14. Chapter 12

Nothing like having to come to practice only to sit in the stands as the rest of the team runs drills to get ready for the Frozen Four. It's like pouring lemon juice on a papercut. At least we ended up winning against the Serpents but only by one point.

What makes it worse is now I can't pretend, can't fake that I'm better because the diagnosis is official. Multiple rib fractures. So, I'm out the rest of the post season. I don't get to play in the biggest game of the year.

I pull out my phone to check for any messages from Killian before entering the locker room. He has a meeting with his coach. Can't say anyone was happy finding out about our relationship.

Okay, that's not true.

My parents were all right with it, though they would've much preferred meeting my boyfriend under different circumstances than at the hospital. Mom finds it hysterical we've beaten the shit out of each other.

But Killian's team's been icing him out. Not all of them. Though, they all did make it a point to be clear it wasn't about his sexuality, that it was about me.

Like I didn't see that coming.

I tuck my phone back into my pocket since there are no new messages, and with a long sigh enter the locker room.

Viktor's glaring, still pissed that Alexei and Eli knew about my "sexy times" with Killian and he was kept in the dark. Knight and Walsh, on the other hand, were angry at first because they thought I was taking it light on Killian during the game.

Then Eli had to blabber how I'd known something was wrong with my ribs from the Cornell game. Now they're mad at me for hiding an injury and letting the Cornell asshole get away unscathed.

Petrov scoots over and I grit my teeth against the flare of pain as I ease myself onto the bench. "Eli's bringing dinner later. Wants to know if Blackwell is stopping by."

"Not sure. Haven't heard from him yet."

Viktor whistles. "Your boy toy's in trouble, huh? Can't help that we knocked them out of contention."

I just wave him off, then turn to Walsh and Knight, the latter of which just grabs his stick and walks out of the locker room. He's still pissed at me. Walsh, however, nods in my direction. "How you holding up?"

"I"ll live. Just sucks missing out on the big game."

Viktor throws a wadded ball of used tape at me. "We'll win it just for you, then you can tell me who the bottom is."

I roll my eyes when he waggles his brows. The idiot has been bothering me to find out who to add to his little chat group since the game.

"You'll be out there next year." Walsh taps my foot with his stick before heading to the ice.

I watch each of them go until the locker room is empty. I want to be out there with them, want to feel the burn of my muscles as I push myself to the limit. Want to taste victory.

But I can"t. And it"s killing me, bit by bit.

I sit back and rest my head on the wall, closing my eyes as I linger for a bit, not ready to head out and sit in the stands just yet. I pull my phone out to check it again, hoping for a distraction from the dark spiral of my thoughts.

"Reed."

Assistant Coach Buckland stands in front of the closed door. There"s something in his expression that sets me on edge, more so than usual.

"Coach Nieminen already chewed me out about hiding the injury, don't need to hear—"

"Shut the fuck up. We both know you're using your ribs as an excuse to cover for taking it easy on your little boyfriend." He spits the last word like its poison, his lip curling.

I stand, my hands balling into fists. "You don"t know what the fuck you"re talking about."

Buckland scoffs, stalking closer to get right up in my face. "Don"t I? Between you and Petrov, seems like sticking your dicks into ass effectively neutered the both of you. Or do you two faggots take it in the ass?"

I bare my teeth, dropping my phone to take a swing at his head, but he weaves, then his fist collides with my already battered ribs, the pain so intense, it sends me crashing to my knees.

"What's wrong? Does it hurt too much?" He spits on me, then laughs. "If I"d known I"d be coaching a team full of cocksuckers, I never would have taken it."

"My father will never—"

"You think I'm scared of your daddy? No, he got me this job because he owed my family a favor. Yeah, that's right. Dear old dad owed us a favor."

"Fuck you." I try to stand, only he throws a kick to my upper body that knocks me back down. "What are you even talking about?"

Buckland"s face twists into an ugly sneer. "A few years ago, your dad falsely accused my sister of stealing from his precious company. She was one of his accountants. She went to jail for three years, all because he didn't look further into the situation. Believed one of his friends, the real culprit. And when she finally got out, when the truth came out and she was exonerated? It was too late. She was never the same, never fully recovered."

I close my eyes, trying to catch my breath. But every inhale sends pain shooting through me like shards of glass filling my lungs. Still, I try to remember back. Sure, there were times things were tense at home because of work. Nothing more than usual.

"She tried to kill herself," he whispers, his voice thick with a twisted sort of glee. "Slit her wrists in the bathtub. And you're just like him, another entitled prick who thinks he can do whatever he wants without consequences. Well, guess what? Your free ride ends now."

He punctuates each word with a kick to my body. I try to crawl away, to shield myself from the onslaught, but he"s relentless.

Merciless.

And he just keeps hitting me, keeps kicking me. I curl in on myself, my arms wrapped around my head, praying for it to end.

"You cost me a lot of money, you little shit. Had a big bet riding on that game." He grabs my hair, yanking my head up. "Does your old man know he raised a fucking queer?"

My chest crackles with every breath, the fractures no doubt full breaks now. But I'm not going down without a fight. Fuck him and his misplaced blame and his thirst for vengeance.

I swing my arm, my fist connecting with his cheek. "You homophobic piece of shit."

His head snaps to the side, a look of shock and fury crossing his features. But it"s short-lived. Before I can even blink, his knuckles split my lip, filling my mouth with the coppery tang of fresh blood.

He stands, looming over me. "You and your friends think you run this team. Delusional pieces of shit. Doesn't matter how much money you have—someone will always get to you if they really want to."

His foot connects with my face in a burst of blinding pain, stars exploding behind my eyelids. "Now your father will know what it felt like for my family. He"ll know what it"s like to watch someone you love suffer."

As the darkness closes in and the pain swallows me whole, my last thought is of Killian and those honey-brown eyes. And how I'll never get to tell him how I feel.

That I . . . love him.