Page 132 of Released from the Sin Bin

She and her boyfriend graduated from here last year, and just like everyone here, he wasn’t my biggest fan. He dumped jugs of water over my head more times than I’d like to admit for every time I lost my temper.

One by one, the guys come out, ready for drills and whatever else the coaches want to do with us.

Willa is the last to come out. I glance away once her face comes into view, and the crack in my chest widens.

Avoiding her should be easy. We usually avoid each other during practice and games so as not to appear that we’re dating. Or just fucking.

Half way through, I take a break for water. I’m not playing my best, and I'm getting frustrated.

“Carter.” Willa comes skating over.

I close my eyes, getting a whiff of that cherry blossom body wash she uses. Opening them, I see her for the first time since I left her room. Her eyes are puffy with a tinge of red at the corners, but that doesn’t detract from her natural beauty.

She reaches out to touch my arm, but thinks better of it and pulls it away.

“I’m sorry.” This time, her hand touches mine resting on the ledge of the wall. “Can we talk later? You didn’t answer my text this morning.”

I hadn’t even looked at my phone, but I wouldn’t have answered if I saw it.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” I look away, trying to find anything else to focus on before I change my mind. “It’s going to be a long day.”

We have several more hours of training to go. Several more hours of Willa whipping the guys and myself into shape. A full day left of watching her completely in her element, bossing me around.

“Please.” Her voice is the sound of my heart splitting open.

My thumb lazily rubs her palm. I shouldn’t say yes. It will only lead to one thing, but I can’t say no to her. Never could.

I open my mouth to agree, but her hand quickly drops from mine.

Alex comes over and I’m reminded why we’d never work out.

“Hey,” he says, pulling her attention away. “I hate to ask, but…” he pauses to look at me.

It’s clear I’m not welcome in this conversation, and I skate away to work on progressions they have us doing next. Skating across the blue line to lose myself in working out.

“Head up,” Willa orders as I line up. “Get low,” she encourages when I start off. “That’s it. Keep your stick down. Again.” She blows her whistle and I line up to go one more time with a puck she drops at my feet. “Please,” she whispers before moving away, begging me to speak to her.

I glide the puck from one side to the other before lining up again, and Willa starts me off.

“Quick release.” She moves with me, passing the puck back and forth. “Faster,” she orders with a blow of her whistle to start again. “You’re better than this.”

I go through another round, tired and frustrated with every command and every blow of her whistle.

She keeps on me, waiting for me to talk to her. That’s what it’s all for. Baiting me to say I’ll meet her in the parking lot to talk privately.

My grip tightens on my stick as she has me go again.

“It’s all in your head. I’ve seen you do better.” She puts the whistle to her lips, but I’m done.

I’m over this shitty day. Another crack sears against me.

With a loud groan, I lift my stick and bring it down, breaking it over my knee. Tossing it up and over the glass.

“Pierce,” Coach Renan shouts and whistles to summon me over.

“Fuck this shit.” I head straight for the locker room.

Looking back, Willa stands in the spot I left her, shaking her head, disappointed that I’m letting her down.

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