Then I remember how he fucking betrayed me, and the tower of good times comes crashing down around me.
I don’t remember feeling like this—like a Zamboni ran me over, circled the rink, and flattened me again—when shit went down with Chase. Maybe that’s because I was too busy dealing with the fallout from his sexual assault accusation. Or maybe the truth is that I never really loved him. That what was bruised when he screwed me over—figuratively and literally—was my ego, not my heart.
Well, my heart’s bruised now, that’s for sure. Worse. More like ripped out of my chest and stomped on. If this is what love feels like, then I’ll pass. I’d rather be cross-checked against the boards all night. Or have a thousand root canals.
I said a lot of four-letter words to Kolby. Lick. Suck. Fuck. Dick and cock, of course. But love is one I avoided. I guess not saying it doesn’t necessarily stop you from feeling it. Or from having it turn on you and bite you in the ass.
An icy gust of wind hits the back of my neck. I pick up the pace and stick my bare hands into the pockets of my team jacket, my gloves forgotten in my locker. The fingers of my right hand curl around something round and smooth.
That stupid stone Coach Garfunkle gave me. Jasmine? No, jasper.
What was it he said it was for? Protecting against stress, I think. And negative vibes. And something about empowering my spirit.
Man, I could sure use some of that ju-ju now.
It’s strangely quiet when I reach the hockey house. No one in the kitchen. No guys playing air hockey in the dining room. I find out the reason why when I get to what passes for our living room and see almost the entire team gathered there. They’re everywhere—the couch, the chairs, the floor. Even Slags is perched on the arm of a battered recliner I’m pretty sure someone rescued from the curb, although from the look on his face he’d rather be anywhere else.
“Hey,” Lex says from the couch, where he’s sitting with Cal and Cooper. “We were starting to get worried about you.”
“I did some weight training after practice.” I look around at a sea of serious faces. “What is this? An intervention or something?”
“Or something,” Tate pipes up from the floor.
My stomach lurches. I know I’ve been playing like crap, but this isn’t going to help. Not unless they’re all here to tell me they’ve found a way to go back in time and change history.
“If this is about practice—”
“No,” Lex jumps in, cutting me off. “Not really.”
“Although it’s going to be hard beating U Mass if your mind’s somewhere else,” Cal observes.
“Like on your boyfriend. Or should I say ex-boyfriend,” Slags mumbles just loud enough for me to hear.
“What we’re trying to say”—Tate twists around to glare up at Slags—“is that the team needs you at one hundred and ten percent.”
I grab the stone from my pocket and roll it around in my palm, still hoping Coach Garfunkle is right and some of its magic will rub off on me. “You realize no one can give more than a hundred percent, right?”
“Guys.” Lex claps his hands to get everyone’s attention, reminding me of Professor Frost, which would make me laugh if I wasn’t so stressed out. So much for the healing powers of jasper. “We’re getting off track. This is supposed to be a show of support for Adam. Not an interrogation.”
“Lex is right,” Tate agrees, shifting his focus from Slags to me, minus the glare. “Look, we’ve heard what that asshat reporter from the student newspaper has been saying about you. And we want you to know we don’t believe a word of it.”
“Yeah, there’s no way you did what he says you did.” This comes from Cooper, who’s been quiet until now. “You’d never hurt anyone, unless it was a particularly gnarly check into the boards.”
Shit. I’ve been reading that stupid gossip rag every day—I swear, I need brain bleach to erase some of the garbage they print—but there’s been nothing about me. I thought maybe the student reporter had decided to take Coach Keller’s offer and drop the story.
Guess I thought wrong. I make a mental note to tell Coach and my dad. Looks like we’re going to have to go to plan B and release the story ourselves before it hitsThe Bull.
I let the stone fall back into my pocket. No point continuing to rub the damn thing when it clearly isn’t doing jack shit. “How did you find out—?”
“He’s been sniffing around the team, asking questions,” Lex says.
“Trying to dig up dirt,” adds Cal.
“But we didn’t tell him anything. Not even Slags.” Tate elbows Slags in the shin. “Right?”
Slags grunts, which I guess signals his agreement. Then again, it’s Slags, so who knows?
“Not that we had anything to tell.” Lex leans forward to rest his forearms on his knees, and for the first time I can see that there’s hurt behind the seriousness in his eyes. “I mean, it’s not like you confided in us or anything.”
