Page 95 of Undone

The forwards head back toward us, Holden and I steady in our matching backward movements, tracking them easily. It helps that I know this line, that I’ve played on this line.

Coach Harris had tried to talk to me about it the night before, but I brushed him off with a quick It’s fine. It’s just hockey.

The truth is that these guys were assholes to me from day one. I’d taken a spot from someone they were all friends with, who still lived in their house together. It wasn’t my fault, but they’d blamed me anyway.

So, yeah, playing this team particularly sucks. But it is fine. It has to be.

I’m able to push off one of the guys, knocking the puck away, but another guy on the team grabs for it.

I take off, closing in on my usual position near the net, but Rhys manages to steal the puck, making me pivot like we might all race down. Time is dwindling and we’re too close in score to let this play out longer.

Holden smacks his stick on the ice and Rhys passes to him. He tries to maneuver it toward Freddy, who is easily ready to score—but he misses and it tanks toward a fresh Mt. Hart player I know well. Jake Beauville—a massive, aggressive forward. Just as aggressive kisser.

And skater—considering he’s headed at the net with a strategy of sheer force, puck hitting into the goal as he slams in afterward, taking out Bennett as he goes.

It’s enough to have the entire team up in arms alone, but then Bennett shouts out in clear pain, his body going limp as he curls in, his hands above his head where I realize his helmet has snapped loose.

Rhys shouts, skating over to him as he yells at our coach to bring something, and the panic on his face is enough to make my stomach hurt.

I shake it off, replacing the fear and anxiety with fury and rage, my old comforts.

Holden already has a hold of Jake, his hand in his collar, but he’s looking at me. As if asking me if I want to fight him.

The second I skate forward, Jake’s eyes lock to mine.

But Jake won’t fight me. Which is actually hilarious, considering we shared a drunken sad kiss once in the alleyway of a bar. I’d been in pain, lonely, and the other option had been fighting the cover band attempting Jeff Buckley—instead, Jake had given me someone else to fight: himself. It had spiraled from there.

Now, he’s looking at me almost apologetically. It makes a cruel smile slip across my lips. His loyalty would have been useful when my entire team and coach turned their backs on me. Now, it’s just pathetic.

I toss my gloves off and grab for the other player—Cole, though I forget his last name, landing a clean hit across his mouth that’s enough to send his cage flying.

“A little harder next time, Kane.” He laughs. “Or do you only hit girls?”

I don’t say a word. I give him what he asked for then. I hit harder.

The refs break us up immediately. Fighting is a serious penalty in the NCAA, and I’ve been forgiven too many times according to most scouts or online articles, so it’s not surprising that I’m kicked out from the rest of the game, while the rest of them get a ten-minute major. I’m sure Waterfell is getting strapped with a heavy fine too.

I quickly scan Holden to see if he’s all right. He’s smiling wide, like a scuffed-up golden retriever who took a run through the trash.

“Couldn’t keep it together for one goddamn game?” LaBlanc says as I step onto the bench. I start to step by him, but he grabs my shoulder in a tight grip. “Whatever my daughter saw in you disappeared a long time ago. This is exactly why I want you far fucking away from her. Why I’ve always wanted you far away.”

I shove off him a little too aggressively, but Holden props me up and pushes me to move on forward.

Harris doesn’t spare me a glance, but the weight of his disappointment follows me through the tunnel and into the locker room like a looming shadow.

Chapter 37

Lily

I raise my hand to knock at the door, only after triple-checking that the number on the wall is the same one from Holden’s text.

Paloma looked antsy through dinner, and I wondered if it was because of the missing goalie, Bennett Reiner, or if she might be worried about Toren and Holden too. Once we got back to our shared room, she told me she needed to do something and left.

My feelings weren’t really hurt, but the room was quiet. And Holden’s text from an hour earlier was sitting unanswered. So, to quell my own antsy feelings, I’d slipped out of the room and into the elevator, begging whatever god was out there that my dad would be locked away in his room for the night.

The door opens, Toren standing in the doorway in nothing but a pair of gray sweatpants, his arms and torso and neck covered in tattoos glistening from the hall light.

He looks at me, almost exasperated.