Page 84 of Puck to the Heart
“Wait—you’d let my dad move in?”
“I’d like to meet him first, but if Lor is okay with it, and he’s not a raging douchebag, yes, he can move in with us. It’s a separate apartment with its own entrance, but he’d be welcome to join us, so he’s not so—” Kit leveled me with her most professorial stare, and for a moment it transported me back to years of defending answers in a classroom. “—alone.”
“Kit.” Choking back tears, I nearly flung myself across the enormous desk. “Youarea superhero. Thank you.”
“Hold your thanks, Liv. I’m not done yet.”
Rationally,I understood why Olivia stayed away for the remaining games against the Hurricanes. I would have done the same. But the crushed, selfish part of me I tried to buryneededher there.
With a sick sort of fascination, I turned on ESPN in the hotel room, listening as the commentators tore apart my performance. Again.
“And how about the Knights, last night, Ted?”
“Roy, the Knights won’t be known for their chivalry this season, that’s for sure.”
“Was that a pun, Ted?”
“Sure was, Roy. And while we’re at it, let’s talk about Asher ‘The Basher’ Wilder’s ludicrous display last night.”
They had a field day ripping me apart, but I didn’t have the energy to turn it off. They weren’t wrong, and I deserved to hear again what I’d done. Nothing was right on or off the ice these days.
“That’s right, Wilder really lived up to his moniker again. I asked myself what year it was because it was like watching him in his early days, when he was really embodying Asher the Basher.”
“That’s right, but you know, all his bashing didn’t get numbers on the board for the Knights.”
“Well, they got penalties.Thosenumbers are on the board.”
“You’re a real comedian tonight, Ted.”
At least they didn’t throw me out of the game. Coach Olsen would’ve ripped the C right off my jersey and tossed it in the trash if that happened. Still, my idiocy earned a tongue-lashing.
But throwing punches, feeling the split of the skin on my knuckles, and hearing the crack of my fist against someone’s jaw, it was like someone else controlled my body.
I hated it.
And right now, I hated myself more.
Coach said not to get distracted, but I sank into the fight, needing the ache in my bones to forget.
* * *
Unfamiliar rinksalways twisted like a rabbit’s warren, with all the hallways and doors. Finding Coach Olsen was nearly impossible, and the prickling anxiety in my limbs grew steadily worse as I searched. Eventually, I deposited myself outside a meeting room hoping Coach would appear. Twenty minutes, and six levels of Candy Crush later, he did.
“Coach,” I called, “got a minute?”
“Sure, Wilder, but you’re going to have to walk and talk. I have a hole in my khakis, and I’m going to fix it in the locker room.”
“Uh. Sure, okay.” I blinked, nonplussed, frozen like an idiot as Coach Olsen walked away. “So…” I hurried to catch up. But my mind went blank as freshly Zamboni’d ice.
“What’s on your mind, Asher?”
Best to spit it out and get it over with. “I’m not so sure I’m cut out for this, Coach.”
“Cut out for what, exactly? You’re a hell of a defender.”
The compliment was a small thing, really. But it nearly blew me off my feet, it was so unexpected. “Th—thank you. But…” I trailed off, wondering how to tell Coach he’d made a mistake in putting his trust in the wrong place. In me.
“Well, spit it out, we don’t have all day. Unless you’re going to sit with me while I mend the hole. And I can’t guarantee my undies don’t also have a hole.”
