Page 48 of Off-Ice Misconduct
What other option do I have? I was supposed to take this job to help him, not risk his career. I know that.
But.
Yeah.
I wanted it. It’s wrong and ugly, but I wanted him to put himself on the line for me. It’s not going to happen. Tatum VanCourt only takes risks for his own aspirations.
I leave without saying another word.
The days had been brighter, the birds cheerier, and my steps seemed to float instead of lugging my heavy body around like they usually do.
Not today.
The birds are dead.
The rain is fucking cold.
And I’ve never felt so much like I was living in a vat of nearly dried concrete as I have today.
I’m a bit sore from too much training, but that’s not the reason for my sudden one-eighty, and I’m a liar if I say otherwise.
I choke down a protein shake in the morning, packing my gym stuff, because after classes, that’s what I’m doing. Though, maybe I should change it up today and go for a long run to allow time for the skin on my knuckles to grow back.
But I’m just as happy to bring on the pain. Anything’s better than the suffocating loss of someone who’s still living, who you ache for, but can’t fucking have. Especially when I’m struggling to cling to the reason I was giving up Ace in the first place after hearing about Tate’s self-serving plan. Tate hasn’t technically betrayed me—how could he when he doesn’t know what he doesn’t know? Yet, it feels like betrayal.
In class, Ace beams in my direction, but knowing what I’m going to have to tell him, I can’t bear to look at him. It kept me up all night as it is. How I’d do it, what I’d say. I tried framing it on a timeline. Maybe we wait until the season’s over. But if he heads on to the NHL like he keeps saying he will, news is going to get out that his boyfriend was his ex-professor. That’s still going to affect Tate until he no longer works at this school.
The timeline is never. We canneverbe together.
I snap my fucking pointer cane in half and throw it across the room. Three hundred and ten fourth-year English students freeze.
“Class dismissed. No homework.”
“Alright!” one of Ace’s hockey hooligan brothers hoots.
Standing, palms flat on the desk, I refuse to look, to watch Ace walk out the door. Maybe like a coward, I’ll just leave the school. I don’t want to see his face when I reject him. Ghosting him will hurt, but it will hurt less.
The idiot doesn’t leave, though, and when I turn, he’s standing there, bag slung over his shoulder.
“Luke.”
“Get out.”
“What happened to your hands? It looks like they’ve been in a garburator.”
“None of your business.”
“Is this because of what I did in your office? Or the drawing? Didn’t match your likeness enough? Want me to redo it? You’re right, it needed wolf fangs, kept me up all fucking night when I realized.”
He almost pulls a laugh from me. Instead, my heart clenches.
“Go, McKinnon,” I say softly.
“Luke,” he says with a little catch in his voice. Without me having to say it, it’s dawned on him that I’m not just saying “get to class” but “get out of my life”.
For a second, I think he’ll cry, but then his eyes darken. “No and fuck you, you fucking coward. This isn’t over, Luke. We’ll talk about it later. I’m going to practice, and then there’s something important I have to do, but after that I’m finding your ass, capiche?”
I nod, but only because he’s right about the coward part. He deserves more. Maybe in a few hours, I’ll have the words that eluded me all night.
