33. Paxton
Paxton
Pulsating music reverberated throughout the arena, and whoops and screams from the crowd echoed off the walls, fueling the fire within me as our team surged onto the ice and began our usual just-for-fun laps to greet the home crowd. It was only a pre-season game, but our loyal fans had shown up in full force anyway. Barely any seats were left empty.
My pulse synchronized with the beat of the music, intensifying the rush of adrenaline inside me as I skated around, waving and occasionally smacking my stick on the boards to show my appreciation. A girl with her face painted in team colors stood and lifted her red sweater to show off her tits as I passed. I grinned and turned to share a knowing look with Justin, my longtime best friend who also happened to be one of our team’s best defensemen.
We both spun around and lifted our fists high in the air. The fans erupted in another chorus of cheers and applause. Spurred on by their unwavering enthusiasm, I did another full spin before sliding over to a section I hadn’t paid much attention to yet. With a face-splitting grin, I tapped on the glass and waved.
Wait.
Was that…?
Time seemed to stand still as I did a double-take, staring at the brunette girl in the second row. Fuck me. She looked a lot like…
No. It couldn’t be her. Sienna Holland wouldn’t dare to show up here. Would she?
I looked closer. The girl’s pretty face was frozen in an expression of disgust. Holy shit, it was her.
For the first time in my entire playing career, I felt the chill of the ice below my skates. Felt it all the way up to my chest, sinking its frozen claws between my ribs to grasp at my heart.
My lips tightened into a grimace, and I turned my face away and whipped around on the ice, smashing right into my friend Justin’s bulky back.
“Hey, man. Tryin’ to start something?” he said in a joking tone, grinning at me as he jammed his helmet over his unruly brown curls.
I turned my head over my shoulder to glance at the second row. Sienna was gone. Did I just imagine her being there? If so, why the fuck did I imagine her with a brown dye-job? The Sienna I knew always had tiny blonde streaks scattered throughout her hair.
I turned back to Justin, wondering if I should mention it to him. He knew Sienna too, once upon a time.
I quickly decided against it, not wanting to throw him off his game. It was bad enough that I’d already experienced what felt like an electrical shock mixed with a fucking heart attack when I saw that little bitch staring back at me from the paid ticket-holder’s section. I didn’t need to push that shit onto him too.
“Just keeping you on your toes,” I said, forcing a grin as I shoved my helmet on.
Justin snorted. “As if I need it.”
He wasn’t wrong. He could check guys into the boards like he was simply swatting a mosquito.
A whistle blew somewhere behind me. The announcer called out Princeton’s starting lineup, followed by ours. All the nonstarters left the ice, and the rest of us skated over to the center and put ourselves in formation.
I gripped my stick tightly as the referee spoke to us, wishing my mind wasn’t still laser-focused on Sienna. I just couldn’t shake it. Was it really her? If so, what the fuck was she doing at one of my games? Hadn’t she wrecked my life enough the first time around?
Beyond that… wasn’t she terrified of what I might do to her if I ever saw her again? I would be if I were her.
Echoes of her cries and screams played in my head over and over as I pictured her wide, petrified green eyes on mine. Her presence was clinging to me like a shadow. Even as the arena roared with excitement, I felt completely detached from it all, barely even registering the sound.
My mind was so far away from reality that I almost missed the puck drop. Shit. Adrenaline surged through my veins again, and I quickly took control and snapped it over to my left wing, Keegan Reddick. He sent it to our right wing, Todd Laurier, who deftly swept it back over to me as I zoomed down the ice. I took it and weaved around a defenseman before trying to send it back over to Keegan, who had moved into the perfect open spot near the crease. Unfortunately, my movements were sluggish and my timing was totally off, resulting in me turning over the puck.
“Fuck,” I muttered to myself as the Tigers shot it back down the ice, taking it into their offensive zone.
This wasn’t like me. I never played this badly. Not even when I was a kid.
My lungs burned from exertion as I trudged off the ice for the line change. A few of my teammates cast concerned glances my way, probably trying to decipher what was going on with me tonight. They were used to me dominating the ice, not fucking up every single play like a total amateur.
My next shift was no better. Doubts kept creeping in as the internal battle intensified, eroding my confidence. My passes lacked their usual precision. My reaction times were slower. It felt like I was skating through fucking molasses.
I tried to break off the mental shackles, but Sienna’s face kept flashing in my head. Every time it happened, my hands or feet betrayed me, fumbling the puck or messing something else up as my usually-sharp instincts abandoned me.
