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Fuck, it’s cold in here, but at least I’m alone. Nikki is driving me nuts, hanging out outside the rink waiting for practice to end or outside the gym in the morning. I swear she knows my class schedule too, so she just pops up.
I shiver in my hoodie, cursing her and myself for this stupid idea. I may have grown up in ice rinks, but I’m usuallyonthe ice working up a sweat, not alone in the stands.
I can see my breath as I huddle against the wall with my hood pulled up over my head and my hands inside the sleeves while awkwardly gripping my pen. The lights shut off, and I’m shrouded in darkness.
Uh-oh.
“Hello?” I sit up and look around. My voice echoes in the empty space.
The sound of a lock turning is barely audible from where I’m at, but I definitely heard it. I am well and truly fucked.
I drop back against the brick wall with a huff. How long have I even been in here? Too damn long, apparently. Yesterday I didn’t get locked in here. Why was today different?
Pulling out my phone, I check the time and see that I’ve been in here for three hours. Yesterday I was here for two. Ugh.Why am I so dumb?
A text pops up from Paul, but I don’t open it. I don’t know what to say to him. It’s not fair to Paul that I’ve taken my shit out on him. Logically, I know that, but I don’t know how to admit that when talking about it makes me want to vomit. I hate that seeing Chad and Williams pushed me so far over the edge after all these years that I ran full speed into a bottle. I needed to forget how damaged I am.
Emotions knot in my throat, making it hard to swallow or breathe. My body is tensing, preparing for the onslaught of fear to take over.
Closing my eyes, I push my head against the wall and rub a hand over the bruise hard enough to hurt.
I hiss, and my face tightens with the pain, but the spiral in my head stops, and I’m able to breathe.
My phone goes off again, this time a call from Paul. I sigh, my shoulders dropping in defeat, but I don’t answer it. I can’t. I’m humiliated that he knows my deepest shame, and I don’t know how to move past it.
I just want to curl up in his lap and let him hold me. Tell me he loves me and won’t get tired of me being a space cadet. But acknowledging that I’m annoying, pointing out my flaws, is not in my best interest.
His anger hurts, yet that’s what I seem to be good at lately, pissing him off. In the years we’ve been friends, we’ve argued a few times, but he’s never been angry at me. Not like he has lately. I’m fucking this thing up, and it’s barely started. Why am I pushing so hard against the thing I want the most? I love him so much it hurts, but why am I so afraid of him? Why do I keep hurting him?
I shove my phone in my backpack and put my books away since I can’t see enough to get any work done anyway. Curling up around my bag, I lay on the metal bench and prepare for a long-ass night.
I could probably call Coach to come let me out, but that makes me look like an idiot, and I don’t need any more help there.
Making myself as small as I can to keep my body heat in, I use my backpack as a pillow and try to sleep. It’s damn near impossible to sleep while shivering, and my bladder is demanding attention. Shit. Are there motion-activated cameras in here? Will I set off some alarm if I go piss?
Only one way to find out.
Grabbing my bag, I carefully make my way down the bleachers to the bathroom. No alarms start screaming, so I empty my bladder and leave the bathroom. Maybe there’s another door that’s open that I can leave through.
As I’m wandering through the arena, there’s something calming about being in here alone. I’m safe. And when I stand at the entrance to the ice and look out over the rink, I’m hit with a sense of peace. So many people have played in here. Scouts coming to see players in action, injuries, blood, sweat, and tears. If this building could talk, there would be so many stories that have been forgotten over the years. Wins and losses, overcoming adversary, and heroic comebacks.
It's this feeling that kept me playing during the worst years of my life. Despite the pain and humiliation waiting for me off the ice, I couldn’t give this up.
A door squeaking open echoes, and I spin around to see if I can find where it came from. I hurry down the hallways, looking for movement, light, or any kind of sound. Rounding a corner, I run face first into Coach, and my scream of surprise echoes down the hallway.
“What the hell are you doing in here, Oiler?!” he demands, red-faced and looking pissed off.
I put a hand on the wall and one on my hip as I try to calm my racing heart. “I got locked in doing homework in the stands.” That’s a completely normal thing, right? Totally not weird.
“And you didn’t call anyone because . . .” He trails off, waiting for an explanation.
“Well.” I shuffle my feet and shove my hands into my hoodie pocket. “I didn’t want to look like a dumbass.”
Coach blinks at me for a long moment. “Well, thank God you don’t look like an idiot.”
Yeah, I deserved that.
He tells me which door he unlocked and tells me to get lost, so I hurry away from him and breathe a sigh of relief at the warmer air outside. It’s Valentine’s Day in Denver, Colorado. Not exactly tropical, but it’s warmer than inside.
