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She begged me not to push her away. “I’ve got your back.”
I snarled at her. “You’ve got my back? You’ve got my back?”
She lifted her chin and stood her ground. “I do.”
Disdain was evident in the scathing timbre of my tone. “And just how do you have my back, Simone? Just how are you going to support me through this?”
“By standing beside you. By defending you. By telling and showing the world that you’re kind and generous and loving and—”
“I fuck you, Simone.” My tone was flat and without any tenderness. “I give you orgasms. I laugh at your silliness. But I am not kind nor generous nor loving. So you’d essentially be lying on my behalf. Is that how you’ll support me?”
“You’re more than that,” she whispered.
“You know I’m not. And besides that, do you think people are going to accept what you’re saying? I give a little interview with the media and proclaim I’m a good guy, but instead the media shows highlights of all my fights to speculate that I’m a violent person. I know how this shit plays out. It’s why it’s easier to keep people out.”
And still, she would not give up. She would not abandon me. Relentless brat that she was. “Van… I get you’re angry, and maybe the natural thing is to drive away those that care about you—”
“You’re wrong. I don’t intend to drive Etta away at all.” The implication was crystal clear that only Etta was welcome in my life. I’m not sure I really meant that but I was spiraling so quickly. I said the words even though they felt wrong. “I made a mistake. I should have never gotten in this deep with you. Should have never opened myself up like I did.”
“Sounds like you’re blaming me for some reporter who wrote an article about you,” she said, showing the first sign of anger.
“No, not blaming you. Just angry for taking myself off the radar to begin with.”
Ultimately, that day ended with us parting ways. I told her I needed time and maybe later… after I got through the playoffs, we could… I’m not sure what.
Simone was having none of it. A backbone of solid steel, she wasn’t going to let me string her along. “That’s not how this works. There is no later. It’s either now—when you need me the most in your life—or not fucking ever.”
The dumbest words I’d ever issued in my life came tumbling out. “Then it’s not fucking ever.”
She left California and we were done.
Not forever, though. I realized how stupid I had been and there was a hell of a lot of apologizing for the way I hurt her. I was a lucky man she gave me another shot.
I force those memories away, but it’s not lost on me that I’m repeating history. I’ve once again pushed her away and with any luck, she’ll be heading back to Vermont sooner rather than later now that I’ve moved out of the house. The only difference between now and then is I have no intention of going after her to grovel.
When warm-ups are complete, we head back to the locker room for last-minute instructions from Coach West. I have to admit, his pep talks are really good. He’s not the type of person who speaks because he likes to hear himself. He chooses only words that he knows will impact us and by the time we take the ice again for the start of the game, we’re all fueled by hype and adrenaline.
From the first face-off, the energy in the arena is electric. The Cold Fury are at the top of their division, same as us. They’re striving to take back the championship rights from the Arizona Vengeance, who won the last two years. We’re a cobbled-together Cinderella team that no one thought would be this good.
It’s late in the first period when there’s a line shift and I’m back on the ice with Mason, Dillon, Evgeny and Anders. We’re getting more in sync with each passing day and we transition smoothly, right into the defensive zone.
Anders takes point, Evgeny on the left and Dillon on the right. Mason and I split the defense and I station in front of the net, trying to block Max Fournier’s field of vision.
That’s when I see him.
Lucas is out on the ice, which hasn’t happened yet and he’s not out playing with his regular line. I’m not sure if he came out on his own or if his coach sent him, but when our eyes make contact, I know he’s going to take a shot at me.
It happens when the puck gets caught up on the boards right behind the net. I get to it first, but then I’m slammed into from behind, a stick jamming painfully in my mid-back. The puck is at my skates and I’m trying to knock it loose, but Lucas is tying me up.
“Come on, asshole. Let’s me and you have a go,” he snarks as his stick chops at my skates in what looks like a reasonable attempt to free the puck, but he catches my leg and it fucking hurts.
I toss an elbow back at him and it connects. He shoves me against the boards. “Can’t wait for Simone to be done with you. Get herself a real man. Someone who’s not a pansy-ass.”
Rage flows through my veins and I spin on him. Lucas smiles with triumph, immediately tosses his gloves to the ice and pulls up one sweater sleeve, then the other. It’s the universal sign that he’s ready to go and I have no choice but to drop my own gloves.
The crowd roars its approval, not just because their new defenseman has quite the record of pounding other players into the ground, but because everyone knows we’re brothers-in-law. Granted, no one knows the animosity.
The rest of the team stays clear, as do the refs, letting us have a go.
