Page 52 of Racking Up Penalties
Liam reels back, and for a split second, there’s shock written all over his face, a mirror of my own disbelief. But then his brows furrow and he lunges at me, sending us both sprawling onto the ice. Our gloves come off, and we’re throwing punches, each hit a release of pent-up tension and frustration.
We grapple, slipping on the slick surface, our blows fueled by years of rivalry and a lifetime of unspoken pain. It’s not about hockey anymore; it’s about every snide remark from Dad, every time Liam walked away with the win, every moment I felt like I wasn’t enough.
Our teammates shout, a cacophony of voices that blend into the background. I barely register them, my entire being focused on Liam, on the fight, on the desperate need to prove something, anything, even if I don’t know what it is.
But as we trade hits, clarity begins to cut through the red mist of my rage. What am I doing? Why am I letting Dad’s poison seep into this?
I hesitate, my next punch losing steam mid-air, and it’s enough for Liam to notice the change. He stops too, both of us panting, our chests heaving, eyes locked in a silent conversation in the chaos we’ve created.
Skates slice the ice as bodies crash into us, tugging at my jersey and prying Liam away. Coach’s whistle pierces the air, slicing through the muffled sounds of the arena like a knife. I’m yanked back to reality.
“Enough!” Coach’s voice booms and the rink falls silent, every eye on us. “Matthews, Johnson, what the hell do you think you’re doing?”
The tension hangs thick, a tangible force that makes my pulse race and my breath come in shallow gasps. I can see the disappointment etched deep into Coach’s face—the man who gave me a chance when he recruited me to Eastwood.
“Separate them,” Coach orders, and the team obliges, forming a barrier between Liam and me. My hands drop to my sides, the anger seeping out of me, leaving an icy hollow in its wake.
“Matthews, bench. Now.” His tone brooks no argument, and I skate toward the sidelines, the weight of his disapproval heavier than any check on the ice.
I take my seat on the cold metal, the heat of the fight rapidly dissipating in the chill of the arena. My eyes fix on the scuff marks on my skates, the white tape around the blade dull and frayed. This isn’t how I wanted to start the season, not with my knuckles raw and my heart sinking.
The realization hits hard—I’ve messed up, and this time it’s not just a missed shot or a penalty. It’s bigger. Dad’s harsh words echo in my head, his constant critique, his impossible expectations. I realize that it’s his anger I’ve been carrying, his loyalty I’ve been clinging to, even when it’s cost me everything.
This might have cost me Tessa.
“Should have kept your cool, Matthews,” Coach says, his voice cutting through my thoughts. He doesn’t look at me, his gaze focused on the team warming up on the ice. “You’re riding the bench tonight.”
“Coach, I—” I start, but what excuse do I have? None.
“Save it,” he cuts me off. “Your head’s not in the game. Not with that attitude.”
I watch, sidelined, as the rest of the team glides over the ice, their movements fluid and sure. No one talks to me or checks in.
“Let’s show ‘em what we’ve got!” Coach rallies the team, and they respond with a unified shout, their energy igniting the air. But I’m not part of it. I’m here, on the bench, a spectator in a game I should be playing.
The Zamboni finishes its rounds, leaving behind a glistening surface. As the players take their positions, I lean forward, elbows on my knees.
Pretty sure my dad is going to kick my ass after this.
But there’s tomorrow and the next day. I’ll find a way to make things right, to mend the broken ties with Liam, to prove to Coach—and to myself—that I’m more than my father’s son.
I won’t lose Tessa.
Chapter 24
The chill of the arena seeps into my bones, but I hardly notice it over the buzz of excitement that thrums through the crowd. The seats are a patchwork of purple and white, swarming with students and fans ready for the season’s opening hockey game. Audrey and Emma are right beside me. Audrey’s knee is bouncing up and down, a mirror to the nervous energy that I feel.
“They’ve been practicing so hard for this,” Emma leans in, her voice barely audible over the clamor around us. Her green eyes shimmer with pride, and she clutches her handmade sign decorated with the names Alec, Luka, and JD in glittering letters.
I nod and grab Tristan’s hand.
“Go, Miles!” Audrey shouts suddenly, waving at her brother who skates by the glass, his smile lighting up the rink as he spots us in the stands.
Miles’ best friend Reed skates by next and I notice Audrey blushes.
Tristan squeezes my hand gently and I offer him a bright smile.
He came straight from football practice so his hair is still damp from the shower. It’s sexy and I wouldn’t mind pulling him into a hallway and getting some kisses.
