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“Put some pads on me, and I’ll show you how hockey is played.”
“You get paid to play like losers?”
“Ignore it,” Soren warns. All that does is make me irritated with him, because of course I’m going to ignore it. At least, I’m not going to say anything to the assholes running their stupid mouths. Gotta love people who probably never laced up a pair of skates or done anything athletic in their entire lives acting like they have the first clue what it’s like to be out here. Everybody’s got an opinion. Everybody thinks they could do better.
Right now, maybe they could.
I’m back out on the ice at the start of the third, feeling like I’m fighting for my life. It’s not easy to come back from a deficit like this, especially when the team in the lead starts getting cocky. They think they have the game wrapped up and maybe they do, and all it does is make them more aggressive, while we struggle to get on the board at all.
When Ryder gets an assist two minutes into the period, it’s a cause for celebration – though it’s muted, and our hearts aren’t in it. There’s nothing more pathetic than a team down by twogoals acting like they just won the cup because they managed to score a point. The crowd seems to appreciate it, at least – some of the heckling going on behind the bench has quieted down by the time we return.
“That’s what I like to see!” Coach Kozak gives Ryder a discreet thumbs up before going back to managing the players on the ice.
“Yeah, good work,” I add.
Ryder’s not fooled. “Hey, man, I really am sorry.”
“This isn’t the time.” At least the coach didn’t notice. That’s all we need, him accusing us of letting our personal shit distract us during a game. I mean, that’s exactly what’s happening. But he doesn’t need to know it. We might finally be in a good place, even if that good place means having to keep our hands off Harlow during the season. There is a very big part of me that wants to know exactly how the coach could keep tabs on us…
But I know better than to ask questions like that anymore. I used to ask myself how he could ever possibly find out if we were seeing each other in the first place, but here we are. It happened.
“We’ll talk later?” I almost feel bad for him, really. He’s pretty screwed up over what went down. He feels guilty, and right now, I want him to feel guilty. It’s petty, yes, but it’s how I feel. His carelessness screwed us all over.
“Yeah.” When I turn away from him, I’m not trying to start shit. One of us has to remember there’s a time and place. The fact that he’s as distracted as I am but managed to assist a goal isn’t helping things, either.
I hate to say it even to myself, but it’s a relief when the final buzzer sounds to signal the end of the game. Sometimes, it’s clear early on that things aren’t clicking. And no matter how hard you try, there’s no falling into the rhythm you need to put points on the board.
The atmosphere is pretty damn grim as we head to the locker room. There I was, telling myself I was going to come out of my injury a new player. Somebody who doesn’t let outside drama interfere with my play. What did I do when I was out there, though? I let myself get distracted. I let my frustration with Ryder get in the way. My head wasn’t anywhere near where it was supposed to be, and even though I wasn’t the only one, I can only take responsibility for myself.
When am I going to learn? How many opportunities do I have to blow before I start playing up to my potential? This can’t keep happening.
And it won’t. It’s as simple as that. I’m not letting my personal shit get in the way of my game again.
19
RYDER
I’m not exactly looking forward to stopping at the house before heading to Ash’s. That’s where we agreed to meet tonight, along with Harlow. It would’ve been nice to go out and celebrate – not that there is much to celebrate when it comes to the game tonight, but we still have plenty to be happy about.
Stopping at the house means seeing Pete, and of course, that’s the whole point. I won’t announce I’m checking in on him, but that’s definitely what I’m doing. It was naïve to think I could trust him to, like, turn over a new leaf out here. I should know from personal experience. Nobody turns over a leaf unless they want to. They can be surrounded by people begging, urging, pleading, but it won’t make a damn bit of difference unless they themselves want to make a change. Pete is completely uninterested in that. I’m irritated with myself for trying.
But I do my best not to show it as I enter the house and call out for him. It’s not really a mystery where I’ll find him – I’m surprised the couch doesn’t have a permanent indent in the shape of his ass by now. Only when I head back to the livingroom, the TV is off, the room is dark. Just like the rest of the house.
There’s a prickly sensation on the back of my neck. “Pete? Where are you?” I jog up the stairs, listening for the sound of the shower, something that would explain why he isn’t downstairs or answering when I call for him. But it’s dark up here, too, and the door to the guest bedroom is wide open. He even made the bed for once.
And then, he left.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” His duffel bag is gone. The dresser and closet are empty. His clothes, including the things I bought for him when he first got here, his toiletries. It’s all gone.
This time when I go through the house, I’m not searching for him. I’m looking for a note, something, anything to give me a clue where he would’ve gone. He’s seventeen years old and as far as I know, he doesn’t have any money except for what I give him to order food. How far could he possibly get? No, I don’t want to think too much on that one. Anything is possible.
After ten minutes of searching with nothing to show for it, I try his cell. No use there. “Dude. Where are you?” I bark into his voicemail. “This isn’t funny. Call me back.” I’m not going to hold my breath.
The next step is obvious. That doesn’t mean I’m looking forward to it.
“No, I haven’t heard anything from him.” Erin’s voice is sharp, because of course there’s only one reason I would ask a question like that. She’s not a stupid woman. “What did he do? Where is he this time?”
“That’s just it. I have no idea. I got home from the game, and he was gone. All his stuff is gone with him.”
