Ethan
My knee holds through every crossover and transition.
Coach Mercer runs us through drill after drill, and I keep up with the others, my body remembering what my mind has been doubting for months.
I’m elated except for the distraction of one person. Natalie is standing at the edge of the rink with the rest of the medical staff.
She's in her Renegades polo, with her hair pulled back in that ponytail I used to love tugging on. She's talking to Ivory and Lane, smiling at them. That smile used to be for me. Now, she won't even look in my direction.
Good. That's what I wanted. So why does it feel like my chest is being crushed every time I catch a glimpse of her?
“Ward! Head out of your ass.” Coach Mercer's voice cuts across the ice. “You're supposed to be covering the slot, not daydreaming about whatever bullshit is distracting you. Get your shit together or get off my ice.”
“Yes, Coach.” I force myself to focus. Hockey. That's all that matters right now.
We finish practice with a scrimmage and I manage to keep my head in the game long enough to make a few solid plays. Bythe time Coach blows the final whistle, my legs are burning, and my knee is throbbing, but it's a good kind of pain.
“Not bad, boys.” Coach Mercer skates to center ice. “You look like a bunch of overfed house cats who forgot how to hunt, but we've got three weeks to whip you into shape. Don't make me regret keeping any of you. Now get out of here and rest up. Same time tomorrow.”
The locker room is loud with post-practice energy. Guys strip off their gear and rehash plays from the scrimmage, already talking trash about who looked sharp and who looked like shit.
“We're getting that cup again,” Cole announces from his stall. “No question.”
“Damn right we are,” Nova agrees. “Back-to-back, baby. Dynasty in the making.”
“Don't jinx it,” Logan mutters from his corner. “Season hasn't even started.”
“Ignore him,” Jake says. “He's been doom and gloom since he got back from Maine. Too much time alone with his thoughts.”
I sit at my stall and unlace my skates without joining the conversation. The adrenaline from practice is fading, and the hollow ache in my chest is returning. I hate this. I hate that she's here, that I have to see her every day, and I can't escape the reminder of what I threw away.
Not threw away. What she ruined. She's the one who lied. She's the one who broke my trust.
“Yo, did anyone else notice the new PT?” Alex says from across the room. He's sprawled on the bench, a towel draped over his shoulders. “Stacked as fuck. Ivory was pretty, but this one...” He stands up and grabs his crotch with a lewd gesture. “I'd bend her over that treatment table and?—”
Pure rage propels me off the bench and across the locker room.
My fist connects with his jaw, and he goes down hard, his head cracking against the bench behind him. I'm on top of him, pulling back for another swing, when multiple hands grab my shoulders and haul me off.
“What the fuck!” Alex scrambles backward, his hand pressed to his face. “I was just joking, man. Jesus Christ.”
Cole and Theo have me by the arms, holding me back while I strain against their grip. My blood is pounding in my ears, and my vision is tinged with red, and all I can think about is smashing his face into the concrete floor for talking about Natalie like that.
“Calm down,” Cole says in my ear. “Calm the fuck down, Ward.”
“Let me go.”
“Not until you stop trying to kill our teammate.”
I take a ragged breath and force my muscles to relax. Cole and Theo hold on for another few seconds before slowly releasing me. I shake them off and stalk back to my stall, grabbing my towel and wiping the sweat from my face.
The locker room is dead silent.
“What the hell was that about?” Alex demands, still rubbing his jaw. “I didn't even say anything that bad.”
“Shut up, Alex,” Jake says. “Just shut up.”
“But I?—”
