Chapter 34 Drew
Drew
Striding into the locker room, I once again look at my phone sitting shattered in my hand. The spider-webbed screen taunts me as it has every other time before I shove it in my pocket.
I can't believe this is happening despite all the arguing with my dad and all the money I pay Jane to keep my personal business private. All of the changes I'm trying to make and somehow this is still the story.
Waking up this morning to a text from my agent, my P.R.
manager, and my coach, all asking if there was something they should know, was like the fucking hat trick from hell.
I'm not sure how the rumor started exactly—well, besides knowing my dad must be behind it—but it's out now, and I can't even imagine what the headlines are saying.
I haven't looked. In fact, after I left Brooke's last night, I turned my phone on airplane mode and spent the night listening to her playlist on repeat and wishing she didn't have dinner with her parents.
I thought the last few games were bad—that maybe it was only up from here.
But apparently, I was wrong because I passed out to that dream and woke up to a real-life nightmare.
I should have thought twice about smashing my phone to the floor first thing this morning after turning all of my messages back on.
It's made getting a hold of Brooke difficult.
I rode over to her place before the rink this morning, but she was already gone by the time I got there.
My only hope now is that I can find her here before warm ups start.
I can't imagine what she's thinking. She finally lets me in—I tell her I'm not leaving—and now she hears that I have plans to do exactly that?
I'm trying not to panic as much as I probably should—Brooke and I just get each other.
She has to know that this wasn't me. That it isn't true.
Or at least that's what I'm telling myself.
"Yo, you doin' alright, Cap?" Burns claps me on the back the second I get to my stall.
"Yeah, man," I say quickly, nerves still budding up my chest. "Hey, have you seen Brooke?"
"InstaBrooke?"
I pause, annoyed more than I should be by the random pet name. "Yeah, sure. Have you seen her?" I throw my backpack into my stall and continue walking through the locker room.
"Uh, no, not since the other day."
I stop outside the showers and exhale heavily, contemplating my next move. Brett steps up next to me before I can decide and places his hand on my shoulder. "What's wrong?"
I shake my head through a sigh. "Nothing, I just—I need to talk to her." Saying the words out loud tightens the knot in my stomach and increases the pulse in my head. My hand flies to my forehead in an attempt to rub out the tension as Brett bites at the inside of his cheek.
"Does this have anything to do with the rumors?" I peer over at him, dragging my palm to the back of my neck. The breath Brett blows through his lips fills the silence between us until he speaks again. "You, uh—there's no truth to that, is there?"
My body whips in his direction. "Fuck no," I say boldly. "That's all my dad. He just won't fucking quit."
He nods, bringing his eyes to his hands, then positions his body in front of mine. Ward walks past us, and I tip my chin up at him, but Brett doesn't move his gaze off of me. "Listen, Cap," he continues once Carter's gone. "For what it's worth… your old man probably just wants the best for you."
"Ha, right. He's an asshole, Burnsey," I rebuke, taking a step toward the hall to our right. Burns steps in front of me again, stopping me in my place as I attempt to squash the irritation building inside me for my best friend.
I need to see Brooke.
"Or maybe..." he continues hesitantly, his hands up in surrender. "Maybe he's just failing at trying to love you the only way he knows how."
I burst out in laughter. He can't be serious. "Not sure this calls for your usual Canadian positivity, buddy," I quip, but Burns doesn't crack a smile.
My brow creases as I search his face for any sign that he's joking, but the expression shining back at me is stone-cold.
"Wait, you're serious?" I throw my hands to my hips and shift my weight.
"You think him pushing me to be… pushing me so hard all this time is because he cares?
That he started this rumor not to strong-arm me but because he doesn't know how else to love me?
" Brett shrugs, and I cross my arms over my chest. "No shot. "
"All I'm saying is that sometimes how someone treats you..." His voice drifts off as Ward walks past us again. I roll my eyes, waiting for the rest of his sentence. "It isn't personal."
I scoff, dropping my arms back to my sides. "No offense, bro, but it feels pretty fucking personal."
Burnsey gives me an empty grin, then shakes his head. "Yeah, no, for sure. I totally get that," he relents. "Just, uh—just give it some thought, eh?"
