AllFreeNovel
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In the end, we lose. Badly.
That walk back to the lockers is filled with hung heads and the aura of regrets. It feels like I shouldn’t even be here, since I wasn’t out there on the ice, but I have to support my brothers. They’re still my team, no matter what Coach says.
Once a Bull, always a Bull.
Coach doesn’t even bother with a parting speech. One of the assistant coaches delivers info about travel arrangements for the next away series and then the whole staff disappears into their offices.
I go up to Marcus and Dante. “Hey, dudes. Rough game.”
They look at each other, then at me. Their faces are guarded in a way I’ve never seen before. “Reese,” Marcus greets coolly.
“‘Sup,” says Dante with a brief up-tilt of the chin.
Okay, something’s fucking weird. I lean against one of the lockers. Arms folded over my chest, I look between them. “What’s going on? You two look like you got a secret or something.”
“Nothing that involves you, dude.”
“Woah, what’s with the attitude?”
Marcus looks up at me and scowls. “Just let it be, man. We’re trying to stay clean. Stay outta trouble. Everyone’s gonna be on the chopping block if we keep losing like this.”
I stare at him. “Excuse me? The fuck is that supposed to mean?”
“What do you think it means?” Dante tilts his head to the side. “Listen, bro: ownership wants your head on a spike on center ice. You’re a superstar, though, so you’ll land on your feet. But us? Not so much. We won’t survive that kind of heat. So just let us finish out this season with some peace, okay?”
My eyes narrow. “Coach threatened you, didn’t he?”
“He didn’t have to threaten us for us to see where all this shit is going and to know that we don’t want none of that smoke.”
I fume. I expect this underhanded shit from Coach Driscoll. Hell, I’d expect it from damn near everyone else on the team. But I wouldn’t expect it from Marcus and Dante.
They’re supposed to be my brothers.
“You’re fucking cowards,” I snarl at them. “You can’t stand with me over something you both know isn’t even fucking true?—”
“Dude, it doesn’t matter if the rumors are true or not. They’re out there. That’s the only thing that matters. I know it sucks, majorly, but—I mean, fuck dude.” Marcus looks at me helplessly. “What’re we supposed to do?”
“You’re not gonna stick with me?”
“All we’ve fucking done the last few months is stick with you!” Dante drops a skate clattering to the ground and leaps up, chest-to-chest with me. “We stood by you all last season with your baby drama shit and then all this stuff with your not-wife. We’ve been there for you dude. Every time we’ve gotten together in the last few months has involved you and your shit! Were you trying to be a good friend when my dad died last year? What about when Marcus’s sister got in that accident? Oh, no, because you had your own shit to deal with. Just like you always do. You’re a shit friend and a shit teammate.” Dante’s nostrils flare. If he could spit fire, I’d be a pile of ashes.
“You know why I didn’t go to your dad’s funeral,” I mumble.
“Yeah, yeah: too much daddy baggage for you to deal with it. We all got that shit, but baggage doesn’t matter when it’s your fucking friends. Your family—that’s what we were supposed to be. And you just expect us to follow you like we’re puppies, but you don’t even bother to do the same. So yeah, I’m thinking about myself this time—since that’s all you ever fuckin’ do.”
Dante slams his locker shut. Marcus, silent this whole time, just watches. I can see the anger in his eyes. Anger for me. Anger I deserve.
They walk away from me. No more words, no more explanations. I’m left on an island on my own.
I try to cling to my own anger. Because if they’re gonna tell me to fuck off, then fuck them, right?
It’s something Dante said, though. So yeah, I’m thinking about myself—since that’s all you fuckin’ ever do.
It stabs me in the gut. All I think about is myself. It sounds so much like what Olivia said to be before.
“Fuck, you’re a piece of shit, Dalton,” I mutter to myself. “You’re absolutely the goddamn problem here, aren’t you?”
The rest of the team is gone. In the showers or just on their way home already to get away from the stench of this loss, this disaster. So there’s no one around to hear as I let out a frustrated roar, whirl around, and punch a locker as hard as I can. It leaves a dent in the metal and an angry red welt that starts to ooze blood on my knuckles. It hurts like a motherfucker, too.
