AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Everybody was just going to stand there and let Hill talk all that trash. Maybe even agree with him.” He rubs a hand over the knuckles on his right hand and the skin starts bleeding anew. He doesn’t even seem to notice. “And Nichols isn’t even here to defend himself. It wasn’t fair.”
“No, it’s not fair,” I agree, but leave off the part where I tell him that nothing about life is fair. He’s young, too young, for the hopelessness already coloring his expression. “But you can’t do that again, Carter. No, listen to me. I’m not angry, or disappointed, or saying you were in the wrong. But you can’t go around solving problems by beating the crap out of people, and certainly not your own teammates. I don’t want to lose you, okay? And the fastest way to get kicked off the team is exactly what just happened back in that locker room.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Thank you. I’m sorry, too.” I wish I could tell him how I’d had my own violent urge to sink my fist into Avery’s face, earlier, but now probably isn’t the time for a commiseration of that sort.I check the time on my phone. “The rest of the team will be out here soon. Is there anything else you want to talk about?”
“No.” His eyes dart to mine and away.
“Okay. Offer stands anytime you need to talk. You have my number, and I’ll remind you that it’s not just for hockey.”
He nods, back to staring at the ground between his legs. The team is silently filing into the rink, everybody wearing similar expressions of trepidation. I’m scanning them, making sure everyone is here and fully dressed out, when I spot a familiar brown head in the back.
Anthony.
He’s too far away for me to discern his expression, but I know it’s him. I’d know him anywhere. Standing, I step onto the ice and wait for the boys to follow. Anthony hovers by the boards, arms crossed, watching me. I see his eyes land on Morgan and narrow.
“Bag skate.” I don’t have to raise my voice to be heard; it’s quiet enough to make me wonder if any of them are even breathing. I blow my whistle to send them to the line.
Spinning and coasting backward until I bump gently against the boards, I blow the whistle again and watch as they sprint to the opposite goal line and back. Anthony moves closer to me, neither of us taking our eyes off of the team as they head toward the opposite blue line.
“Are you okay?” I ask him, eyes tracking my skaters.
“Long night,” Anthony replies, which answers my question but also doesn’t.
“I wasn’t expecting you to be here today.”
I can feel his eyes on the side of my face, then. “I told you I’d be here all summer. Where’s Avery?”
“Gone.”
A short blow of the whistle and the boys stop, resetting at our red line once more. I give them thirty seconds before blowing another sharp report and starting the bag skate over.
“How’s Troy?” I peek over at him, wanting to see his face. The side I can see has a dark circle beneath his eye and a tight set to his mouth. He still looks lovely.
“We were expecting there to be a bit of a media shitstorm,” he says, after a moment. Another dodge. I decide to stop asking questions he doesn’t want to answer.
“You don’t have to be here, today. Or this week. You’ve got bigger things to deal with.”
He sighs, and a muscle in his jaw tightens. A single shake of the head is his only answer. I can feel the distance grow between us, as we watch my hockey team skate until they puke.
Anthony
Corwin’s face is a blank slate as he sits and stares sightlessly across the yard. Troy and Sam are setting up a game of croquet, placing the wickets in ridiculously hard positions and sniggering about it between themselves. Nigel, with the air of one who is the only adult in a room full of children, is following after them and fixing the course to make it playable.
“Cor?”
“Mm?” Corwin turns to me, eyes blank for another minute before his gaze focuses on me. “Sorry, what was that? Did you need something?”
He looks at my glass, as if verifying that I have ample sustenance. “No, I’m fine. Areyoufine?” He doesn’t look fine; he looks exhausted.
“Yes.” A quick glance at Troy and a hint of a smile. “Well, okay, not great, I guess. I’m worried about how things will be once the season starts.”
“The media has already died down and it’s only been two days,” I remind him. In a stroke of luck, a football player had been involved in a highly publicized drunk-and-disorderly. Interest in the gay hockey player quickly waned in the wake of the NFL star’s mugshot.
“And what about when we take the ice in front of a full crowd? 20,000 hockey fans under one roof—how many of those are going to be on his side?” Corwin nods toward Troy, who’s bent over a wicket with his tongue poking out of his mouth in concentration. Sam says something that makes him laugh, dimples flashing. “And what aboutonthe ice? Not every player, or every team, is going to be as welcoming as ours.”
I think about Nico, then, as I often do; about Martin Tremblay, fractured vertebrae, and scars. My shoulders tighten involuntarily, and I rake my eyes over Troy’s young, happy face.I won’t let that happen to him, not on my life.
