Page 16 of Born of Ice

A twisted thought crosses my mind, would it be that bad? Maybe I should be thrown out. They don’t need me like this! They don’t need this shit every fucking game and I can’t seem to stop. All it takes is one spark. One small look or word and I’m off the fucking hinges.

It’s as if I need that punishment. Need someone else to hate me as much as I hate myself.

And just like that my already sour mood turns downright vile.

Fuck this shit. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. I was supposed to be free of my past. So why the fuck does it keep haunting me.

“Here to report for punishment,” I say the moment I step through the door. Coach Hill’s office is the true testament to how brilliant Outlaws are. We’ve won a few cups over the years and countless games as a whole, and standing in here now seeing all of it is like a knife to the heart.

“And he still thinks he’s fucking hilarious.” Coach shakes his head at me, and I hang mine as my foot stars a nervous tap dance on the floor.

No, in fact, I don’t think I am at all. I simply don’t have much of a filter or self-preservation. Not when that rage is still strong and potent in my blood.

“I’m done with your shit, Exton.” He delivers with dead calmness, the kind the sends ice over my blood. “What the fuck is going on with you this season?”

“Nothing.” My voice is barely audible as I give him the same answer I’ve repeated for the past four months.

“Nothing,” he mocks me. “If you think I’ll sit here and beg you to tell me what that ‘nothing’ actually means”—he air quotes me—“you are shit out of luck. Because in my book nothing isnothing and if that’s the case then you are no longer valuable to Outlaws as a player. We don’t need nothing here, we need everything!” And the knife twists.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean? I’m the best defender in the league! I was a first-round draft pick. I score more than any other defender out there—”

He interrupts my speech with his even tone. “And yet here we are. Losing to a lesser team because of your best self. Sending Zima to a hospital because of your best self. Having half the team bruised and beaten up, because of your best self.”

“Coach, you don’t mean…” I trail off, terrified to even utter the words I’ve taught out loud because for the first time in my life, I’m terrified. Yes, I might be cocky as shit but that’s because I know how good I am. I know my worth as a hockey player and if that is taken away from me…I don’t even want to entertain that thought.

It’s the only thing that keeps me afloat. The only thing that keeps that hatred and anger at bay. And if I lose that? What then?

But haven’t you already? Look around, Axe…

“That’s exactly what I mean, Exton.” He lets out a heavy, tired sigh and my heart sinks. “You know I love you like my own. But I can’t help you if you refuse to tell me what’s got you twisted into an angry pretzel these days. And I just won’t put up with this childish attitude anymore.”

“Coach, you can’t kick me out! My contract—”

“Is being discussed by the team owners as we speak.”

Boom.The last string that was keeping me alive, is broken and all I feel is this crushing sensation. This never-ending fall.

Fucking hell… Now what?

The urge to punch something is strong. No, that’s not the right word, it’s overpowering my senses, and I feel my fists curl up tightly as my mind fills with red.

Some call this anger issues…I call it coping mechanism.

“But…” he says, and my head snaps up immediately. “We have a deal for you.”

“What kind of deal?” I ask, my voice high on skepticism. If they offer me to warm the bench and be a “vegetable” kind of player—that’s what I lovingly call our reserve players—they can go fuck their deal right off.

“Exton, meet Stella Gray.” Coach extends his hand to his right side where that same scary woman with a pixie cut sits on the couch. How the hell did I miss her being in the room until now? But now that I know she’s here, I feel her assessing gaze on me, peering inside my very soul in search of what, I have no idea. But I’m sure I don’t have it.

I’m made up of hockey, anger, and a good dose of self-hatred. That’s it. And unless that’s what she needs from me—which I doubt—I can’t be of help.

“Stella, I’m sure you’ve seen enough already, but here istheExton “Axe” Quinn, per your request.” Per her request?

What the fuck?

The question must be splayed all over my face because Coach chuckles silently.

“What’s going on here? And who are you exactly, Stella Gray?” I fold my arms, assessing her from top to bottom like she is doing to me.

---