Page 47 of Stick It
Dropping his irritation, his mouth twists in faux sympathy as he glances between us. “Too bad you won’t be making it to the championships. Senior year, and all.” He shakes his head, but triumph gleams in his beady little eyes.
I scoff. “Blame a girl for your shitty performance all you want, Tremble, but what’s your excuse going to be this year when we kick your ass—again?”
“Kick our asses?” He barks a cold laugh. “Is that what you thought you were doing out there?” He shakes his head. “We’re going to slaughter you at every single game this season,” he taunts. “And I can’t fucking wait.” He smirks cockily. “That she-hawk is going to drag you down into the dirt with her, and I’m going to enjoy watching every second of it.”
Grinning like the cat that got the cream, he skates off the ice with the last of his team.
“I hate that guy,” Ethan mutters as we watch them disappear down the tunnel toward the guest locker rooms.
“Yeah, him and the rest of them.”
The thing I can’t shake, though? What if he’s right? I know Dylan can hold her own, but what if she’s the spark that sets the rest of the team off balance? And that might be enough to cost us everything.
15
DYLAN
My hands shakeas I shove my gear into my bag with more force than necessary. The adrenaline I relied on to hold it together on the ice has worn off, replaced by a sickening knot in my stomach. I knew it would be hard to face them—him—but nothing could have prepared me for the onslaught of memories.
And not just bad ones, either.
Quiet moments. Sweet gestures. Soft touches.
My heart squeezes painfully in my chest, and I close my eyes. Breathe in, breathe out.None of it was real, I remind myself for the umpteenth time. However, that doesn’t eliminate the very real feelings I’d felt at the time, even if distance and a crash-landing into reality now makes me see that those feelings were born from grief and loneliness. From feeling like I was all alone in the world, drowning in the weight of everything, and desperate for a lifeline to cling to.
Fiery rage lances through the still raw hurt, and I shove my helmet into the locker, imagining I’m smashing it into Lucas Tremble’s smirking face. There is truly no one I hate more than him. No one that disgusts me more.
Seeing him tonight…it brought everything back. Everything that I’ve buried deep and successfully avoided since fleeing the NSU campus to start over. Now, I can feel it all pressing beneath the surface of my skin, demanding to be acknowledged. All that hurt. The embarrassment. The self-loathing and disgust. The chastising at how I could be so fucking naive and stupid…
I change faster than I ever have, barely registering the bruises already forming on my arms and legs, the dull ache at the back of my head from where those jackasses deliberately drove me into the boards, or the sting of my split lip as I shower and throw on my clothes.
While Coach gives his post-game speech, I sit impatiently, my knee bouncing and head resting against the locker behind me. I don’t hear a single word, and the second he dismisses us, I’m up. Half the guys are still in their gear, or have towels wrapped around their waists, but I’m ready to get the fuck out of here.
Slinging my bag over my shoulder, I duck out of the locker room without so much as a glance around or wave goodbye. An amicable sort of peace might have been reached this past week, with only Kyle and some third-line guys glaring at me from a distance, but that doesn’t mean I’m about to join them at The Stanley to commiserate. Hell, I bet Kyle is just waiting to get a drink in him so he can blame our loss on me despite the fact that I’m the only player who scored a goal tonight.
A rare, arrogant smile curls the corners of my lip as I recall the air whipping in my face, the smooth glide of ice beneath my skates. That feeling of being unstoppable. Invincible. It’s the best feeling in the world, surpassed only by scoring that last-minute goal. It might not have won us the game, but I think it won me some respect amongst the team. It showed them why I’m here, on the first line. Proved that I can do morethan run drills and play scrimmages. Maybe now they’ll realize I’m here to fucking play. To win.
“Babe.”
I freeze barely ten steps from the locker room door. That voice. I’d recognize it anywhere. Where the smooth baritone was once a source of comfort, a sanctuary from my grief, it now scrapes up my spine like nails on a chalkboard.
I slowly turn on my heel, already bracing myself. There he is, in all his arrogant, hot-as-shit glory. Lucas Tremble leans casually against the wall, arms crossed like he’s got all the time in the world. He’s still wearing his hockey gear…almost like he was waiting for me.
As far as I’m concerned, we have nothing to say to one another.
“Don’t call me that,” I snap, tightening my grip on the strap of my bag.
His smirk only deepens before he pushes off the wall, closing the distance between us. I bet he deliberately kept his skates on so he’d tower over me. Without them, we’re basically the same height, but as it is, I have to crane my neck to look up at him.
“But you used to love when I called you that.”
“Yeah, well, I used to love a lot of things that I eventually learned were toxic for me.”
He chuckles, low and condescending, not the least bit fazed at my insulting him. “Still feisty, huh? I always did like that about you.”
“You never liked a damn thing about me, Lucas.”
“Hmm, wrong.” His eyes rake over me, stripping me bare as he stalks closer. I back up, hating how I feel when he’s this close—small, weak, stupid. Like I’m right back in the worst time of my life. “I always liked it when you moaned my name—beggedit—while I was pounding into that sweet little pussy.”
