Chapter 5

I watchedKenji leave and was torn between following him or giving him space.

He wasn't wrong about Dad, but his words stung like a slap to the face, and I'd wanted so much to hug him close and tell him that worrying about him was my business because I cared. But I couldn"t tell him that. Not now. Not in this world where being thoughtful was some marker that made me wrong, and different, and not the kind of mean-ass hockey player everyone wanted me to be. I hated to think what would happen if I showed vulnerability to anyone, or if a stranger saw me hugging Kenji, or heard me telling the vibrant kid who'd cut himself off from me that I understood some of what he felt?

I didn't have the right to criticize Kenji at all.

But I cared about him, however much people told me I shouldn't, and ever since… when I'd found him making himself sick…

I cared about him.

"Shaun! Move yourself!" Dad shouted.

I ignored dad. Thinking about when Kenji's dark eyes had met mine at first, and for a moment, I thought we could talk, and I swear I saw a flicker of the friend I once knew. But any connection had been quickly replaced by a guarded expression, and then, the anger, and me saying things I shouldn't have.

Why did I bring up what I saw?

Why mention it?

The need to protect him, to make him see it was all wrong and hold him close, was a dangerous thought, but I couldn"t deny all the emotions making me burn inside, and I couldn"t stand by and watch him suffer in silence. I was angry with him for shutting me out, and frustrated at my stupidity, but I owed it to him and our shared history to at least try. Maybe, just maybe, I could reach out to him, without exposing my secret to him or to anyone else. Kenji deserved better than the isolation he seemed to be drowning in, and I couldn"t let my default to fighting get in the way.

"Jesus, Shaun! Pay attention!" Dad shouted. His harsh tone cut through my thoughts like a knife, snapping me back to the present and away from standing like an idiot staring at a closed door. Great, I'd stood still for too long, and now I was tense, could feel the stiffness in muscles that had cooled during my moment of distraction. Dad was going to be pissed—more pissed than he was now—and that was the last thing I needed today.

I took a deep breath and attempted to shake off the cold that had settled over me. Losing that warmth in my muscles could mean trouble on the ice, and it took some time to ease into practice and regain any fluidity of movement. It was like trying to thaw frozen gears and get them running again, and god, did Dad know that I'd fucked up. Case in point, his running commentary.

You lack determination.

You're weak.

Push harder.

At least, he hadn't pulled out his usual comment on how much he'd sacrificed. Still, I owed Dad for the early mornings, driving me everywhere, the equipment, and the time he gave up to work with the school team. Forget about Kenji. Focus on myself.

I clenched my fists inside my gloves, determined to prove to Dad, and myself, that I was trying, and that it didn't matter how much I wished I could hug Kenji and be there for him. Finally, I could think of nothing but my skates, and the ice, and hitting pucks from angles other NHL wannabes would never try.

Which is exactly how things should've been.

Physics wasone of my favorite classes. Not only was it a subject that had always intrigued me, but Mrs. Anderson, our teacher—a middle-aged woman with corkscrew curls and a loud laugh—had a perpetual air of excitement about her subject and a way of explaining complex concepts that made them almost seem simple.

I loved this class.

So why was I staring out of the window? Why couldn't I get my head into the lesson when I knew damn well that the next time we were in this class there was bound to be a pop quiz.

Why couldn't I get Kenji out of my head?

The topic of the day was Newton"s laws of motion, and Mrs. Anderson was describing the third law to the class.

"Shaun Stanton!" someone called, and I snapped back into the room. "And the third law is?"

Shit. It was something to do with object A pushes or pulls on Object B with a certain force, and blah blah. What in Hell's name was wrong with my head?

"Sorry, Mrs. Anderson," I apologized, as she peered at me over the top of her scarlet glasses and sent me a look; the one that made me feel like an idiot.

Which I was.

Because my rambling thoughts about how I'd messed up with Kenji, and hockey, and my future didn't belong in the classroom.

"Pay attention, Shaun. Can anyone else… Felix Sinclair?"

I glanced at my fellow hockey player, who cocky as hell, laid out the entire third law from memory, then smirked at me. Ass. A good friend now that he'd gotten his head straight and fallen for Soren—a talented skater, but an ass.

