Page 117 of The Hat Trick

“Do you guys share outside the team? I know some of my guys wouldn’t mind showing your slut what a good time actually is.”

“What the fuck are you even going off about?” I snap at him.

“That slut, Chandler, that’s all over the news.”

I swear at that moment I get tunnel vision. I can’t see or hear anything else around me hearing this asshole say her name. Calling her a slut. Saying these things about her when he shouldn’t know who she is.

Without thinking, I’m on him, fists are flying. I don’t remember throwing off my gloves and grabbing him as my fist pounds his face. His helmet flies off in the assault and he continues to try to defend himself and hit me back. He gets a few in, but I’m too enraged. I vaguely hear the commotion around us, including some of my teammates getting involved in their own scuffle.

There’s pounding on the glass and from my teammate’s sticks on the bench. I refuse to let up, despite the refs trying. I’m too pissed. Too focused, I’m almost convinced I could kill this guy. We go down to the ice and I rain my fists on him. There’s blood on the ice, my knuckles are surely busted, but I don’t give a shit right now.

Finally, I’m yanked off the guy and watch him sputter and spit out more blood on the ice while I’m still yelling. I’m brought over to the penalty box, and he’s taken back into the tunnel. I’m panting and still can’t see straight from my anger. How the fuck does he know anything about her and how dare he say something about her.

Collee skates over with my gloves, stick and helmet, handing them to me while I continue to fume in here. “What happened?” he asked.

“Motherfucker knew about Chandler. Called her a slut and said something about everyone knowing about her. Us.”

Collee’s face falls. “Fuck,” he mumbles, “get through the game.”

“How the fuck am I supposed to focus on the game if what he’s saying is true?”

“Maybe it’s not,” Collee snaps.

“Then how would he know?!” I yell.

“I don’t know. Focus on the game right now.” He leaves me, and the game continues.

Even when my penalty is over, I’m unable to completely focus on the game, not when I know my girl is hurting right now. I wonder if she’s here or if she’s watching. I have never wished for a game to be over so bad. I need to get to her. Whatever is happening I know I need to fix it.

At the end of the first period, I’m racing back to the locker room to get to my phone and call Chandler. Before I make it there, McQuaid is grabbing my jersey and slowing me down. I rip his hand off me, not giving a shit about what people might be thinking about me right now.

“What is your problem, man? You’re acting like…well me,” McQuaid says, furrowing his brow like he just had some sort of realization about himself.

“There’s a problem with Chandler and I need to talk to her.” I rip away from him again to get to my phone.

There’s a text from her and it makes my heart lurch. It was sent right before the game so I can only imagine how shitty she must be feeling now having her text go unanswered.

“What the fuck, Dumont?” Coach snaps. “I saidendthe fights, not start them. You’ll be lucky if you get out of that one without a fine.”

“With all due respect, Coach, I don’t care. That guy was saying shit about my….” I trail off realizing that guy knew more things than he should, and I don’t exactly know how.

“Your mom? What Dumont?” Coach asks.

“My girl,” I mumble, opening Instagram where I have notifications turned off because they drive me insane and that’s when I see the headline on the first post. “Fuck!”

My entire team is staring at me right now, clearly just as lost as I am, and for the first time I’m not sure who in this room I can trust. No one knew about this, but it got out somehow. I finally text Chandler back.

Vince: Are you okay baby? Talk to me.

Chandler: I’ll be fine. Focus on your game, Vince.

I sigh, it doesn’t matter that she’s telling me to focus on the game, I know there is no way in hell I’ll actually be able to. The rest of the team has hesitantly gotten back to their usual intermission activities, but Collee and McQuaid come up next to me with shared questioning looks on their faces.

“What is actually going on?” McQuaid whisper yells.

I show him the post and watch his face turn from shock to anger. “Who the fuck would do this?”

“I don’t know, no one knows except us.” I shake my head.

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