I nod and smack my palm against his shoulder. "Sure, man."
His face falls, and I realize that, for some reason, this means something to him. As I study his expression, I become more sure. Me understanding this is big—important.
"Hey," I say seriously, my annoyance morphing into reassurance. "I will. Okay?"
He smiles, genuinely this time. "Love ya, bud," he says, shoving his hands into his pockets.
"Yeah," I say, still taken aback by our entire conversation. Brett is always good for throwing me off with the shit he says, but this hits harder than it usually does.
I give his arm a squeeze, looking at him with my full attention. "Love you too, Burnsey."
He finally steps out of my way, but I can't shake his words as they stick with me like he meant them to.
For the millionth time this morning, Brooke's face drifts into my mind, but this time, it's for a different reason.
When she and I reconnected, she shot me down so fast my head spun.
She was short and closed-off and acted like she wanted nothing to do with me.
But I didn't quit.
I knew that deep down those actions weren't directed at me. I gave her the time she needed—the space she deserved—to let me in. And the grace to do it the only way she knew how.
So, how come with my dad it's different? Instincts tell me that it's because he's supposed to love me unconditionally—I had to earn Brooke's feelings. But maybe Brett's right.
That's just really fucking hard to believe right now.
I spent every second I had before warm ups, searching for Brooke.
I checked the offices and the tunnel, the shooting bay and the gym.
I even checked the goddamn sauna, which only made me fucking hard on top of everything else.
She's not here. So, either she bailed on the game or she's doing one hell of a job avoiding me.
Both options worry me. She should be here. This is her last game with the Flames. Did something happen? Or is the other possibility the only reason for her absence? Maybe she's not avoiding me in the arena. Maybe she's gone, and she's avoiding me altogether.
I tried convincing myself earlier that if anyone would understand that this is all bullshit, it'd be her.
Our… whatever it is now… was built on her learning about how different I am from how the world sees me.
But doubt creeps into my mind like the tune of an obnoxious song you can't outrun.
I can't lose her right now. Fuck, I can't lose her ever.
And if anything good has come from this, it's the solidification that there's not an ounce of doubt in my mind about that.
Glancing up at the countdown clock, the rapid-fire numbers tick past at the rate of my heartbeat.
I've spent most of warm ups avoiding all people in the stands, looking for the only one I care to talk to right now.
As the horn sounds to call us back to the bench, my eyes still don't find Brooke, but they land on what might be the next best thing.
Sprinting to the boards while the team piles off of the ice, I pound my glove on the glass off to the side of the boys.
"Coach's girl!" I yell, my voice muffled by the wall between us. When she doesn't look, I tap my stick against the glass. "Alex!"
With that, her head spins toward me, then to Monte who's busy talking to Max.
When she looks back at me, I pull my helmet off and throw my head back, telling her to move closer.
She stands almost hesitantly, but I don't have time to overthink if that's because she's confused or knows something I don't. Or because she's trying to avoid coming between me and her best friend.
"Where is she?" I call when she reaches the boards.
She once again looks to Coach, whose back is turned to the both of us. "At the hospital, I think."
I stand paralyzed, pulling a Petrov and racing through every word I know that rhymes with hospital, thinking I must have misheard her. When I come up empty handed, I try to blink away the worry.
"Sorry, no," Alex adds before I can respond. "She's fine." My whole body deflates, and she definitely notices. She grins and raises her brows in… admiration? Acceptance? "Her aunt was taken there yesterday. I think she's been with her."
Once again, I'm up in arms as Brooke's words from before seem to echo off the walls.
I'm just really scared she's not okay.
My mystery girl is not fine. She's worrying and panicking just like I am, but she's shoving it down, swallowing it, and carrying it all by herself. She's pretending she's alright so she doesn't burden anyone else. So she doesn't have to feel what she's trying to tuck away.
But she does.
Even if she won't say it out loud. Even if she seems fine to the world.
"Fuck," I whisper as my last teammate steps off of the ice.
"What?" Alex yells.
I shake my head, my mind racing a mile a minute as I push off toward the bench. "Thank you," I call back to her, holding my helmet up and over my head.