"Very good, Felix. So, when…"

My mind drifted again, and my fingers found the edge of my notebook. I started scribbling in it, creating spirals, jumps, and lines that seemed to take on a life of their own. In my imagination, those lines were all about the third law, pushing off and stopping, turning into the graceful movements of skates on ice, gliding effortlessly across a frozen rink. It was a world away from the physics equations on the whiteboard.

Suddenly, Mrs. Anderson"s voice broke through my reverie. "Shaun!" I sat up straight. "Care to share what"s so fascinating in your notebook?"

My face was red with embarrassment. "Sorry, Mrs. Anderson. I was distracted."

The class snickered. Felix and Soren loudest of all.

Mrs. Anderson crossed her arms over her chest, and I swear she tapped her foot. "An essay on the third law, on my desk by Friday, two thousand words, and try to stay with us for the remainder of the lesson."

Shit. This was what I got for losing focus, essays on top of coursework and everyone chuckling at my misfortune. I nodded, feeling sheepish, and forced myself to focus on the lesson once more, closing my notebook with determination, only to open it again when I realized I should take notes. When the class ended, I gathered my things and scurried out of the classroom—eager to escape the embarrassment of being called out and the chance of Mrs. A catching me—darting away from other students piling out of rooms and hurrying around the corner.

And collided with someone smaller, lighter, and way too easy to knock over. It was like crashing into a fragile vase amidst a sea of sturdy books, and boy were those books flying.

Kenji. Sprawled on the floor, his expressive dark eyes wide as he gazed up at me with a mix of surprise and shock. He looked so little down there, fragile almost, tiny in his school uniform, and my heart raced as I extended a hand to help him up.

"Kenji, shit. I"m sorry," I stammered, feeling a rush of guilt for sending him tumbling. "Are you okay? Did I hurt you?" I had to have hurt him. I was a foot taller, and god knows how many pounds heavier.

He accepted my hand, allowing me to pull him to his feet, and straightened his clothes with a nonchalant air as sniggering kids walked past, taking pleasure in someone else's embarrassment. I sent them the hardest glare I knew, but clearly I wasn't doing my best at being intimidating when they kept grinning. Kenji's initial surprise soon gave way to anger. He stared up at me with narrowed eyes, his lips pressed into a thin line, frustration in his posture, his body tense and his shoulders squared.

Kenji"s voice carried a sharp edge as he confronted me, his annoyance clear. "Shaun, the fu—seriously? Did you even look where you were going?"

I blinked, taken aback by the question. It was a valid inquiry, considering it was my lack of attention that had led to our collision, but I was lost for words as I checked Kenji for injury.

"I did… I was… sorry…" My irritation at being an idiot mixed with embarrassment. "I had a lot on my mind…"

"You freaking giant, people can get hurt!" Kenji"s expression didn't soften as he picked up his books, Felix stopping by us to help him. I should help Kenji, but when I leaned down, he yanked the nearest book away from me.

He brushed himself off, and I watched him leave. I was the tallest and the biggest in this hallway, and somehow, I wanted to shrink into myself. I was a hockey player, I was built to be strong, and hip checking bigger men than me would all too soon be in a day's work.

Only Kenji was so small, so fragile… fuck… I was a freaking huge-ass immoveable monster.

"Kenji!" I called after him, but he raised a hand and gave me the finger.

"You okay?" Felix poked me in the belly, and I was aware I hadn't moved from the spot where Kenji had bounced off me.

"Sure," I said, without meaning it at all. "You think he's okay?"

People began to slope away to the next class, and I needed to move.

"Kenji?" Felix glanced at the corner around which Kenji had disappeared. "Yeah, sure." Although, he didn't sound convinced. "He's small, and you're…" He waved at me. "You."

"Exactly."

"He knows how to fall, Cap, he's had worse on the ice."

I followed Felix to the next class, ignoring his pointed glances until he stopped me with a hand on my arm.

"It's cool you wanna come with me, but I don't think you're in my Calc class."

Shit. What was wrong with me today?

"Heading that way." I gestured in the distance and carried on walking. I think Felix mumbled something like, "Sure, Cap."

