Page 75 of Puck My Stepbrother
“It does.”
“Then what’s your excuse? How can you possibly defend the change in your play we’ve all seen out there?”
I said nothing. My temperament hadn’t changed. I’d just quit caring about the things that used to matter to me. Before, hockey had consumed my entire life, though sex ranked a close second. Even that had only been a source of extra fun. And then Quinn had walked back into my life. Sex became better than ever. Of course, I understood that my relationship with Quinn meant a lot more than just sex.
Before, I hadn’t known a single thing about love. In fact, I would’ve considered even thinking about it as something for saps. And then I understood what I felt for Quinn Standish—what I’d always felt for that little ginger-haired nerd—and experienced a change of heart.
Actually, he’d turned my world upside down.
For the first time ever, I hadn’t gotten what I wanted. No, that wasn’t completely right. For the first time, I hadn’t gotten what I wanted after pushing seriously hard to get it. I wasn’t used to sitting anywhere else but the driver’s seat for these situations, so this whole ordeal felt so foreign to me.
At no other time had my wants affected other areas of my life. Hockey had always been hockey. It existed on its own plane, separate from my physical passions. And I’d never experienced an emotional passion like this until now.
But could I tell Coach Hardison that? Judging by his expression, that was a resounding no.
“So you know,” he said, “I’ve only cut you the amount of slack I have because you’ve been such a tremendous player. That, and I expected you to get back on your feet.”
“What changed?”
“Now I’m starting to wonder if it’s even possible for you to get back on your feet.”
Honestly, I didn’t know what it would take to get back to normal, either. In fact, I doubted I could even do it.
I understood why I was struggling: I couldn’t stop thinking about Quinn. There was nothing more to it. He’d consumed my every waking thought ever since we moved into the same house.
And I knew Coach Hardison hadn’t been kidding around. Sure, he yelled at me and the other players on the ice all the time. Nothing strange about that. But speaking to me in a normal tone of voice in his office indicated something different. It felt like a parent addressing you by your full name.
He was staring at me. He must’ve figured I had all the answers to my shitty play, and I was just holding out on him.
But nothing other than Quinn Standish mattered to me.
He’d played hard to get. No, he’d playedimpossibleto get, but I knew he didn’t feel that in his heart. He needed me to bring him around, but I still hadn’t figured out how to do that.
“Look, I know where your heart is,” the coach said, “and I’d like to think that you can get back to being the player I know you are. You just need a little push.”
Fuck you, jack, I thought, wanting to actually say it out loud in the worst way.
Instead, I said, “And what kind of push is that?”
“I’m just going to have to lay it out for you, tell you how things are, and see if you smarten up.”
Somehow that felt worse than him screaming at me on the ice. When that happened, I knew I’d screwed up, and I could easily fix it. Sometimes I needed some motivation or a kick in the ass. That was hockey. This felt a lot more serious than any of that. It was really about Quinn. Unlike hockey, I couldn’t control the situation by focusing more or playing better. Fate would force me to play the hand it dealt me.
“Let me put it to you this way, Levi. If we lose because of your play, there are going to be consequences.”
“What kind of consequences are we talking about here?”
He paused, like he didn’t want to say it unless he absolutely had to.
“I didn’t want to threaten this, not unless I had to as a last resort. If the Larkin Lions lose because of your poor play, I’ll have no choice but to cut you from the team.”
His words pierced me like a dagger. His voice barely registered with me because I felt so stressed, and yet I heard him loud and clear. I’d taken my share of ass-chewings from him and other coaches, but none had ever threatened to cut me from the team before.
My tongue sat on the floor of my mouth. My lips felt frozen. I wanted to protest in the worst way, but I couldn’t.
“And you know what will happen if you’re cut from the team,” he said.
“I’ll lose my scholarship.”
