Page 51 of Triple Play
Because all I can see is Jordie leaning into Elise in the kitchen. All I can hear is him saying those words:I want to fuck Elise.
I want to hit him.
Want to slam him into the boards so hard he sees stars. Want to make him hurt the way I’m hurting.
Which is fucked up because I’m the one who walked away. I’m the one who ghosted her for two years. I’m the one who lost the right to be jealous.
Doesn’t stop me from feeling it anyway.
The team starts filtering in around five-forty-five. Joking, chirping, the usual pre-practice energy.
Jordie’s one of the first. Because of course he is. Golden boy doesn’t do late.
He sees me. His smile falters for half a second.
Good. He should be nervous.
“Morning, Cap,” he says. Careful. Testing.
I don’t respond. Just skate past him to center ice.
Coach Patterson shows up at six on the dot. Blows his whistle. “Line up. We’re running drills.”
We do. Passing drills. Shooting drills. Defensive positioning.
I push them. Push myself harder.
But it’s not enough.
The anger is still there. Simmering. Building.
When Coach calls a water break, I don’t take one.
“Grant.” His voice cuts across the ice. “A word.”
I skate over. He’s looking at me with those sharp eyes that see too much.
“You good?”
“Fine.”
“You don’t look fine. You look like you want to murder someone.”
“I’m fine,” I repeat.
He studies me. Then nods. “Alright. But whatever’s eating you? Leave it off my ice. We’ve got a game Saturday.”
“Yes, sir.”
He skates away. Leaves me standing there with all this rage and nowhere to put it.
Then Jordie laughs at something one of the guys said. Loud. Easy. Like last night didn’t happen.
Something inside me snaps.
“Line up,” I call out. My voice is cold. Flat. “We’re running suicides.”
The team groans. But they line up anyway. Because I’m captain and they listen.
