Chapter 22
twenty-two
Elijah
The country club hasn’t changed. I certainly didn’t miss anything. Same beige leather chairs paired with beige tables. Same hostess who treats my parents like they’re some sort of American royalty. My dad’s chest puffs up noticeably. It all makes sense why they come here so much.
The hostess leads us to our usual table near the back. Neither Mom nor Dad order anything. They just nod and confirm, “The usuals.”
I ask for water. Once the waiter is out of sight, Mom takes her napkin and dabs the corners of her mouth even though she hasn’t taken a bite. Then she looks at me with an angled glance. “You’ve been busy.”
“Always are this time of year,” Dad cuts in, steering the conversation to what I know is on his mind—my business. “Got a big game this week.”
I nod. “Yeah. Practice was hard. I can tell everyone’s already on edge.”
“Did I ever tell you one of the guys I play golf with used to help run Olympic training?”
“Ah, I don’t think you’ve mentioned it.” I stare forward; the Olympics feel far off.
Plus, I barely made it to the AHL. All because of my lucky car accident.
I’m not saying I haven’t earned my spot.
I work as hard, if not harder, than any of the other guys, but luck also helped me get where I am.
I look to my mom, waiting for her to bring up Koren. Not even a snooty so how’s your friend?
I won’t let them bully me into staying quiet about the best part of my life. I slide to the edge of my seat. “So, just so you know, I’m really happy.” I bounce my gaze from Mom to Dad. “Getting back together with Koren is the best thing I’ve done.”
Silence. Just long enough to be noticeable. My mom presses her lips into a tight smile, the kind someone makes when they see a dog pooping on their lawn.
“Well, that’s good.” She tips her head away from me. “As long as you’re focusing on hockey first. You don’t want any distractions hurting your career. That should always be your number one priority.”
I let it ride for a beat as I smooth my tongue over my teeth. Nothing about that sits right. I lean in slightly, my voice lower now. “So, I’m going to be blunt. Did either of you have anything to do with the lineup change?”
With perfect synchronization, they both blink.
“What?” Dad speaks first. “Why would we?”
“You tell me why,” I say flatly. “That’s what I’m trying to figure out. Because the timing is too perfect. Right after I told you we were back together, suddenly I’m moved off the first line.”
Mom looks away, her perfectly manicured fingers fussing with her napkin again. “You’re making things up.”
Taking a deep breath, I look around the room.
It’s packed. I won’t make a scene. Not about this, or they’d only use it against me.
Resisting the urge to raise my voice, I lean in even more.
“I asked you once to be fair. I gave you the benefit of the doubt. However, if I find out you have anything to do with this lineup change, I’ll walk. Not from the team. From you.”
Dad’s jaw clenches while Mom’s eyes dart toward him for a few seconds too long. I gather all I need to know with that glance. “I mean it,” I growl, standing. My heart is pounding so hard I can hear it in my ears.
“Elijah,” Mom hisses, sharp and scolding, as if I’m a child again.
I can’t sit here any longer without losing it.
I shove back my chair and step aside. “I’ll see you at the game Friday.
” I storm out with my chin high. Not sure how I’ll prove they had anything to do with this.
And even if I can, I doubt I can change it.
Coach makes up his own mind too. But I can’t sit there pretending they aren’t up to their old game of trying to control me.
They can sit there and sip their lemon water and whisper about my bad manners.
I don’t care.
Because I’m living my life my way.
The arena is electric, but it does nothing to lighten my mood.
If anything, heaviness creeps over me. I’d never actually met Noah.
Though, his departure from the team turned out to be the best thing for me.
I was able to fill his spot, but for everyone else on the team, tonight’s rematch feels like rubbing salt in a wide-open wound.
We sit in the locker room in dead silence. No one dares risk getting yelled at for not being focused. When Coach finally comes in, he’s all business, whistle between his lips, jerking his thumb over his shoulder. That’s the cue. Not a single word is spoken as we head to the ice.
I’m tight in the shoulders, tight in the chest, and if there is such a thing, my brain feels tight in my skull. I always knew at some point I’d be rotated. I’d feel better about it if the timing wasn’t such a coincidence. I’m still suspicious.
I scan the crowd, skipping over the box where my parents usually sit. I’m sure they’re there. They would never miss a game, even if they are trying to ruin my life.
