Page 46 of The Spice Play

If I was going to be benched, I might as well start now.

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The sound of the whistle over and over again had forced my nails so deep into my palms I was worried I was drawing blood. I watched as Bryan fumbled his way across the blue line, the puck bouncing off his stick and veeringjustenough to wreck the play before it had even had a chance to begin.

I spent almost the entire game stuck on that goddamn bench, forced to sit and watch and stomach Bryan handing our rivals one opportunity after another, and yet, Coach sent him out time and time again, his eyes barely registering my presence.

But after another ruined pass, another shot thrown down the goddamn gutter, I nearly stood up on my own. Coach was already looking at me, already locked in before I had the chance to scream at him. “Seb, you’re up.”

I grabbed my stick without a word and shoved off the bench, brushing past a heaving Bryan as I stepped past the boards and hit the ice. I couldfeelhis glare on my back,could feel the irritation rippling off of him, but I wasn’t going to waste the minutes we had left thinking about him or the idiotic decisions that had been made that evening. I’d clean up the mess he’d left and let my kid watch me save our asses.

The second we were back in play, everything narrowed to the steady glide of my skates on the ice and the beats of the game.

Once, twice, three times, I tracked the puck and cut through open space until it was just me, our winger Luke, and a single defender in our way. We’d run this in practice time and time again, perfecting it even with my sloppy crossovers, and as the clock ticked down to seconds and we had the puck in my possession again, we dashed into it one last time, but modified to gain the surprise advantage.

A hard pivot. A single, whipped flash of a shot at another winger, and I sent the puck clean sailing across the ice, straight into Luke’s control on the opposite side in a fake-out. Luke drove it home, sliding the puck past their goalie in the smoothest, fastest motion possible.

The buzzer sounded, and just as I looked up at the scoreboard, we tipped over into the win.

The crowd erupted around us, but as if my head was surrounded by wet cotton, everything felt far away. I barely felt the excitement. My teammates surged around us, clapping me and Luke on the back, shouting their celebrations louder than the crowd, but the bitterness of itstung.

Yes. This was a win. But it didn’t feel like my win, not when Coach had spent three-quarters of the game ignoring me just to keep Bryan on the ice, nearly costing us that win. Not when I’d been told I’d be on the ice tonight and allowed, for thesecondtime, Matty to come on a school night. Not when I just wanted to go home.

I shoved my way to the boards and stepped off the ice, barely remembering to throw my blade covers on and spit out my mouthguard before Bryan was in my space again.

“Nice shot,” he bit out, his jaw jutting toward me as his arms crossed, ballooning out his shoulder pads. “Shame it took you… What was it, four tries?”

Words flew before I had time to put a filter on them. “Are you seriously going to spit that shit at me when you failed to run a single?—”

“You fucking that nanny of yours?”

Bryan, always, constantly, had a way of digging straight in unprompted and unexpectedly, and this was no different. It took me far too long to fully register what he had said, what he hadasked, and the relevance of it made so little sense that I almost had to ask him to repeat himself.

But I was sure I’d heard him correctly. Positive.

“What the fuck does that have to do with this?”

It was the worst possible answer I could have given, and I cursed myself for not thinking for even a second about it. It wasn’t a yes but it absolutely wasn’t a no, and a wicked grin spread across his lips, the crowd chantingAtlanta Fire!fading so far into the background I was worried I’d gone deaf.

But he spoke again and I heard him clear as day.

“That’s your problem, Blue,” he laughed. “Your brain’s too preoccupied with her cunt to focus on practice. You’re fucking over the team because you’re lost in daydream after daydream about getting your dick soaked by some half-decent flame desperate enough to watch your kid just to sleep with you.”

I took a step forward, driving him back just a few inches toward the bench. I couldfeeleyes on me, could barely hear the sound of a whistle, but I didn’t care. I wanted this teamto work together, yes, but I wanted his fucking head impaled on my skate more. “What’s your excuse, then? As far as I can see, Isavedour asses from your sorry plays.”

His jaw twitched as he clenched his teeth, his crossed arms nearly close enough to touch my chest pads.

“There’s a reason Coach pulled you out and subbed me?—”

“And there’s even more of a reason you were benched to begin with,” he spat. His half-dry, sandy brown hair clung to his forehead, cracking and loosening each time his brows moved. “You act like you’re this savior when you don’t evenhaveto be here. We’re playing our hardest to keep a spot on this team and get paid for doing what we love. Andyou…”

He pulled off his helmet in frustration, dropping it onto the bench beneath him in a clattering heap.

“Youare fucking made of money. You do this forfun.”

That was certainly not at all where I had thought his anger was coming from. It took me by surprise, enough to shut me up for a moment, enough to make me think back over every aggressive move by him —he’s upset because I have money? That can’t be right.

“Bryan,” Coach snapped, but neither of us cared enough to listen to it.

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