“I’m good,” I utter, chewing the inside of my cheek. “Just hope Pelletier doesn’t talk to me.” I shrug. “Actually, I hope he doesn’t even look at me.”
Coach’s eyes narrow slightly when he overhears our conversation. “Why? Did you two leave on bad terms when you were on his team?”
I flash him a look, and instantly, his eyes widen.
“You know?”
“That he’s my girlfriend’s sperm donor?” I mumble. “Yeah, unfortunately, I do.”
Huff runs a hand over the top of his head. “Fuck …” he whispers. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.”
Leaning forward, he looks down at the ground. “Is this going to affect how you play tonight, kid?” He looks back at me, clearly concerned. “Because if it is, you need to tell me right now.”
“No,” I retort angrily. “If anything, it’ll make me play better because there’s no fucking way I’m letting that scumbag get a win over my team.”
His eyes shift between mine, examining me. “You’re sure?”
“Yes.” I nod. “No promises that I won’t punch him in the throat if he comes near me though, Coach.”
“You’re more like Cam Hardy than you know,” he mutters, slapping me on the back. “Come on, Hunt. Go ruin his day. Let’s win this thing.”
Anger has never stopped me from doing my job on the ice, but sometimes, I guess it does get in the way. But that was when I was playing selfishly, as if I were the only person on the team. I’m not doing that now. But once the game is over, if he even looks my way … I won’t hold back from punching him for my girl.
But first, we have a game to win.
I stareup at the scoreboard, looking at the final score of two to three. I should be happy, but instead, I just feel like it isn’t enough. We won, but there’s a man twenty feet away from mewho has made my girlfriend question if she’s worthy or not. And I hate that.
I can deal with people hurting me. I’ve dealt with it my entire life. But when it’s someone I love as much as I love Isla who’s hurt, it just … hits differently. It’s a type of pain that seeps into every muscle, every cell, every part of me. It wakes up an animal that’s been asleep, an animal that has the ability to take over my body. But I stand here, reminding myself that Cam Hardy is the greatest gift the world could have ever given her. She isn’t lacking anything because that man stepped in when she needed him.
But still, when I look across the ice and through the plexiglass and I know that the man I’m staring at pushed her aside like she’s nothing … I can’t stop myself from growing angry. Because how the fuck could anyone do that? Not just to Isla, but to Addison.
“Hunt,” Coach Huff calls across the ice. “Head into the locker room.” His gaze hardens, like he knows what’s going through my head. “Now.”
Exhaling a long breath, I reluctantly head toward the exit, knowing it’s the right thing to do. When I step off the ice, Coach pats my back. He doesn’t say a word, but he doesn’t have to. He’s just proud that I’m choosing to walk away rather than to start something that really has no ending.
I’m almost inside the guest locker room when I hear his voice. And the sound of that alone is enough to have my entire body become tense and my veins come to life.
“Not even gonna say hi to your old coach, Hunt?” Nick’s voice is taunting. “That’s not very good sportsmanship.”
“You lost, Pelletier,” Huff breathes out. “Give it up.”
“I was talking to my former player,” Nick throws back. “Turn around, Hunt. Have some respect for your coach.”
Letting my stick fall against the wall, I spin around quickly, making it so that my chest is practically touching his. I glare down at him, seeing as he’s a few inches shorter.
“I’ve got nothing to say to you that you’d want to hear.” I grind my teeth together. “And you aren’t my coach.”
I can feel Coach Huff gripping the extra fabric on the back of my jersey.
“Let it go, Hunt,” he warns me. “Let. It. Go.”
My hands are clenched in tight balls, and my breathing is shallower than a fucking mud puddle on a hot summer day after a short rainstorm. But I know that I need to listen to my coach. This guy isn’t worth it. He never will be.
I take a step backward before I turn around, not saying another word. But just before I move farther away, he’s dumb enough to speak again.
“I really hope you aren’t being this way over personal reasons, kid,” he bites out bitterly. “I took you in. Gave you a team to play for when everyone said you were nothing but trouble.”
His words stop me in my tracks, but I just pray to fuck that he’s all done talking because if he adds in anything else, I’m not sure I’ll be able to be the bigger person and walk away.
