31. ARAN

CHAPTER 31

ARAN

" R odriguez, what the hell is this?"

It's not so much the question as it is the anger behind it that clears some of the fog from my brain. I'm sitting at my assigned bench in the locker room at the arena belonging to our first regionals opponent. The whole place vibrates with energy from the crowd. The locker room buzzed until the moment Coach Green strode in with his phone held high, his face red, and his nostrils flaring.

I fumble with my jersey until I manage to slide it down all the way. That's when Coach shoves his phone in my face and I freeze. Every molecule in my body just turns to ice. Except for my heart. That bastard races fast.

Someone posted an Instagram video of a couple kissing in the St. Cloud library. But it's not just any couple. It's Maddie and me, the first time we kissed. The angle mostly captures me in the act of, well, basically eating her mouth like dessert. My hand's tangled in her hair. Hers are cradling my face, and my body is arched over hers.

For a week and a half, I've been so careful. Half the guys on the team basically became my bodyguards to keep Kelsey and Co away from the facilities and me. Even despite her newest attempts at contacting me, I managed to avoid her.

Of course my lies would catch up to me right when they'll hurt the must.

"You must've thought I'd never find out, huh?" Coach removes his phone from my face, and everything about his expression tells me I'm done for. Sure enough, he confirms it by saying, "You are officially benched."

"What?" Archie springs to his feet. "Coach, you can't?—"

"I can, and I will!"

Noise explodes around the locker room. The prevailing comments stem from confusion.

Edwards, of course, preens like a damn rooster. "Aw, yeah. My time to shine has come." And if he didn't look so damn surprised, I'd suspect him of doing this.

But no. It must've been Kelsey. Maybe she overheard Coach's threat that time. She certainly saw the drama between Maddie and me go down. She knew this would hurt the most.

"Coach." Archie slides up to the man, speaking lower. "We're already down Amadi. We could lose this game without Rodriguez."

"We had a deal, son," Coach says to me, ignoring my assistant captain's pleas. "You broke it, so there will be consequences." Spittle flies from his mouth as he screams the words at me, pointing his finger accusingly.

As Coach turns, probably to tell the refs about the player change, Archie hits my shoulder. "Dude, don't you have anything to say?"

But all I do is shake my head. For the first time in my life, I wish I could talk, but words refuse to come out.

Of course I deserve to be punished. I went behind Coach's back. I played a game with Madeline Berkley that neither of us was truly ready for. I tried to have my cake and eat it too. I deserve to be kicked while I'm already down.

I finish suiting up by rote. As the captain, I still have to sit on the bench. The entire way out, the guys try to pry anything out of me, but I can barely focus on moving one skate first and then the other. The cold in the arena has never affected me until this moment, as I skate out just for the national anthem and back to the bench.

It's like I'm here but I'm not. Because my mind is on Maddie. And how embarrassed she must be feeling after this video was posted online.

And how she cut me out of her life, and now I have no hope of getting back in it.

And how much I hate it.

"First line, go out there and salvage this. Webber, don't let them score. Don't let your captain's mistakes ruin the rest of the season for you, do you hear me?"

The weak round of yes, sir stirs me. The guys look uncertain. But there's no time to even think about how to reassure them. The game starts, and I can tell from the moment the puck drops that this is the real punishment. Sitting on my ass out here, having ruined the team's mojo without even lifting a finger.

Anxiety starts building up in a way it never does when I'm on the net. My knee bounces. I can feel sweat pooling in my mitts and under my clothes. It's not that the other team is that much better; it's that we're in disarray. The first line doesn't carry the puck far enough without slamming into the other team's defense. And every time we lose the puck, Edwards overreacts about the littlest things.

I know the moment they're going to score on us before the rest of the guys do. When the buzzer goes off, only three minutes into the first period, Coach Green rips off his baseball cap and slams it onto the floor. As if maybe he's regretting his life choices too.

The puck is back in play after the cellies. There's something extra aggressive about the game now that we're down one. Two of our guys check an opponent against the boards hard, raising deafening booing from the crowd. One of the other guys tries to clear the puck and shoots it too high. My body moves by itself, and it takes me a moment to process that I just caught the flyaway puck barehanded from the bench.

My hand squeezes it hard as the play stops, and the memory of that conversation with Coach slams into me like a physical blow. Back then, I asked him if he'd hurt the team to teach me a lesson, and now it's clear he sure as shit would. And pin the full blame on me, as if he wasn't the one with the power and the full responsibility.

I tear my mask off and yell above the crowd's noise. "So you'd really see us lose this game, throw the whole damn season away, because I was seeing a girl?"

Coach looks from the puck in my hand to my face. "You're shitting me, right, Rodriguez? This isn't about some girl. It's about you not keeping your head in the game!"

"My head was fully in the damn game before you messed with it." I drop the puck back onto the ice in a full display of anger. "I have the highest save percentage in the division. And guess when I played my very best game? When I was with her!"

He jumps to his feet to push open the door to the tunnel. "Well, I don't give a shit. You broke my rules. You don't deserve to be on my team."

