“Move along now.”
“But this isn’t fair!”
I scoff and shake my head. Of course, he’d complain about how getting a penalty isn’t fair tohim.
I don’t know how I could have ever felt anything like attraction to him. Some form of sense should have alerted me that he’s still every ounce the obnoxious ass I had that interview with.
And yet I can’t help but hesitate in the doorway to the locker room from where I’ll have to watch the rest of the game. Van der Hoff walks past, head held high, staring so resolutely straight ahead that I hope he’ll get a neck cramp.
He doesn’t spare me a single look.
Somehow that makes the anger bubble up in my stomach again. If he had looked, then maybe there could have been something like remorse or shame in his eyes. But like this I’m half convinced he doesn’t give a shit that we lost our minds in front of everyone, brawling like idiot teenagers that don’t know any better.
The lineman walking behind him throws me a warning glance, and I duck my head, closing the door behind me. For a moment I just stand there, too aware of how loud my breathing is in the sudden silence of the empty locker room. It’s wrong to be here all on my own. Only an hour ago, I was surrounded by my team as we were all gearing up. Nate sat next to me, anxiously taping his stick. And now they have to fix my fuck up because I couldn’t control my temper.
I angrily yank my helmet off and only refrain from throwing it because I know it’s worth several hundred dollars, and I already cost the college an extra stick. So I grit my teeth and plant it onthe bench. I want to slump down next to it but instead take a few stalking steps to get rid of the angry energy swirling in my chest.
Although the locker room is as new as the whole arena—Bonham Tech’s pride and joy—I barely have eyes for the fancy benches or the pristine lockers. Right now, it’s covered in dark green jackets that clash with the ridiculous orange stripes on the walls.
Eventually, I sit down in the seat closest to the door, but I don’t take off my skates just yet. It feels too much like an admission that I really won’t be going back on the ice tonight. I can still hear the crowd but can’t distinguish any words, let alone figure out whether they’re shouting about something good or bad.
For us that is.
The Badgers got the lead through Van der Hoff’s bullshit goal after all. And if I were still out there, I could turn it around! I know it! But no, I had to let that–
There’s another swell in noise from outside. Someone blows a trumpet or a horn. The sound echoes off of the walls. Its frequency has me jumping off of the bench with an angry growl.
I can’t.
I can’t! I cannot just sit here. If Van der Hoff wasn’t such an ass I could be out there. I tear open the laces and push my skates off. Next are my dark green socks with the shin guard. The arm protectors slide off easily. I fumble for a moment with my chest and hip protector, then leave it all scattered on the floor, uncaring that my gear is sweat soaked and a huge tripping hazard.
I don’t care that I’m in my compression socks and underwear as I inch the door open.
The hallway is empty.
Of course it is, everyone is watching the game—and we should be adults thinking clearly and taking our punishment in stride.
I should stay in line. That’s what I owe my coach, my team…everyone really.
Tomorrow I’ll be responsible again, once I’ve cleared my mind.
I take another look toward the entrance of the tunnel, the noise much louder now that I’ve stuck my head out of the locker room. Some silhouettes swish past—and then I turn the other way.
I don’t knock when I reach the other door, but I do almost bang it against Van der Hoff’s head; apparently he was on his way to pay me a visit.
“Come to finish the job, Hart?” Sneering, he jumps back.
I squeeze through the gap and throw the door closed, opening my mouth, but he doesn’t even let me get a shot in. “What the fuck was that? Out there?!” he hisses, likeIgoadedhimsomehow.
“Exactly! What the fuck is wrong with you?!”
“Me? Oh, no! What the fuck is wrong withyou!” He’s pushing against my chest, bare hands looking ridiculously small and delicate since he’s still wearing his guards but not his gloves. He’s also still wearing his chest and shoulder guard, which I grab hold of to push him back against the wall.
“No. What. Thefuck. Is wrong. Withyou?!” I growl the words right into his face, leaning in close.
“You can be glad I didn’t fucking flatten you for breaking my stick.”
“I–”