My breath hitches when I finally spot Koren. She’s right behind our bench, tucked between her mom and Kaci. Bella is on the far end. For a moment, I let my gaze linger, my thoughts drifting. It’s nice her mom supports us. I wonder what that would even feel like from mine.
It’s time for the face-off. The puck drops. I’m not ready.
I’m still tight. No amount of switching my stance helps.
Then suddenly, time speeds up. One blink and their center has the puck, snapping it back with a clean shot.
I explode forward, legs moving on instinct, chasing it like my career depends on it because it does.
But I’m a second behind. Their left winger, Noah, cuts through our defense like we’re a bunch of Girl Scouts at camp.
The guy is a warrior on ice. There’s a pass across the slot to their center, a quick shot, and red light flashes.
Not even ten seconds into the first period, and we’re down.
I skate back slowly, heat rising up my neck while the horn blares, and their guys slam sticks against the boards. I let out a measured breath, trying to regain focus. It’s just one goal.
I dart a glance at Koren for the briefest second.
Our eyes lock for a beat, and she gives me a nod.
I wasn’t planning to, but I catch my parents’ expressions too.
My mom’s lips are pressed so tight the pink part has vanished.
My dad sits neutral with his arms folded across his broad chest. Though his face is harder to read, I’d put money on it that he is not happy either.
I skate back to the bench and plop down, staring forward at the ice. Everything got real so fast.
Nine minutes later, I’m off the bench, and I'm back in the action.
Their defenseman crosses in front of me and shoulder-checks me so hard my insides rattle.
I slam against the plexiglass with a thud and bounce off.
I need a full second to catch my breath.
By then, the puck is already across the rink.
“Get in the game!” Coach yells.
I grit my teeth and hang for the rest of my shift.
Back at the bench, I sit stiffly, eyes locked forward, fully intending to watch the game.
But my gaze drifts back to my parents. My dad’s lips are pushed forward, a little smugly if you ask me.
I’ll never understand why he would want me to lose my spot on the team.
Why can't he be happy for me? It should sting, but after that last hit, I'm mostly numb. I guess that’s a good thing. Apparently, if I’m not doing exactly what he wants me to do, he’s going to do whatever he can to destroy my happiness.
When I look back at Koren, she’s on her feet, wide-eyed, watching everything.
I ride the bench until third period. We’re down by two goals when Coach finally gives me a shift. Maybe he’s feeling bad. I doubt it.
I’ve had my warning, and I storm onto the ice.
We get a cycle going. I dig the puck out from behind the net but take a crushing hit from a defenseman.
Somehow, I still have the puck and make it to the blue line.
Axl cuts across, and he’s wide open. I pass the puck, but it’s too slow.
Noah intercepts cleanly, flying between us, and is already moving in the other direction.
The horn sounds. Final score: 2–0. We were killed.
I skate off the ice, staring at nothing. I don’t dare look at Coach. Or my parents. Whatever happens, I know I played my best.
I know better than to waste time getting back to the locker room. We hustle down the tunnel with urgency. Maybe it’s an omen, but when I open my locker, the hinges let out a haunting wail. I’ve never heard that horrid sound before. Tyson gives me a side-eye. “Bro, even your locker says you stink.”
“Right.” I force out a chuckle, risking a moment of levity.
I quickly change, stowing all my things in my bag, all the while keeping one eye on the door.
I wonder who Coach is going to blame for tonight’s loss?
It’d be easy to point fingers at Jackson, the goalie, but we all played hard. I don’t think anyone was slacking.
The clock on the wall ticks off the seconds, each one dragging longer than normal as we wait in dread for the coach.
What is taking him so long?
He’s normally right on our heels.
My chest tightens even more than before the game. I glance at Axl, who’s already dressed and quietly sitting on the bench just waiting. You know something’s up when even Axl’s keeping his mouth shut.
Finally, when I don’t think I can take another second, the door opens. In walks Coach Carlson. He’s red-faced with a loose tie, two tell-tale signs he’s already had a little chat with Bill.
This is going to be bad.
“This can’t be good,” Tyson mutters, voicing my thoughts. I shut my locker slowly, hoping to keep the wail at bay in the stone-cold silence.
Carlson opens his mouth to speak but doesn’t get the chance before the door opens again. Bill Baker strides in. He doesn’t pause. “That was embarrassing. I’ve never been more embarrassed in all my years. You didn’t even get one goal.”