Page 43 of Married As Puck
Murmurs ripple through the room. Keith frowns. Jack leans back in the corner, smirking like he’s watching a show.
Coach’s eyes sweep the room as he continues, “If I catch anyone pulling stunts, you’ll be suspended until next season. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Coach,” the voices mumble.
I stare at them to assess their expressions, but no one looks guilty, just a bunch of blank faces and sidelong glances.
After most of the guys clear out, Keith stays back.
He comes up and we fist bump. “Why didn’t you mention it to me first before going to Coach?”
“How did you know he was talking about me?”
“I figured because I saw you march into the locker room before he walked in.”
“I wasn’t sure about what was going on until this afternoon.”
“You’re not wrong though. Something’s off and you’re the target.”
I stiffen. “You noticed too?”
“Yeah, I saw it in your game. You were second-guessing before making a pass and that’s not you. Somehow I feel like you’ve set yourself up for more sabotage by making Coach send out the warning. It shows that you’re affected by whatever the person behind this is doing.”
“l couldn’t sit still and just ignore it. I almost got injured during warm-up. I took a risk by going ahead with practice because I wanted to prove to myself that something like that won’t weighme down. Guess I was wrong,” I mutter, kicking the bench. “Out there, it felt like someone was predicting my move before I even hit the puck.”
Keith frowns, scanning the room which is slowly getting filled with my other teammates walking in. Then he leans closer. “Stay alert. Don’t let them see you lose your cool. Whoever it is, that’s what they want.”
He’s right. Everything that’s been happening recently has been targeted at getting me off the rink for good.
“Any idea who?” I ask even though that seems unlikely.
He shakes his head. “Doesn’t matter. Just keep your guard up.” I was hoping he’d say Jack, but I guess he doesn’t want to fill my mind with crazy ideas.
He pats my shoulder casually, “I gotta run now. I have an errand I need to run before sundown. See you tomorrow.”
I sit there for a long time, staring at my skates. The laces are uneven, not the way I tied them. Somebody touched them again after Coach’s warning yesterday. Keith was right. Whoever this is…is having the time of their lives messing with me.
I used to come here to escape from my demons and lose myself in the game. Now I’m looking over my shoulder, waiting for the next screw-up. When will things go back to the way they were?
The next day, I double-check everything. I lace my skates twice. I redo the tape on my stick myself, never letting it out of sight. I even shove my gloves deep into my duffel and not the usual spot.
Still, once I’m on the ice, something’s off. Half a pair of my left skate feels too tight.
I stumble in a drill and crash into the boards. Someone snorts.
My blood surges as I feel the fury burn in my veins.
“You think this is funny?” I shout across the ice.
“Whoa, chill, man!” Keith calls back, his hands raised.
Coach’s whistle rents the air. His looks right at me. “Cut it out, Cameron!”
I want to scream and tear down the rink until I catch whoever’s doing this. Instead, I go through the rest of practice, teeth clenched and that voice in my head reminding me that I have to watch my back.
Mid-practice on a Saturday and practice still feels off.
We’re scrimmaging hard, sticks clashing, blades cutting lines into the ice. My legs are on fire in a good way, that burning that usually clears my head but today it doesn’t work. Instead, something old and ugly creeps in, like a shadow hovering over me. It has a voice––my pathetic dad’s voice.
