Page 25 of Beneath the Surface

Working on autopilot, I moved around the rink, trying to find the best angles. It would be better if I were on the ice, but I could barely skate—much to my dad’s endless disappointment—and even if I could, I didn’t trust my camera to stay safe around flying pucks and big men with big sticks.

When I felt as if I had a decent range of images, I connected my camera up to my laptop to begin sorting through them. I zoomed in on an action shot of Grayson, his blue-gray eyes narrowed in concentration behind the cage of his helmet. They were so fucking intense, so focused. My heart stuttered in my chest. It was as if he was looking into my soul, although I knew he’d actually been focused on one of his teammates-turned-temporary-opponent.

The players began filing off the ice, my dad clapping Grayson on the back, a beaming smile on his face that I couldn’t recall ever being directed at me. “Well done, son. Keep up the good work, and the conference title will be within our reach.”

Son. I bit down on the inside of my cheek, scrolling through the photos on my laptop in an effort to make myself look busy. Why did I have to care so much? I should be used to the way my dad acted by now.

A throat cleared. “Will do, Coach. Hey, look. Micah got some good photos of us, didn’t he?”

My head whipped up, my eyes widening at Grayson’s unexpected words. His gaze slid from my laptop screen to my dad.

My dad didn’t even bother to look at the screen. “He has to make himself useful to the team somehow. Not everyone’s born with your talent, as much as I wish they were.”

Fuck, his dismissive wordshurt. I averted my gaze, willing myself to hold it together and not make a fool out of myself in front of the hockey team. Fumbling in my bag for my earbuds, I shoved them in my ears, hitting Play on my music app, and did my best to drown the world out.

Fucking Cross. Why did he have to say anything to my dad, to remind him of what a failure I was in his eyes, as if he needed another reminder?

When I was finally alone, I yanked out my earbuds and let my face drop into my hands.

“Hey.”

No. “Leave me alone,” I muttered from behind my hands.

Fingers curled around mine, pulling my hands away from my face. “I think I get it now.” Grayson’s voice was softer than I’d ever heard it before, and I gritted my teeth as I realized he probably felt sorry for me. Fucking great.

“Get what?” I snapped. I needed to ask Cruz Martinez for some tips on how to project a “fuck off and die” vibe, because my glare wasn’t deterring Grayson at all.

Although, thinking about it, Grayson wasn’t deterred by him, either.

Grayson tightened his grip on my hands, and without warning, he suddenly yanked me to my feet. I stumbled, tipping forward and landing hard against his sweaty chest, a huff of breath punching out of me. Pushing away from him, I rubbed at my own chest, sending him the most savage look I could muster.

“Are you okay?”

“No, I am fucking not! You’re built like a solid wall. Try falling against yourself, see how you like it.” I was aware mywords didn’t make much sense, but I was frustrated and hurt and all I wanted was to be left alone.

“Sorry.” He tugged his lip between his teeth, running a hand through his sweaty hair. “Look, all I wanted was— Hold up. You’re built like a wall, too.”

I stared at him. “Have you taken a puck to the head? Yeah, I’m fit, but I don’t have the build of a fucking hockey player. Much to my dad’s disappointment, which, by the way, thank you very fucking much for reminding him again just how much of a disappointment I am.”

“That was what I wanted to say. I?—”

“Please, just leave me alone. I don’t want to hear whatever you think you have to say.”

“If that’s what you want,” he muttered. “At least I fucking tried.” Turning on his heel, he stalked away toward the locker rooms.

I sighed. “Wait.”

He stopped instantly, turning back to face me, giving me a wary look. “What?”

Steeling myself, I forced the words out. “What did you want to say?”

At that, he came right back over to me, the hardness disappearing from his expression. “I wanted to say that I get it. I get why you hate me now. I’m sorry I didn’t see it before, and I’m sorry I’ve made your life harder.”

My shoulders slumped. “It’s not your fault. If it wasn’t you, it would be someone else. I’m never gonna measure up in my dad’s eyes. Useless at skating, useless at hockey, built like this?—”

“Fucking hell, Micah,” he bit out, slashing his hand through the air between us. “Stop. Your dad’s a fucking fool if he can’t see and appreciate the talent you have.”

A gasp fell from my throat before I could suppress it, because I’d never have expected him to say anything so disrespectfulabout his coach. But he seemed…angry. And not at me. I opened my mouth to say something—I didn’t know what—but he was still talking.

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