My throat already feels raw from screaming, but I don't care. I don't care about anything but the rage and frustration and the pit that sinks deeper and deeper in my gut. I, too, get on my feet and look down at Coach Green.

"Why the hell do I need to abide by different rules from the rest, huh? Why is it okay for the rest of the team to fool around and do whatever they please while I can't even fall in love? Why can't I have a normal life? Why do I have to work so much damn harder?"

"Because you're different! Because guys like you have to work so much harder to prove to everyone else why you deserve a spot."

"What the hell does guys like me even mean?"

But we both know. Guys like Amadi and me. Guys who don't look like everyone else.

Coach's expression shifts the moment it hits me, and he tries to change tack by adding, "And on top of that, you're the captain. You're supposed to lead by example."

I'm not listening because the buzzer goes off again, and I don't need to see who scored with the way the whole place seems about to go down.

"Great, so you tried to teach me a lesson about how hard the world is for brown kids, as if I already didn't know that. Boo freaking hoo."

His face goes red. "Of course I didn't?—"

"But if I'm the captain, then what are you?" Coach and I are breathing hard as we square off. I point toward the ice. "You could've blown up on my ass after we won this game, but no. You had to put me in my place in front of everyone and make a damn mess of tonight, huh? Please tell me again how this is supposed to help me."

"Don't you dare speak to me like?—"

"Oh, I'm sorry. Let me say it more nicely: teaching me a lesson wasn't more important than the team. How's that for being the freaking captain?"

I push the door so hard it slams against the board and walk off the bench.

"If you walk away?—"

"What?" I glare over my shoulder. "You'll kick me off the team? Good luck explaining that to the team and the boosters."

As I head to the hallway, I'm aware of many pairs of eyes on me. Blood roars in my ears. I let out my anger in a burst when I'm alone at my locker, throwing my helmet at the bench so hard it leaves a dent. And then I hit the locker with my stick for good measure.

I stand there, shaking from head to toe.

I'm the absolute stinking worst. She was right. I really wanted to have my cake and eat it too. I fooled myself into thinking what we were doing wasn't anything like dating and that no one would ever have to find out. Steps One and Two of my plan were a total bust the second I caught her making notes about me. I was drawn to her like a moth to a flame, and now I'm burning.

Because I'm in love with a girl who is obsessed with strawberries and writing and knitting and making me say please and thank you —and I realize now that I lost her while trying to keep something I already had.

Hockey will be there for the rest of my life, even if today's game is my last as a St. Cloud Thunder Bolt. I will never give up on this game, because I know I belong in it. And I'm not going to let assholes like Edwards and his connections, or Coach Green and his white savior complex, bring me down. But I gave up on her, even though, deep down, I knew I belonged with her.

I drop a mitt onto the floor and rub my eyes. This thing in my chest that's squeezing my lungs until I can barely gasp for air feels a lot like that night at the hospital after Luz took the hit.

I was just a nine-year-old kid, and I didn't understand a lot of what was going on, but I did get very well acquainted with a sense of loss. Pure dread filled me up, and I didn't know how to deal with it. So I lost my shit. Just absolutely went on a rampage in an ER waiting room, hitting chairs and people and myself, until they had to sedate me.

Somehow, I feel as if I've skipped all that now and I'm already sedated.

I feel nothing as I sit back on the bench. My ears barely register the noise from the stands above. I lean back against the closed locker and shut my eyes, wishing I could just sleep.

Is the rest of my life going to feel like this? Empty. Nauseating. Distant.

I can't.

That can't be it.

The door bursts open, and Assistant Coach Thomas sighs in relief when he sees me. "Oh, praise be. I thought you'd walked off the premises." He jerks a thumb behind him. "I cooled the hotshot down, and we're subbing you in."

"Why?"

"Because Edwards's friends in high places won't get him to actually catch a puck tonight. We need you, captain."

I rub my head. "I don't know if I can."

"What's that you said in an interview once?" He makes air quotes with his fingers and says, "‘When I'm in the net, I don't think; I just am.' Some real philosophical crap that we're now banking on."

"Have I always been such a clown?" I mumble.

"C'mon, Rodriguez. Time to stop moping. Take care of your team first, and once we win this game, you can take care of whatever this mess is."

A plan.

Maybe that's what I need. A new plan. After all, I'm a numbers guy. And that sounds like a good one to me.

New Step One: win this game.

New Step Two: avoid Coach, deal with him later. Or never. Whichever one's easier.

New Step Three: …

That one stays blank for a moment. I drove an hour to some barn wedding in the middle of freaking nowhere so I could explain myself to Maddie, and she shut me down basically on sight. She's determined to get over me, and probably more so after this whole video leak.

But she needs to not see me so she can forget me, which is exactly what I don't want. Something hot explodes in my chest and imbues my limbs with renewed energy.

New Step Three: set up camp at the library until Madeline Berkley acknowledges my existence.

I jump to my feet and grab my mask and stick. To make it to Three, I first have to make it through One.

"Let's go," I say.