Page 39 of Ricochet

Opening my bag, I take out my toiletries and go put them in the bathroom. Chances are, after the night I’m about to have, I’m going to come back to this room too damn exhausted to unpack. Not to mention I won’t want to wake Callum.

When I come back into the room, he’s still standing at the foot of his bed, staring down at his bag.

I try to ignore whatever internal crisis he’s dealing with, moving past him. I unpack my phone charger and plug it in, thenput a few of my clothes in a drawer before tossing my half empty bag onto the armchair beside my bed.

I can’t take the silence any longer. I can’t take Callum’s quiet turmoil that’s filling the room with a suffocating unease.

With nothing left to do and barely a few minutes killed, I go to leave the room.

Callum finally moves, stepping in front of me and blocking my path to the door. “Stone, can we—”

“No. Get out of my way.”

His brows draw together, more confused than angry at my animosity. “We have a game tonight, and I really think we should—”

“We should play exactly how we used to. Hate me. Hit me. Whatever you need to do. Forget everything else because the game is more fucking important.”

It hasn’t escaped my notice that we play better together when Callum hates me, when there’s only one emotion he’s focused on instead of whatever else he’s been feeling since he showed me his scars that night of the party. Since the night we both saw a little more of each other than maybe we should have.

If I have to make his life a living hell inside this room, then that’s what I’ll do.

Is it fair when he’s done nothing wrong? Of course not. But it also might be the kinder thing to do.

I don’t want to be the reason for more of his distress.

Hate is easier. Hate is kinder.

“Now, is there anything you need to do before I leave this room?”

He sighs and shakes his head. “I’m not going to hit you.”

“Fine. Then get out of my way.”

Get out of my way before I can’t fucking control myself again.

He steps to the side and lets me pass.

I exit the room, leaving him alone. Once the door is closed, I lean my back against it and take a steadying breath.

I don’t feel good about treating Callum like shit, but…

Hate is kinder.

Unfortunately, my attempt at gettingus back to how we played a few weeks ago was in vain.

We lost.

Spectacularly.

The final score was four to one. I’m surprised we made even one goal. Of course, that one point came from a penalty shot after Nate was hooked on a breakaway in the second period. Other than that, our team walked away with the most penalties.

Okay, fine.Iwalked away with the most penalties.

I was in a shitty mood after my argument with Callum and seeing that it didn’t have the intended effect. Our pre-game practice went even worse than the ones we’ve had at home these past couple of weeks.

During the game, I spent more time in the penalty box than I did on the ice. Massachusetts was brutal, finding every chance they could to throw shoulders or crunch our guys into the boards. It didn’t matter who went down or if it resulted in a penalty on their player. I retaliated.

Cross-checking. Roughing. Tripping.

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