AllFreeNovel
Share Us
My day flashes in my mind as Tate studies me again, dropping the puck into the bucket. The day has been odd now that I look back on it. The locker room more subdued before our practice, more eyes on me than usual, less banter being thrown between the guys. None of it registered as I ran through the game over and over again, working out what cogs in the machineweren’t working to the best of their ability. Then, how I wanted to bring it up. Tate’s a fair captain. He hears others opinions, but mine not only had to do with the team, but his little brother. I wanted it to come out right, not step on any toes. That was blown to hell the second I opened my mouth.
“What about Zac?” He attempts to steer me back to the conversation I started, but I can’t stop thinking about the one he inadvertently did.
“He’s too fast,” I mumble, trying to decide which topic to focus on first. “He outskates the rest of the third line. It’s not balanced,” I explain. One conversation at a time. The lines and then everyone’s weird moods and what it has to do with me.
“Zac has a lot of potential,” Tate agrees. “But he’s young, wild, can be a showboat.” It should sound like an argument, but for some reason it feels like a test.
“So is Wilder,” I say, deciding to go for it. “He controlled the second line, not Ezra.” I put my hands up before he can open his mouth. “I know, I know. It’s not a hard and fast rule that the center has to be the one to control the line. James, Wells, and I pass off the role with ease. Sometimes taking the back seat when one of the others steps up. It’s something we’ve worked out over the last couple seasons here and is rooted in our ability to read each other. That isn’t what’s happening in the second line. Wilder is taking charge, whether Ezra has stepped down or not. He’s a showboat too. Young and wild like you said. Ezra is floundering, even though he’s a great player. He doesn’t mesh with Wilder. Zac has been killing it in practice.” An appreciative light enters Tate’s eyes, but I’m on a roll now. “He showed up this season, ready to play. He’s even better than he was his last season in high school. You know how rare that is.”
Tate nods. “He worked hard all summer. Took only rest days when his body demanded it. You’re right, he’s worked incredibly hard.”
I wait with bated breath, but he says no more. “So?” I finally ask.
He shrugs. “It’s up to Coach. It was one of the goals of the exhibition game to see how the lines were meshing. I’ll pass along your thoughts to him.”
I breathe a sigh of relief at being listened to. For having my opinion heard.
Tate hands his practice jersey and the bucket of pucks to one of the guys that works in the locker room. “Thanks, Bill,” he says with a nod of appreciation. It’s another thing I really respect Tate for. He always knows every person that helps on the ice and in the locker room, no matter the role. He greets them by name, and constantly gives his gratitude. I repeat the sentiment as we leave the ice and Tate gives me an appraising look full of approval. My chest puffs up with pride to be looked at that way from a captain I have so much respect for. But the feeling doesn’t last long as I remember the concern in them only minutes ago.
“Why did you think I would be rattled today?”
Silence hangs between us and odd moments suddenly start to paint a picture. Everything clicks, my face drops, a riotous feeling stirring somewhere deep inside me.
“Beau said he warned you.” Tate’s hand falls on my shoulder.
I nod without a thought. “He did.” I just pushed it out because I didn’t want to think about it. It was days ago, but this was the first time we were all together as a team since. “Thanks, Tate,” I say absently, heading to the locker room with my head down and already ripping off my pads.
I undress quicker than I ever have, skipping the shower altogether.
Discontent and shame roils in my gut as I flee the locker room. Something that has never happened before.
The new experience is both jarring and alarming. Not to mention, sending my good mood straight to hell. Eyes weigh onme as I tuck tail and run. I feel their presence all the way until the door slams shut behind me, but the feeling they left lingers as I curse to myself.
James and Beau followed through. They had the talk with the whole team. Warning them about what Clarissa is actually capable of. Those who already had pieces were easily able to string them together and turn their gazes towards me.
No judgment or condemnation. But the pity and confusion was almost worse.
Wells calls my name behind me, but even my best friend isn’t going to help this god awful mood.
I turn away from the parking lot and head to the trail. Even after the practice we just endured, my body craves a workout to drown out the thoughts turning into demons haunting me.
My mind buzzes all the way through my run. I push my body in ways I know I’m going to regret tomorrow. It takes the edge off the worst of my mood, but doesn’t uproot the problem. Resting my hands on my knees, I force myself to take deep breaths. Fuck. I can’t go back to the house like this. James and Wells are going to want to talk out why I reacted the way I did. The only thing is I have no idea why or even what I’m feeling. The whole thing with Clarissa has just always twisted me up inside in ways I don’t understand. It’s something I should have been able to shake off by now, something that never should have impacted me in the first place.
A girl did something a bit creepy and I was a little too drunk to fully understand what was happening. So what? It happens. We move on. We don’t lose games over shit like that and we sure as hell shouldn’t be running out of locker rooms just because more people know about it.
I hesitate, not knowing what to do. My lungs burn and my legs feel wobbly after all the exertion of the day. Nothing sounds quite as good as crawling into bed, but I’m still not ready to gohome, but there’s no way I can go anywhere else unless I wash the sweat and grime off me.
Sneaking back into the locker room, I use the showers in there and change into some of the clothes I always keep in my locker. Thank fuck for small favors. But now what?
As if on cue, my phone chimes with a reminder of a paper due soon. A perfect way to avoid the guys for the rest of the day. By tomorrow, they’ll have taken a hint that I don’t want to talk about it and I won’t still be feeling this way. It’ll be easy to blow them off if they do bring it up. End of story. No more worries.
I head in the opposite direction of the house to the library. If I’m avoiding everyone, might as well get some homework done. I walk slowly until I reach the imposing glass dome at the center of the campus. Walking in through the doors, I veer to the right where the study rooms are. I don’t have my laptop, but I at least had my backpack in my locker. I can probably find resources and take notes for the research paper I have to do while I’m here. Not the most productive study session, but beats any other options I have.
I don’t see the person exiting one of the private study rooms until it’s too late and I crash into him. Jerking back, the apology dies on my lips as I meet surprised but familiar blue eyes. A rock drops in my stomach, twisting up my insides as Wilder’s gaze melts from puzzled to pitying. A harsh retort almost escapes but I’m quickly distracted by the person following Wilder out of the study room.
“Tor– you, Wild,” I trip over my words, sputtering in an effort to make them make sense.
She arches one dark brow at me, the corners of her lips twitching. Even Wilder’s expression has morphed into bemusement.
