Page 17 of Cheap Shot
No, I’m not fucking okay. I haven’t been okay for a while now, but I’ve found new ways to cope. I just can’t figure out why no one understands that everything is riding on when I can come back from this injury. I need time to prove to my new team that I have what it takes to score goals, to win, and potentially bring home a Stanley Cup Championship for their franchise.
Deep breath in, and let it out slowly.
I’m spiraling. I can feel it. I don’t have time for this, not right now. I can freak out later, but not now. I need to keep this a secret. I can’t let anyone know how out of control I’ve become. No team wants a hockey player who can’t control his emotions. A hot head. A loose cannon. I’ve been called all those things before, but I got it under control before, and I can do it again. I just have to find them because this breathing bullshit isn’t helping a good damn thing.
I scramble off the edge of the bed to my bedside table and rip the drawer open, pulling everything out until I locate the small plastic bag I have tucked in the back corner behind a bible I haven’t touched since I was ten years old. I grab it and practically rip it open, trying to get the last tiny red pill at the bottom and pop it into my mouth.
“Cole, are you even listening to me?”
I flop down onto the bed, my eyes clenched tightly shut as I wait for the pills to take the edge off my panic. If I were at my condo in Boise, I’d chase the pill with a shot of Jack to help things along, but not here. Momma doesn’t normally have alcohol in the house. Besides, that doctor said mixing alcohol and my meds is a big no-no. Not like that ever mattered to me, but it’s those types of things that got me into this situation. Not completely, but it started things heading in this direction.
“No. I’m currently working on all those breathing techniques you’ve been sending me to stop from losing my patience.” I inhale deeply and let it out, wanting him to hear my breathing. That last thing I need is for him to ask questions. Questions he won’t like the answers to.
“Good. The last thing anyone needs is you blowing up, but now that you are done being dramatic, can I deliver the good news?”
“The only good news I need is that I’m going to be back on the ice at the start of the season.”
It feels like the mattress is swallowing my body as all my muscles relax. I can feel the tension in my neck and jaw slowly release as the pain in my shoulder ramps up exponentially. Another pill to solve another problem. Reaching into the pocket of my sweats, I pull out an orange prescription bottle and shake a pill into my hand, but add another for good measure.
I slowly move into a sitting position before putting my phone on speaker and placing it on the bed beside me. Something tells me I won’t want anything I can throw in my hands when I hear what Remy has to say. I pop the two pills into my mouth and swallow. The chalky taste hits my tongue as I swallow, but I don’t dare spit them out. These babies need to last me until my next appointment with the doctor to grab some more.
“You know I can’t promise that, Cole.”
“Yeah. Yeah. My fate is in the hands of two people I don’t know and more than likely have never seen me play before my injury. They aren’t going to just add me to the starting lineup.”
“No, they won’t, but you worry too much. Everything will be fine. Cooper made?—”
One second I’m lying on the bed, melting into the mattress, and then I’m on my feet. My shoulders tense immediately, my fists opening and closing as I try to keep some form of control the minute I hear my brother's name.
“Cooper did what?”
“Before you completely lose your cool, you need to understand that your brother, both of your brothers, would do anything for you.”
Nothing that mentions my brothers is ever anything I’m going to like. The familiar tingling sensation spreads through my entire body. Clenching my jaw shut tightly, I growl, “Remy.”
“Okay. Okay.” Remy pauses, no doubt for effect, before he drops the bombshells of all bombshells. “The Timberwolves owner owes Cooper a favor. He called it in to get you a spot on the team for the next two years.”
It takes a moment for my brain to register what Remy said, and then it’s like a switch immediately flips in my brain. Any chance of me maintaining control over my emotions goes out the window the moment my brain registers what Remy said. Pure unadulterated rage replaces the warm and fuzzy feelings of relaxation that the pills had given me moments earlier.
One second I’m standing there, shoulders tense, hanging on to that control by a thread, and the next—I feel my fist slamming into the wall, the deep bone-cracking thud of my hand coming in contact with the wall echoes through the room.
“Hedid what?” I roar, spit flying from my mouth and splashing against my cheek.
I stagger backward, my chest heaving, and my hands twitch as I try to figure out what to do with them—hit something else, tear something apart, grab someone. My whole body vibrates like a live wire sparking at the ends. The tiny red pills are supposed to help me remain calm and should’ve taken full effect, but there is nothing to stop the rage from roaring through my bloodstream, feeding the fire, uncoiling all the fury I’ve managed to keep choked down for years.
The anger consume me, hitting me hard in the chest like I was sucker punched. It keeps building and building, moving along at full speed and quickly becoming something I cannot control. I should try harder. Fight harder to clamp it down so I can finish my conversation with Remy, but I can’t. Not this time. Usually, I can feel it coming, creeping in at the edges of my mind, but there was no warning or no slow build-up. Just—boom.
White-hot. Every nerve in my body is lit up like a sparkler. Breath? Gone. Thoughts? Shattered. Nothing but uncontrollable rage consumes me. Ugly, snarling,feral. It claws up my throat, burning like fire behind my eyes. Can’t think—can’tstop. I don’t want to. Hands clenched. Nails digging into my palms. Still not enough. More, more, more.
I need to move, to destroy something. Anything to cause destruction so the inside and outside are the same. The wall. The chair. My knuckles. Doesn’t matter. I need it tohurt. I pull my fist back and slam it into the wall a second time. And a third. And a fourth.
“Hecalled in a favor to get me on the team? He thinks he can fix everything with a goddamn job? After everything he’s done to me?” The words barely make it past my teeth, abandoning the now-destroyed wall, and I sweep my arms across the nightstand, sending everything crashing to the floor.
Not enough. It’s not enough. Everything feels too tight. Too wired. Too full of fire and like I’m being burned alive from the inside out. A red haze has settled over my mind. Everything isred. Everything is abouthim. Alwayshim. That smug, manipulative bastard—always pulling strings, always pretending it is to help someone else. No. Not this time.
“Cole! What the fuck is going on there? You need to calm down.”
I laugh, but it doesn’t sound like me. The sound lacks any warmth. It sounds sharp. Hollow. Unhinged. “You tell him to stay the hell away from me!” I scream, voice cracking on the last word. “I’d rather never step foot on the ice again than owehima single goddamn thing!”