And I was late to the next class when I had to double back after the coast was clear, which got another teacher glaring at me, and another class of kids chuckling at the big stupid hockey player.

Great.

"Your dad'son a call with Mr. Bryant," Mom said the moment I walked through the door, barely having removed my coat and taking the time to hang it up and get my thoughts straight. This didn't bode well because Leo was, in his words, a sturdy wall that would stand between me and the rest of the world. Which, to my dad's dismay, meant getting between him and me. Leo wasn't pushing me to go into the draft when I was eligible or telling me I needed to go to college and work my way to the NHL that way. Dad had gotten over being pissed at Leo, over the moon that I'd finally done something right and snagged the attention of an agent from the team who worked with some of the guys on the Harrisburg Railers.

My dad's dreams had begun to come to fruition—as long as I did what Dad wanted and didn't listen to Leo at all.

Leo was more than just a guy who negotiated contracts and handled the business side of my potential hockey career, he was the person who was challenging me to think long and hard about what I wanted to do.

Take up the chance of attending a specialized boarding school, where hockey was everything, push hard for scouts and the NHL draft next year, and end schooling straight away.

Or stay here and wait another year.

Of course, Leo didn't know about me being bi. Hell, the only person that had any idea was Mom, and even then, it wasn't something we talked about. She just accepted me for who I was and worried every time my dad started using slurs about any hockey player not pulling their weight. My dad was intense. He had this idea of what a real man was, of what my career should look like, and he pushed, sometimes too hard, and occasionally I pushed back, but it was easier to back down. That was where Leo stepped in, a calm, steady force who told my dad what happened next, within reason, was my choice.

My career.

My life.

When Dad had spent our last meeting shouting his expectations and telling me I wasn't working hard enough, Leo was there to intercept, which I knew would cause me trouble after he left, but in the moment, it was everything. He had this way of handling Dad—firm, but respectful—making sure I could focus on the game and not get bogged down by pressure, but he also rode my dad to the point where his temper would snap and it would be me who endured that anger, even if Mom tried to get in the way.

"What are they saying?" I asked.

She tucked a stray blonde hair behind her ear and shook her head. "I don't want to listen…" She pressed a hand to her chest, and I winced. I knew how anxious she ended up when Dad was angry, and given the level of shouting, that was what was happening.

"Was Leo calling for me?"

"No, your dad called him…" She pushed\ a letter across the counter, and I didn't have to read it to know that it was another letter from Standings St John, detailing a scholarship as generous as it was short. The good players who ended up going there were the ones destined for draft, and most were in and out in two years, getting a place in the Junior Hockey League draft, then straight on to the NHL.

"The letter was addressed to me," I said, my tone dead.

"Your father doesn't mean to do the things he does."

I folded the letter and pushed it into my pocket. "Yes he does, Mom. He knows exactly what he's doing."

The office door slammed open, and Dad stormed out, Mom taking a few steps toward me, but I waved her back.

"Why did you open my mail?" I demanded as soon as I saw him.

Dad came right up into my space, his expression thunderous.

"You need to make a choice," he snapped at me. "You're fucking things up."

"I'm not going to Standings St John," I began, and he bristled.

"You're not old enough to get to decide for yourself!"

"I am, Dad." After a growth spurt over the summer, I was the same height as him now, six-foot, but broader and stronger, too, and I confronted him. My hands were shaking, fear rippling in me that I was even doing this, but I was done with today.

He snarled. "Who do you think you are?—"

"And if you're not careful, when I turn eighteen, you won't have access to anything I achieve. No money."

"I don't want your money."

"Yeah, but what about no dad trips with my NHL team, no kudos from the media for being a great hockey dad. You want to lose that as well?"

He opened his mouth to say something. I expected his disapproval, and the hate-filled words he threw at me that he called encouragement, but muttering, he backed away.

"You could have been great," he snapped.

"I'm not leaving. Yet."

Because my mom would be on her own, with my dad, who thought the world owed him something, and because being up at dawn to the Chesterford ice, was my way of watching over Kenji.

I was determined that Mom would never know I stayed for her.

And as for Kenji—he didn't know it, probably wouldn't care if he did, and he hated me for what I'd seen.

None of that mattered.

I wanted to be the one who made everything right. I wasn't going anywhere.