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Dad would finally do what he’d been threatening and disown me. A long, shaky breath escaped between my lips. I wasn’t a stranger to how awful steroids made me feel. I knew the pills were fueling all these wobbly thoughts in my head, twisting them around to be a hundred times worse while my body shivered and my heart pathetically scrambled like a trapped rodent. I reached over and fumbled for the switch on my lamp. The light went dark, and I blew out a breath of relief, but my thoughts kept swirling in an endless, awful spiral.
I’d never missed a game. Not ever.
Dad had missed one game, and then his career was fucked forever.
Sure, Grandpa was a jerk about it, but was he wrong? Probably not. I mean, Dad had given up hockey after that. Clearlysomethinghad happened.
I didn’t want to be superstitious, but I had a water bottle I’d been carrying since my freshman year of high school. It was orange and the writing had all worn off, and I knew if I had that water bottle in the locker room or on the bench, we would win. Without it, the end was up in the air. Maybe we would, maybe we wouldn’t. I always made sure to step onto the ice with my right foot. I used my left hand to give high-fives after scoring a goal.
These were just things we did on the team, and sure they were for good luck, but I swore they were real.
I stared up into the darkness and my thoughts tumbled around.
Wy was in his room, though he’d stopped by to blow me earlier.
I missed him.
Groping a hand out to my side, I patted the empty bed. Elissa had already caught us once, and we didn’t want to get into lazy bad habits that would tip off Dad next. That was the absolute last thing I needed. I wasn’t sure how he would react, but I didn’t want to find out.
At some point, I must’ve drifted off because I blinked my eyes open and scowled at the golden sunlight spilling across the ceiling as my alarm went off with a shrill, high-pitched pulse that I didn’t normally use. My body ached and my mouth was drier than desert sand.
“Fuck,” I grumbled. The game was at 4:00 p.m., and when I was able to get my eyes to focus, 2:01 p.m. stood out in stark relief on my phone. How was it so late? I couldn’t figure out what had happened. My alarm should’ve been set for much earlier. Staring dazedly around, I sat up as my door cracked open.
Wy stuck his head inside and grinned at me.
“Wha...?” I asked, feeling too stupid and tired for real words.
His smile softened and became almost... sweet, which made me feel strange.
“I tried to talk to you earlier, and you were out of it, so I set your alarm. You told me you needed to get to the game to sit on the bench and yell at me with Coach Hill.” He waggled his eyebrows, but he shot me a worried frown. Maybe he’d actually come in here to argue with me for the millionth time about how I wouldn’t be changing out of my suit into my hockey gear for the game.
“Mm,” I grunted.
Fuck, I had no memory of that conversation. I glared at the meds sitting on my nightstand. My heart wasn’t racing as much, but my hand was still swollen, and I knew I wouldn’t be able to stop taking the fucking steroids early the way I’d hoped. He slid into the room, and I stared at him. His black suit clung to his shoulders and narrowed at his waist nicely, and I licked my lips as he adjusted his tie.
“See something you like?” he asked with a chuckle.
“Mm-hmm.” I wasn’t up to speaking yet. I crooked a finger at him, and he frowned and shook his head. Disappointment had me scowling.
He made a sad sound that was actually... adorable. Damn, these meds were really getting to me.
“Come here,” I said, patting the bed.
“No, I have to get going soon. And you need to get ready if you’re coming to the game. But it would be fine if you stayed home.” He widened his eyes at me.
I shook my head.
With a sigh and an eye roll, he slid out the door and closed it again.
“Fuck,” I snapped, then hopped out of bed. My head rushed at the swift change of position, and I put a hand on the wall to steady myself. I tried to remember how long ago I’d taken a steroid pill.Couldn’t.With a shrug, I popped one before going to get a shower.
My hand throbbed in the hot water as I tried to use it to clean up.
One hellish Uber ride later, I was sitting on the bench near Coach Hill in a moss green suit, wishing I hadn’t bothered to do anything at all—except crawl right back under the blankets on my bed. I felt drunk and couldn’t stop yawning as the players were announced, but I grinned as I watched Wy, along with the other guys who were starting, step out onto the ice. They looked good taking their positions at the center line.
The Hammers from Clarion Forge, Pennsylvania, came out and everyone got ready. I was a bad luck charm as I shifted on the bench next to Coach Hill. He had on a nice gray suit and a purple tie that made it seem more like he was going to a wedding than a hockey game.
“What do you think?” Coach asked, giving me a smile he didn’t typically flash around. I must look bad if he was being nice. Normally, he would be bitching about something by now.
