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“And you agreed?”
“Would I be here if I hadn’t?”
“Hey! Care to join us, Ash? We’re all happy Dr. Jacobs is back, but we have a game tonight.” A few of the players tease Ash after he’s scolded because at heart, they’re all a bunch of little boys who like to get under each other’s skin whenever possible.
“We’ll talk later,” I promise before he skates away. There I was, thinking he’d be happy everything worked out, but he sure doesn’t seem too enthused. Troubled, more like. I wish I knew why – I hope he’s not going to cause a bunch of drama over us having to keep things quiet. I need to know I can count on him, on all of them.
But I guess we can talk about it later, after the game. For now, it’s enough to be here, to be part of things again. Not to mention being able to watch the team work together after spending so long getting them to this place.
For the first time in weeks, it feels like everything is going to work out.
18
ASH
And there I was, thinking having Harlow back in the arena would help. I thought knowing she was here, watching, cheering us on, would make victory inevitable. Like she’s our good luck charm—after all, she helped us turn things around from the miserable season we had last year. Her presence is bound to elevate us. Right?
I should know better by now.
“Son of a bitch!” Nobody can hear me over the deafening buzzer announcing Texas’ latest goal. That would make three for them, and a big fat zero for us. We can’t win them all, and we all know that. But dammit, do we have to fall apart like this?
“Come on, head in the game!” Soren skates past, shouting, and his frustration rings out loud and clear. Everything is moving fast. There’re so many faces that blur together as I cut across the ice, faces full of disappointment. We’re losing. Why wouldn’t they be disappointed?
And she’s out there somewhere. I didn’t get a chance to see where she’s seated, but I know she’s here.
I’m glad. I am. She has her job back. She’s happy. Later on, when we’re together, I’m sure she’ll explain more. Like how Kozak did an about-face out of nowhere. I’m very interested in hearing about that.
For now, though, it’s enough for her to be back with us. Not that we’re giving her such a great welcome back party.
“Change up!” Coach Kozak bellows. It’s a relief to head back to the bench to get my head together. The first line heads out there to hopefully undo some of the damage while we take our seats.
Coach is… unhappy. That’s putting it mildly. “What’s the deal tonight? You decided you were going to let them skate all over you?” There’s no defense. He’s right. I exchange a glance with Ryder, who looks away.
We’re distracted. End of story. We’re supposed to be leading the team, yet we’re out there playing like amateurs. You would think the time I spent with Harlow would help me focus on my mindset during the game. It’s definitely something we’ve talked about, and I can’t be the only one.
Tonight, all I can think about is the conversation we had with Ryder earlier. When he told us who gave Coach the heads up. How could he have been so damn thoughtless? Okay, so Pete’s not a child who needs his house kid-proofed, but still. You don’t leave things laying around, especially when there’s some pretty incriminating shit in those messages. I guess he didn’t figure on his foster brother sabotaging him like that. It was a pretty shitty thing to do — the kid better hope we never cross paths again. As far as I’m concerned, if you want to screw around like you’re a big boy, you better be prepared for what comes next.
Sure, and land yourself in jail for beating the shit out of a minor. I’m not exactly thinking clearly. Right now, what I want is vengeance. I’m not proud of myself for wanting it, but I can at least admit it would be nice. Since it’s not going to happen, all that’s left is finding a way to move forward. And I have to do that while playing alongside the idiot who left his phone lying around, unlocked, for anybody to take a look and see our private business.
Danny and Max and the rest of the first line are out there giving it their all, but the clock is ticking. We’re running out of time. A missed pass makes me grind my teeth and growl, and a weak shot on the Texas net leaves me rolling my eyes and groaning. I’m not the only one feeling distracted and sloppy tonight.
“And there I was,” Soren mutters low enough for only me to hear. “Thinking we’d play our best tonight since she’s back.”
“Don’t blame this on her.”
“Who said I was blaming it on her?” He swings his head around, scanning the ice. “I didn’t blame anybody. I’m just saying.”
And here I am, wanting to blame Ryder. Because it’s easier to put the responsibility on somebody else. The fact is, we were all to blame. We shouldn’t have sent those messages. Nowadays, anybody can hack a phone or a cloud account, and that’s it. Game over. I guess in the grand scheme of things, there are worse ways to learn a lesson. We’ll have to be more careful this time.
Especially when we’re supposed to keep things professional during the season.
The second period ends with the score still three to nothing. “I know you’re better than this! Let’s get back to basics,” Coachurges, clapping his hands and raising his voice over so many other voices fighting for attention in my overwhelmed brain. They didn’t heckle us like this last season when we played like shit half the time.
It’s different now. We got their hopes up. They know we can do better.
So do I. Which is why I understand where they’re coming from when they scream.
“What the hell is wrong with you guys?”
