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“Stop asking,” I snapped, but I instantly regretted it when his eyebrows furrowed in anger. Sighing, I rubbed my palm over my face, fatigue setting in because it took a lot of energy to use crutches when my knee was so fucked up. “I’m fine.”
Atlas didn’t get a chance to say anything else.
Coach Hill clapped his hands, earning our attention. He stood at the front of the aisle, grin wide. “All right, gentlemen. The time’s here to kick ass again.”
The guys cheered, but I slouched farther down into the seat, ignoring Atlas’s worried gaze.
“We’ve done our research on these bastards, and we know they play dirtier than almost all the other teams combined. They’ve got McAvoy—”
A boo echoed through the bus.
“And you know what he did last year.”
Someone started slapping one of the leather seats, jeering loudly, and I winced.
“So, this is what we’re going to do....”
I zoned out of the planning stages as the bus began to move. I let the rocking of the vehicle take me away to someplace calm, and by shutting my eyes, the fantasy overtook my mind. I imagined I was in the ocean, floating on my back in the gently swaying water, and everything was serene. Above me seagulls screeched and there was laughter from kids farther down the beach. My knee wasn’t injured. I was healthy.
Then, I jerked as more yelling filled my ears. I flinched and opened my eyes. I’d fallen asleep because as I stared around the bus, I realized we were at the Manhattan Central University arena. Half the team had filtered off the bus, but Atlas hadn’t moved.
“What are you doing?” I whispered.
Outside was a crowd of Polar Storms supporters waiting for us—notus, them—and they were chanting Atlas’s name. They loved him, and they’d probably always liked him more than me. He’d been part of their squad for longer, and he embodied the team’s name. He was a storm on the ice, taking out anyone near his puck.
Me? Apparently, I let the other playerstake me out instead.
“I’m going to help you,” Atlas said.
I snorted. “I can fucking do it.”
“Why are you being so stubborn?” He glared at me, teeth clenching so hard I thought he might break them.
“Why areyou?” It was childish and I couldn’t stop. I lowered my voice. “We were fucking. I’m not your boyfriend.”
It was almost as though I’d physically hit him. He recoiled from me, and his eyes turned to flint. Whatever peace had grown between us was shattered in a matter of a few seconds. Fury flashed over his face and he nodded, simple and short, then slipped out from the seat.
“Whatever.”
He tugged at the tie around his neck and stalked down the aisle, and I watched him, guilt snaking its way through me. Atlas had been nothing but supportive since I’d been injured, a lot more than every other player on our team had been, and he’d gone out of his way to help how he could, even at home.
Yet, I was tired of the sympathy.
Poor Wystan. Kicked out of his scholarship. No longer captain. Can’t play hockey this season.
I’d come out of the hospital with a goal to prove them all wrong, that Icouldrecover quicker than the docs predicted, yet I was running on emotional fumes. Every time someone told me I couldn’t do it or that I was pushing too hard, they buried me deeper in the grave that some dickhead had put me in. As each day passed, the fire inside me died a little more, close to being extinguished altogether.
“You okay, kid?” Coach Hill stared at me from where he stood at the front of the bus, eyebrows drawn together in concern. “If you want to stay here until the crowd leaves, you can.”
The offer was tempting, but I shook my head and manhandled my crutches to the aisle, then slid over the seat. He looked like he was about to come and help, but I held up a hand to stop him. Next, I heaved myself up and shoved the crutch pads under my arms. A sharp agony hit me, beginning at my knee and shooting up my thigh, and I bit down on my lip again to stop a grunt from escaping my mouth. I paused, waited for a moment, then moved.
Coach went down the stairs of the bus first, and I handed him my crutches when I got to the top and used the handrails to hop down each step until I was on the ground. He passed the crutches back, and I nodded at him in gratitude, though I wasn’t sure why. He’d given up on me, too, hadn’t he? He didn’t fight for me, that was for sure. Maybe he’d wanted Atlas as captain.
We walked through the crowd. Everyone had sobered the moment they’d seen me, and I didn’t miss the sympathetic glances. Some couldn’t look me in the eye.
Poor fucking Wystan Finch.
I ignored them, even as a few said “hello” and wished the team luck, as though I was doing a damned thing to help. Coach led me into the arena, along a hallway, and through the door of the away team’s locker room. The guys were in the process of getting ready, shedding their suits and dressing in their game armor. I couldn’t bear to look, especially at Atlas, who made it his mission to stare at anything but me. I didn’t blame him, yet I also wouldn’t apologize. He’d been hovering worse than my mom and it reminded me of what I’d lost.
