Page 33 of Unloved

“I’ll see you tomorrow morning, for class.”

He nods, his eyes still on my face, scanning me repeatedly. There’s something about how openly worried he is about me, the vulnerability he’s displaying, that finally makes me say, “I’m okay,” as I grab his bicep and squeeze.

Freddy smiles, all gentle and genuine this time. Real.

“Okay,” he says, the quiet calm of his voice covering me like a blanket.

CHAPTER 13Freddy

The dressing room is dead silent for only a minute before it explodes.

With Holden and me leading the charge.

“This is utter bullshit,” Holden shouts. I stand beside him, crossing my arms as we stare off with the entire line of coaches in the middle of our locker room.

“You can’t possibly expect us to play with him.”

“I do,” Coach says, calm, not even a flinch at our raised voices and the endless support rallying behind us. “I expect you to play with himon your line.”

I toss my head over my shoulder to look at Bennett, but he’s gone pale. His jaw clenches as he wipes the cleansing pad up and back down his leg pad again. Clearly he doesn’t agree, but he won’t be the one to rock the boat—not publicly at least. It wouldn’t surprise me to learn he’d already spoken with Coach about it.

“No.” I shake my head. “No way in hell. Kane’s a fucking psychopath. Why the hell would he evenwantto come here? Think about it.”

Coach Harris blows a breath and readjusts his cap.

I hate this. Mostly because I admire Coach; he’s one of the only male figures in hockey I’ve known this well and managed to trust. I respect him enough to do nearly anything he says, follow any order—but not this. This doesn’t make sense.

Toren Kane is a menace. And an incredible defenseman when he isn’t in the penalty box or blasted across sports news outlets for one scandal or another. Heshouldbe in the NHL already, but he screwed up enough that this seems to be the only route for him into professional hockey.

Last year, during the Frozen Four tournament, Toren Kane made a nasty hit against our captain, Rhys. Knocked him unconscious, left him sprawled on the ice, and left all of us with a sick feeling in our stomachs. We lost the game after he was taken off, none of us able to focus without Rhys—especially Bennett in goal. But it didn’t matter anymore; the win would’ve meant nothing without him.

IknowCoach Harris admires Rhys, has trusted him as our captain since sophomore year, because he’s always been the most mature, serious, and put-together player on our team. Rhys was our captainbeforehe was our captain, a leader down to his bones. So why would Coach bring the guy responsible for sidelining Rhys—nearlykillinghim—onto the team?

“Kane’s on the team. Koteskiy knows, and he’s accepted it. Either get on board or get out of my fucking rink.”

Not a single word is said with malice, his tone never rising. He’s calm and collected, and it somehow settles everyone into a peaceable quiet.

“You’re a team. No matter what happens, remember that. Now, let’s go,” he says, exiting the room as our assistant coaches start barking out orders and demanding we get our asses on the ice. The tension never dissipates, but everyone falls in line.

I’m barely inside the house when I decide to text her.

FREDDY

Hey, are you okay?

PRINCESS

Didn’t peg you for a worrywart, Dad.

She sends an eye roll emoji and a quick follow-up text to assure me she’s kidding. Still, the taunt makes my stomach swoop with the anticipation of bantering with her—mostly because I think it means she’s actually comfortable enough to joke with me.

FREDDY

I prefer Daddy, if we’re speaking on titles.

It’s a risky text; the taunt without my voice might come across horrid. Bubbles show she’s typing—then stopping, then typing again before finally a text comes through with a string of puking emojis. My smile only grows as I spin in a circle, like a preteen girl getting a text from her crush.

FREDDY

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