“It was a bad night,” I gritted out, masking my embarrassment with anger. “I appreciate the help getting back here, and I’m sorry about—” I shook my head. “I’m sorry about what happened. What I did. But it was just a bad night, all right?”
He still held my gaze. Still radiated anger, disgust, and God only knew what else. I was about to try again, but he spoke first. “We need to go.” He got up and headed for the door. “The buses are waiting.”
And then he stalked out before I could say another word.
CHAPTER 14
PEYTON
There was nothing in the world quite like trying to practice with a linemate I didn’t even want to look at.
We had to look at each other and communicate—there was no avoiding it in this sport—but we only did as much as we absolutely had to. Throughout the morning skate, our interactions were as sharp as our skate blades and as cold as the ice beneath us.
I felt bad for Davis. It probably wasn’t pleasant for any of our teammates, but our third linemate had to be feeling the worst of it. Whenever we weren’t skating, he was stealing wary glances at the two of us. More than once, he either stood or sat between us, as if casually making himself into a barrier in case we were thinking of throwing gloves.
I didn’t want to fight Avery. I was pissed at him, sure, but at most, I wanted to grab his shoulders, shake him, and talk some goddamned sense into him. I wanted him to understand what he was doing to himself and what he was going to do to this team.
But as my dad always said during the worst days of my mom’s addiction, denial wasn’t just a river in Egypt, andAvery sounded like he was neck deep in it. Dad had told me addicts needed to hit rock bottom before they were willing to do anything about it. Before that… well, there wasn’t much anyone could do.
After watching Jeff Richards hit rock bottom and keep on digging, though, I was scared for Avery. Scared that his rock bottom was well below what the League and the team would tolerate. I wanted to believe he could recover like my mom had, but what if he crashed and burned like Richards?
I stole another glance at Avery. Then I scanned the other faces on the ice.
Do any of you see what I see?
You all know him way better than I do.
He won’t listen to me, but maybe he’ll listen to one of you.
Was this what people meant when they felt like they were screaming in the middle of a crowded room and no one could hear them? Not that I was exactly saying or doing anything, but I was sure, all the way to my bones, that if I tried to draw anyone’s attention to what was going on with Avery…
Shit. What the hell do I do?
Well, for the moment, I practiced with my teammates. I tried to focus—I really, really did, because hockey wasn’t a sport you could play on autopilot. I was too distracted, though. Too focused on Avery.
I can’t fucking take this.
After a light practice with the whole team, Coach turned it over to the power play coach for some special teams work.
The top power play unit went up against the top penalty kill until Davis managed to squeak the puck pastZiggy and into the goal. While we caught our breath, the second units were up.
I took advantage of the moment and skated up to Avery. “Hey.”
He turned frosty, slightly-red-around-the-edges eyes on me, and his jaw worked.
I dropped my voice a little. “You good?”
“I’m fine,” he snapped just loud enough for me to hear. “Leave it alone, all right?”
Yeah, I hadn’t heard that before from people who were trying to hide serious problems.
“Look, I’m just?—”
“Leave it alone.” And then he was gone, skating away to join Eminem and Mix at the other end of the zone.
I sighed, letting my shoulders sag beneath my pads. Jesus Christ.
Davis appeared beside me, and he glanced in the direction our linemate had gone. Vice low, he asked, “Everything cool with you and Calds?”
