I make the decision to take Petrolla out of goal with over two minutes left. It’s risky, but I’m putting in one of my best guys.
“Congratulations,” I tell him. “You get one more chance to prove you deserve this damn jersey, do you hear me?”
“Coach, there’s no way we’re winning this. It’s four to two. It’s over.”
I grab him by the collar and bring him close.
“It’s not over until the damn buzzer goes off, kid. Get out there,” I spit, shoving him toward the ice. He recovers quickly, hopping the barrier and skating into the chaos.
Of course, he was right. Ridgewood beat us four to two. The buzzer signifies the end of the game, and I try my best not to break my clipboard over my damn knee.
Silence swallows the rink as the boys make their way off the ice and into the locker rooms. I follow after them, my adrenaline boiling at an all time high.
“Did that feel good? Huh? Did it? Because that feeling is only gonna get worse if you keep this shit up. We’ve worked and worked for weeks. That shit out there? That looked like deer on skates.”
The locker room is so quiet you could hear a damn pin drop.
“Drills at six a.m. tomorrow. If you’re not here you’re off the team. If you bitch, you’re off the team. I don’t care how much money mommy and daddy throw at this school. I won’t have this bullshit again. Got it?”
No response. They all stare at me as if I’ve got three heads.
“I said,got it?”
“Yes, coach,” they say in unison.
“Get the hell out of here. NOW,” I growl.
And then I’m alone, pacing and trying to catch my breath.
I’m pissed off, annoyed, and not all because of the game. Ellie wasn’t there, and I don’t know why it bothers me so much. I don’t know why I expected her to.
Chapter 22
Ellie
When the final buzzer sounds, I watch as Jamie says something to the team, and by the angry look on his face, I doubt it was anything good. I’ve never seen him like this. So pent up and full of rage. Why do I find it attractive?
He was pacing behind the bench like a live wire the entire game, his jaw set. I couldn’t hear everything he said over the noise of the rink, but I didn’t need to. I could see that he was pissed off just by his body language.
His team seemed like they were afraid of him. Although, I would be too so I can’t really blame them. Except, his anger wasn’t pointed at me, andfrom afar, he looked good. Crap, Ellie. No, you do not think he’s hot. He’s a jerk. Right?
I hid behind a pole pretty much the whole time so he couldn’t see me. I watched him look up into the stands several times, but I doubt he was looking for me. He has no reason to. I didn’t want him to know I was here, watching him.
But God, control radiated off him, like he was born to be in charge. Like he was thriving. I know he wants to get back on the ice, but he’d really be a great coach. His team just needs a little pep.
When he finally turned and walked toward the tunnel, relief should have followed, but of course it didn’t. Relief was the last thing I felt. Instead, something pulled tight in my chest. This grown-up version of Jamie is harder, rougher.
He’s got a temper and all this rage inside of him that I don’t quite understand where it comes from. Even when his father died, when I expected him to blow up and crash and burn, he stayed strong. Humble. It was like he had no emotion. It kind of used to scare me, the way he’d be able to just walk away from things. I guess that’s why it was so easy for him to walk away from me.
I don’t know what forces me to be standing here like an idiot outside of the locker room. Maybe I’m a masochist. Maybe I like the pain. Or maybe I’m just an idiot. All I know is that I shouldn’t be here, yet something in me is telling me to check on him. To make sure he’s alright. Taking a deep breath, I push the door open and automatically feel the change in the air. It’s heavier, sadder. It’s weighed down by years of guilt and heartbreak.
As I make my way further into the room, I see him. Jamie Patterson, sitting hunched over on a bench. I watch for a moment as his body rises and falls with his rapid breaths.
His white undershirt clings to him, and as I grow closer, I see the beads of sweat trickling down his cheeks and his arms.
For a second, I think he might be so out of it that he doesn’t even notice me. But then his breath hitches.
I make my way in front of him, kneeling down to be level with him. This feels all too familiar, like we’ve been here before. I should let him deal with this on his own. He probably wants space and here I am, not giving him any.