When it was time for the next line change, I briefly glanced over at Sienna’s empty seat. Searing anger flashed through me like lightning. This was her fault. Her showing up tonight had thrown me off my game entirely, turning me into a bumbling idiot.
But even as it occurred to me, I knew I was just making excuses. It was my fault. I should be better than this. Stronger. I shouldn’t let this shit affect me so much.
After the first period was over, leaving the game tied at 0-0, I headed to the locker room, dropped my gloves, and sagged on a bench. Coach Mikkelsen headed over to me, rugged face painted with an expression of confusion and annoyance.
“You’re off your game tonight, Cole,” he said, icy blue eyes narrowing.
“I know.” I rubbed my brow. “I’ll get a handle on it.”
He scoffed. “The way things have been going, I suspect you wouldn’t even be able to handle a beach ball out there.”
“Yeah,” I muttered. “I’ll pick it up.”
“You better, or I might have to reconsider the starting lineup for the season. I’ve seen toddlers crawl across the ice faster than whatever the hell you’ve been doing out there.”
My lips tightened into a grim slash, and I nodded curtly. I couldn’t argue—he was right. I was playing like shit.
He wouldn’t really knock me off the starting line, though. There was a good reason the Blades—along with a few other college teams— wanted to recruit me when they heard I was available, even after all the shit that went down in the spring of 2019. Before any of it happened, I was the number-one-ranked prospect for that year’s NHL draft, destined to soar to the top. That renown was ripped away from me after the lake house killings, but I was building it back now, one game at a time.
The second period started. I tried my best to concentrate and channel my rage into the game, but my first shot slid wide. Fuck. I was still letting Sienna’s little visit affect my performance. Letting her control my every movement with her haunting presence.
As I zipped down the ice again, one of the Tigers followed closely. Number forty-two. He suddenly zoomed forward to cut me off and shoved me right into the boards, sending a burst of pain down my left shoulder and arm.
“What the fuck?” My eyes narrowed on him as I waited for the referee to blow the whistle and announce the penalty.
“Chill, man. It was just an accident,” the guy said with a shit-eating grin on his face that made it abundantly clear that it was actually fully intentional. He turned away and dipped his chin toward the ice before adding something under his breath. “Unlike that shit you did out in Michigan.”
My anger surged. “What the fuck did you just say?”
“Nothing.”
Nostrils flaring, I dropped my gloves and wrenched off my helmet. Forty-two did the same, smarmy smile growing wider. I could sense the crowd holding their collective breath around us, anticipation hanging thick in the air as they waited for us to go for each other’s throats.
“You really wanna do this?” he asked, eyes locked on me with an unyielding intensity.
I matched his gaze with a determined glare. “Yeah. I really fucking do.”
Before he had a chance to say anything else, I clocked him right in the jaw. He retaliated swiftly, launching a torrent of rapid punches aimed at my face. Undeterred, I smashed him right back, fueled by sheer rage.
The crowd went feral around us, screaming and chanting our names. The sound was punctuated by the dull thud of hockey sticks smacking against the boards as our teammates announced their approval of our fight.
The referees finally showed up to intervene, but their presence barely registered in the frenzy of the moment. Finally, after another linesman arrived, they were able to drag us away from each other. A five minute penalty was announced for both teams, and we were sent off to the box to wait it out.
As I sat down, I blew out a deep breath, wiping my sweat-soaked brow with the back of my hand. Coach Mikkelsen shot a pissed look in my direction, but I knew he wouldn’t threaten to keep me off the ice for the rest of the game as punishment. No one actually gave a fuck about fights on the rink, as long as we didn’t take it too far.
Hell, most of the people at this arena probably expected to see at least one throwdown tonight. It was just part of the entertainment, really. Guys dropping their mitts and going at each other always fired up the crowd, and sometimes the fans even cheered louder for punch-ups and scuffles than they did for points.
When the penalty was over, Coach ordered me back onto the ice. Just as I hopped over the edge, one of the refs called another penalty for the Tigers having too many men on the ice, leaving us with a two-minute power play.
Another surge of adrenaline hit me, and I gritted my teeth, determined to pick up my game and channel all of the anger I felt toward Sienna—and that motherfucker from Princeton—into my stick-handling.
My new resolve worked wonders. Thirty seconds into the play, I took the puck from Todd, weaved my way around the nearest defender, and corralled it with the hook of my blade before firing it into the open side of the net. Precise and targeted, like a fucking sniper. I was finally back on my game.
