Page 62 of Unsteady

Still, Toren Kane is tall—not quite as hulking as broad framed Bennett, but close; probably pushing close to 6’6”. As a captain, his size and obviously honed physique should make me happy to have him on first line defense, standing in front of Bennett.

But the only thing I feel is hatred—a foreign, unwelcome well of it.

The silence of the dressing room is deafening, everyone pretending not to watch us both, their eyes flickering back and forth between us.

“Kane,” I call, gaining some grip on the tsunami within. “We should talk.”

He flickers his eyes at me quickly, before shrugging off his shirt and reaching for a Dri-Fit undershirt from his bag.

“We can’t pretend nothing happened. If you want to be part of this team, we have to talk.”

I hate this. I hate that I have to be the bigger man here, when he’s the one who ruined everything, but I’m trying. I sink into the numbness, hoping that the thing I hate most will keep me from bashing his teeth in and messing with everything.

Kane glares, pulling the shirt down over his abdomen and shaking out his damp black hair.

“Nothing to talk about, Koteskiy. Get over it already.”

My fists clench, body jerking towards him.So much for numbness.

“Are you fucking insane?”

Freddy snorts, coming to stand by me. “Certifiable, from what I’ve heard.”

There’s a slight rise in the tension on Kane’s shoulder as chuckles echo in the room. I remember the news covering the hit had called him a psychopath, that he’d shown no remorse, only kept repeating the same sentiment over and over.

“It was a clean hit,” he says.

“Bullshit.”

“He’s fucking crazy.”

“Clean hit, my ass!”

A chorus of support and disbelief rings from behind me.

The weight of the words I want to say—but can’t—feels suffocating, and for a moment I’m Atlas. Ready to drop the entire weight of the world from my shoulders if it means only a minute of relief.

Still, I refuse to drag any of them down. Refuse to see pity in their eyes or, god forbid, their laughs at my pain’s expense; their disbelief in my ability to lead them, even if I’ve lost that belief myself. How would any of them look up to a captain, and trust me to lead them, if they knew every second on the ice I’m fighting an internal war?

“Clean hit?” Freddy jumps in, crossing his arms as he steps forward. “Your own team, hell yourown coach, wanted you out for that.”

“Refs said it was clean. I didn’t do anything. Grow the fuck up.”

Bennett grumbles at that, his voice still quiet, but thundering in the locker room because it’s rare that he really speaks out. “Take some responsibility for yourself.”

Kane’s tan face flushes red with anger, his eyes narrowing as he takes us all in, realizing he’s cornered.

“I’m not here to fight.” He smirks. “Off the ice, that is. I’m just here to play fucking hockey.” He shrugs again, continuing to unpack and make himself comfortable.

Something about the casualness of it, as if he didn’t end my season, could have easily ended my life, ignites me.

I shoot forward, slamming my hands into his chest, tipping him back into his cubby and knocking his head back against the top shelf.

“This is my fucking team. Show some respect.”

“Fuck off,” he sneers, smirking again like he’s daring me to really hit him.

I slam my fist in his face like a knee jerk reaction. No one will stop me or pull me back. If anything they’ll join in. This is my team.

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