Page 69 of Tutoring Mr. Hotshot

Liam spits toward my feet. He opens his mouth to throw out some other type of bullshit when a loud whistle cuts through the room.

We turn to find Coach frowning at us all. “Break this shit up. What’s going on in here?”

“Nothing, Coach,” Liam answers as I reply at the same time with, “They’re pissed about the photos.”

He nods. “I can imagine some jealousy over Andry getting ice time with those guys might be too much for some of you to handle. I can’t imagine any other reason you’d feel the need to comment on those photos.”

Several of the guys duck their heads. It’s obvious they don’t like being called out for their homophobic bullying.

“They all wanted to talk about the kiss,” I hear from one of the other players not in the circle in front of me. He pushes his way forward until he’s at the front. I recognize him as Dretti, the guy I noticed on my first day who I thought I’d grow close to.That didn’t happen because I got all wrapped up in Rodney.

He continues on, telling everyone, “They were being assholes about everything being too gay for them. It was phobic as fuck, Coach.”

The man before us straightens to his full height. “If anyone has a problem with there being ‘gay shit’ going on around them needs to speak up now. I won’t stand for any hate on this team. A little competitive rivalry is good, but not this crap.”

I feel the group start to back down, though Liam looks pissed. He’s not going to let this go. I’d bet anything he’ll simply decide to take his next hit somewhere not related to the team.

Guys like him hate not having the last word.

When no one replies to Coach, he nods to us all. “Get dressed and on the ice. It’s time to get to work.”

He leaves us to do as he says. It’s a level of trust some of these guys don’t deserve.

I ignore them all to focus on my own stuff. Letting them get in my head before practice is not good. They don’t deserve my attention. If they keep talking shit about my little genius, I’m going to show them why they shouldn’t have. I won’t let them get away with it for long.

Coach’s warning won’t matter next time.

During practice, they make sure to pass me the puck just often enough for Coach to not call them out for ignoring me. It’s annoying given I’m the best player on the team. The less they use me, the worse we do overall.

Given its practice, it’s not as big of a deal as it will be during a game. But I’m of the firm belief that practice should reflect what we plan to do when it really does matter.

We’re also not supposed to play full out during practice. You wouldn’t know it with the way the other guys are slamming me into the boards. I’m big enough to be able to take it, though I shouldn’t have to.

The third time it happens, I skate past Coach and throw him a look. It says,‘I’m done fucking around.’

He gives me one back that screams understanding. It’s like he intends to turn a blind eye on things if it gets rough.

Which is exactly what happens a few minutes later.

I’m slammed into the boards again. This time, instead of shaking it off, I turn around and slam my fist into Liam’s face. He collapses onto the ice, his body crumpling with the blow.

The rink turns silent at the crash. It amplifies the pitiful sounds he makes as he scrambles to stand again.

I lean over him, my voice menacing as I threaten him in my mother language.“If you so much as breathe a negative word about my little genius, I will have my uncle use your intestines as decoration for his office. You will be nothing more than an example to all those who cross us.”

He can’t understand a word of what I’m saying. None of them can.

Yet it’s obvious there’s enough anger in my tone to get the point across. Liam crawls away to his friends, who watch from the side as he pushes up to a standing position. They don’t dare help him for fear of getting the same treatment.

Practice ends right after. I’m not sure if it’s from the altercation or because Coach just knows there’s no point anymore. Either way, I’m happy to be done.

Another minute with these guys, and I’m going to lose everything. I’m in trouble as it is.

Coach yells for me to join him in his office. When I step inside after my shower, he motions for me to close the door.

Once it’s sealed and the blinds are closed, he smiles at me. “That was a beautiful hit,” he tells me.

I laugh at his amused expression. “Thanks, I think. I really thought you were about to lecture me.”

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