The goal ignited the crowd. I grinned and slid around to the right, waving at the cheering fans, until I saw Coach’s face. He was glaring at the opposing team’s head coach, who was leaning close to one of the referees near the penalty box.
“What’s going on?” I asked, sliding up to Justin.
“It’s fucking stupid,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Offside review.”
“Wait, what?”
He jerked a thumb toward the Tigers coach. “He’s challenging the goal. He claims Todd didn’t have the puck completely over the line when Keegan went into the zone.”
“Bullshit.”
“They have to check now that it’s been challenged. The puck might’ve just been on the line when his back foot came in. Not all the way over. It’ll be marginal if the call is right, but still…” He trailed off and shrugged.
We waited at the edge of the ice, eyes narrowed as we watched the referee look down at a small screen in his hand, watching a slowed replay of the action preceding my goal. I tried to recall exactly what I saw Keegan doing when Todd took the puck across the line a couple of minutes ago, but the memory was fading fast. I was certain it wasn’t offside, but only the review could tell us for sure.
The referee looked up from the screen, skated out onto the ice, and called out to the crowd. “After the coach’s challenge for Princeton, the play has been determined to be offside!” he said, spreading his arms wide. “No goal!”
“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” I muttered, shaking my head. Could tonight’s game get any worse?
The arena filled with a cacophony of jeers and boos from the Blades fans, and Coach Mikkelsen tightened his lips and clapped me on the shoulder. “It was a good goal. Not your fault this happened,” he said. “Just keep going.”
The rest of the second period was a blur. By the time the buzzer sounded, the game was still tied at 0-0. Princeton were playing just as poorly as us tonight.
“Shit, I forgot to tell you,” Justin said, jabbing me in the side. “You’ll never guess who I saw tonight, just before the game started. Right over there.”
I gritted my teeth as my gaze homed in once more on the seat previously occupied by Sienna. She was still gone. “Who?” I muttered.
Justin pointed to the exact spot I was staring at. “Tate Cavanagh and Michaela Langdon,” he said. “They left before we started, though. Dunno why.”
Tate and Michaela. They were Sienna’s best friends back in high school, so any notion that I might have hallucinated her earlier was shattered now. She was really here tonight, and her friends must’ve followed her out after she decided to dip.
“Huh,” I muttered, looking down at my skates. “I guess they go to Worthington too.”
“Yeah, I guess so.” Justin stood. “I need more water. See you in a sec, man.”
I kept staring at the floor, losing myself in my thoughts as the intermission crawled by at a snail’s pace. I still couldn’t understand why Sienna Holland would deign to show her face in this arena. Surely she did it on purpose, knowing I was playing for the Blades now. It was hardly a secret—anyone who Googled my name could easily discover that the upcoming season would be my second with the Blades.
I steeled my jaw, glancing back over at the opposite side of the arena again. Sometimes the memories of 2019 almost crippled me with the hatred and fury that arose with them. It permeated everything, filling me up with stress and weighing me down until it felt like I might implode.
It was all because of Sienna. That bitch nearly snatched my entire future away from me… and now I had to wonder if she was back for more. In her eyes, I probably hadn’t suffered enough the first time she fucked with me. No, I had to suffer more. Had to bleed the way she bled that night. Had to feel everything she felt.
I wouldn’t let her do it. Wouldn’t even give her the chance.
The third period finally began. I continued channeling my rage into my performance and scored two goals in a row, easily undressing the defenders and slipping the puck past the goalie like he wasn’t even there.
The game finished 2-1, and our fans went wild, cheering and whooping to congratulate us. I should’ve been happy that I’d turned my shitty first-period performance around to save the game in the end, but all I felt was a red ember of rage burning deep in my body. The same rage I’d felt all night, ever since I saw Sienna’s face behind that glass.
Justin trudged up behind me and clapped a hand on my back as we trudged off the ice. “Hey, you okay?”
I glanced at him. “Yeah. Why?”
He scratched the stubble on his jaw. “Honestly, you seemed a bit off in the first two periods. I was worried.”
“Guess I’m just having an off day,” I said.
I didn’t have off days. Anyone who knew me knew that.
Doubt flickered in Justin’s eyes, but he let it go. “All right, man. Keegan’s having people over for an afterparty. You coming?”
“Yeah,” I muttered, turning to look back at the ticket-holder’s section one last time, as if Sienna might magically appear there again. “I’d kill for a drink right about now.”
As I turned around again, a decision crystallized inside me, filling my heart with ice. I still had no idea what the hell Sienna Holland was doing here at Worthington, but I knew one thing for sure.
She wouldn’t be around for much longer.