IT. COOL. He makes a few slow, easy downward motions as if physically pushing down my anxiousness.
Thankfully, Aubrey doesn’t see us silently arguing as she moves around the room, readying her own pack with supplies for the game.
As if she had the same thought as I did earlier, she turns over her shoulder and says to Brennan, “Lay off the penalties tonight; I really don’t want to spend my night stopping nosebleeds every five seconds. ”
Brennan holds his hands out, like he’s been accused of murder. “Dude, why are you guys telling me? Reid is the one who lives in the box!”
We all laugh together, shaking our heads.
He’s not wrong.
As we begin taping and prepping for the game, I don’t think any more about it.
Reid walks in, the last to be prepped. I shoot him a look, but he just bops his head to the music, ignoring my stares. His jaw is set, his fingers twitching, like he can’t sit still.
When Aubrey and I head toward the ice, I know we are going to be in for a long night. My best friend is going to be hell on skates.
Once it’s time for the boys to take the ice, Aubrey and I find our spots on the bench.
From the stands, I hear someone yell, getting Aubrey’s attention. I watch as she finds an opening to greet Reese and June through.
It seems Reese upheld her end of the bet she lost on trivia night—she’s wearing jeans, sneakers, and an oversized jersey. But when she turns around after talking with Aubrey, I see a familiar last name…but that is definitely not his number spread across her back.
I cover my laughter with my palm. Reid did not do that.
But a snort escapes me as I take another look. Oh, he absolutely did.
Beneath Reid’s last name, the number 69 is clearly stitched over his actual number, 05.
I yell out, using the nickname Reid has gifted Reese. “Looking good, Highlighter!”
Reese frowns, a bold middle finger shooting in my direction.
The arena goes dark as the announcer lists off our starters for tonight’s game. A voice booms, deep echoes vibrating my skull as he reads off the list, the boys skating out as they are announced, our home crowd going wild and cheering louder and louder each time.
“And finally, taking the ice for the home team, the captain, #16, Brennan Barnes!”
The crowd cheers loudly as Aubrey elbows me in the ribs so hard she nearly knocks the wind from me. She points to where Reese and June sit. And when the lights go up, all I can see is Reese staring daggers in Morgan’s direction.
I don’t think she’s a fan of his prank.
But when I find the ice and my best friend, Reid doesn’t even glance up at her. No, he’s wearing a straight face as he downright refuses to meet the handshake of Chadlington’s captain, Tatum Hart.
Aubrey seems to take note because she mentions, “This is going to be a long game, isn’t it?”
When my eyes trail over her face, I see a warm glow radiating from her, and she looks like herself for the first time since I returned. I grin and murmur, “Yes, it is.”
But for some reason, I don’t mind that thought—maybe because Aubrey is sitting next to me, and I haven’t once felt regret for not being out there with them.
That, for the first time, I feel content.
The game begins, Brennan, facing off with Chadlington’s Tatum Hart. The puck drops, and the madness begins.
We are losing 3–2 as intermission between the second and third period comes to an end.
“Dude, what the fuck is going on with you?” I shout to Reid.
He ignores me, his leg shaking up and down as he throws back more water before he takes the ice again.
He’s practically glaring across the ice in Tatum’s direction.
The crowd is loving tonight’s energy, and I’m sure, as a spectator, it’s one hell of a game to watch. It’s been physically rough and back-and-forth, leaving the crowd hungry for more.
Reid is one goal away from breaking another university record.
Considering how locked in he is, and with his rival Tatum scoring a hat trick of his own, we’re definitely in for it next period.
The boys retake the ice, and Aubrey heaves a heavy sigh beside me.
They’ve kept us busy tonight, as we expected.
Thankfully, the injuries have been minor, Brennan getting the worst of a right hook meant for Reid in the first period.
His nose is probably broken, but we got the bleeding stopped so he can keep playing.
Aubrey swears, and I forget how much she loves the games, having attended every home game even before the two of us got together.
I watch as Chadlington’s Tatum breaks away, certain the score is about to go from 3–2 to 4–2—until Reid comes out of nowhere and dangerously checks Chadlington’s captain into the boards.
The crowd goes wild, but I shake my head, knowing it’ll earn him a penalty and time off the ice. And considering how close the game is, we really need him out there.
While it’s not uncommon for Reid to be a hothead, he’s usually better about reining it in, especially in a game this important.
I leave the bench and walk to the opposite side of the ice, toward the penalty box.
“WHAT THE FUCK, MAN?” I yell, loud enough for him to hear me as he sits his sorry ass down.
But he ignores me. And for the first time all night, someone other than Tatum Hart has his attention.
He’s staring up into the crowd, and I follow his line of sight as he clearly is searching someone out.
“Is this about some girl?” I ask, thinking back to whoever he was so enthralled with the night he talked me into coming to the rink, about whoever he is looking for in the crowd every five seconds.
And boy, when I say that, does it get his attention.
“She’s not some girl!” he throws off his helmet, throwing it against the glass—and thankfully, the referee doesn’t notice. “She has a name, you know.”
My head inclines, “Well, by all means, what is it?”
Reid doesn’t say a word, though.
I’m not sure who she is. But I don’t believe this could be about some girl he’ll fuck once and be done with. I’m just not buying it.
But his time is up, and he’s back on the ice, with only a quick glance back at me. A look that would kill me if it could.
Five minutes go by, Reid and his linemates are back on the ice when he checks Chadlington’s captain from behind. They exchange words. The refs are quick to make their way over, knowing it could quickly escalate since my dumbass friend is involved.
Aubrey stirs beside me as I make my way back to the bench. “What the fuck are they talking about?” she asks, her eyes wide as her hands rub up and down her thighs.
I can’t make out what they’re saying either—the crowd is far too loud—but I can see them having a heated exchange.
Chadlington’s captain, Tatum, skates off. He turns around and says something back in Reid’s direction.
I watch in stunned silence as Reid throws his gloves off—then his helmet. He skates toward Tatum like a fucking storm. Tatum rips off his own equipment, smiling proudly, as if he knew his words would provoke this exact reaction. The crowd roars as the pair trade a few swings before others join in.
Tatum goes down, and the refs break the two apart. One escorts Reid back to the penalty box, but not before Reid picks up Tatum’s helmet and hands it out. I look at Aubrey, and we let out a deep breath in unison.
But as Tatum begins to turn and reach for it, Reid throws a punch with everything he’s got.
A fucking sucker punch—that’s how low he has gone. What. The. Hell.
Tatum sways on his skates but manages to stay upright.
The crowd roars, and the boys go wild, the team rising from the bench and charging the ice. And before we know it, the ice is a boxing ring.
“Oh, fuck,” I say, running my hands through my hair.
Aubrey and I rise, knowing we are about to have several bleeding noses and cuts on our hands.
Brennan approaches Reid, trying to pull him away. But Reid must mistake Brennan for one of Chadlington’s players because he throws a wicked punch straight at him, immediately turning his attention back on Tatum.
The refs desperately try to pull Reid away, but fail.
He lands another blow on Tatum, a wicked uppercut to Chadlington’s captain’s jaw.
My mouth drops open as Tatum falls, seeming to move in slow motion, his body limp.
His helmet is long gone, so when he hits the ice, the loud thump of his skull resonates even over the roaring crowd.