Page 67 of The Tape Job
I bet Johnny told him not to say anything. Before I think about the consequences, I charge over to Johnny and check him mid-ice, causing him to keel over. Then I toss my gloves, ready to go.
“What the fuck, man?” he says, looking up at me, his ass firmly planted on the ice.
“Get up!” I yell, grabbing at his sweater and pulling him to his skates. I let him balance himself before taking a swing for him. He ducks and then backs away.
“Fucking fight back, you fucking …”
I want an even fight, at least. But then the air changes, and the rest of the guys gather around, trying to break up whatever this is. The next voice I hear belongs to Coach.
“STOP!”
I don’t know what’s more frustrating: Johnny refusing to fight back, or my brother pulling at my sweater, prying me from Johnny.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Coach Adams is between Johnny and me, acting as a barrier. “Get him off the damn ice. Now,” he says, directing Ryan to lead me off.
As I head back to the bench, I spot Vicky. Her eyes are on me—staring, mouth agape. And the look I give her, I’m sure, does not emphasise how pissed I am.
“What the hell was that about?” she asks as I walk past, but Ryan keeps pushing me onward.
I’m sick of all of this. Games. Secrets. Lies. It’s exhausting. I’m exhausted. And I thought we were getting somewhere after our talk last night, and now this.
Ryan pushes open the dressing room door and shoves me back into my cubby.
“Sort your shit out,” he says, before he backs away, exiting as quickly as we came in.
The door swings open a few moments later, and I’m half expecting Coach to be the one walking through, ready to ream my ass, but it’s Johnny.
“What the fuck was that?” he asks.
“Sorry. I didn’t get a punch in. You’re supposed to be bleeding.”
He scrunches his face up and whips his helmet off. “What the fuck is going on, Lee?”
“Why wouldn’t you tell me you knew why Vicky called off our wedding?” I keep my eyes on the floor. I can’t even bear to look at Johnny. He’s enraging.
“Oh. That.”
“What do you mean ‘Oh, that?’” I’m ready to take another go at him.
“How—”
“Bettsy.”
“Fucking, Bettsy,” Johnny says.
“No. Atta boy, Bettsy. You should have told me if you knew because Vicky wasn’t going to. I deserve to know!”
“It’s not for me to tell. Besides, I promised her I wouldn’t.” He shrugs. It’s like he doesn’t even care.
“It didn’t stop you telling Bettsy, though, did it? You’re supposed to be my best friend. You know what?” I stand up. “Don’t speak to me.”
I undress, completely blanking out whatever shit is coming from Johnny’s mouth. I head for the showers with a towel wrapped around my waist, leaving him standing there, desperate for acknowledgement; he hates being ignored asmuch as I do. I hear the door to the dressing room open and slam shut; minutes later, it opens and closes again. But I carry on showering, and then I can feel someone standing near the door.
“Leave me alone, John—”
“What was that about?” Vicky asks.
She takes me by surprise, and it doesn’t exactly help that I’m standing here naked.
