Page 63 of The Players We Hate
Maybe that’s why I hated myself for it. For seeing her like that and still walking away, acting like it hadn’t meant anything.
And now, watching her across the ice, I recognized it all over again. The tight way she held her shoulders. The polite smile that didn’t reach her eyes. The steel she tried to show, but underneath, the same sadness.
Through the glass, I caught sight of the girl who had once kissed me like she needed me to hold her up. Now she stoodthirty feet away, stiff and distant, like I was just another stranger.
Coach’s whistle cut through the air, sharp and final, the sound bouncing off the rafters. Practice was over. A couple of guys groaned as they slowed to a stop and coasted toward the bench, sticks dragging, and helmets coming off.
Nobody looked relieved, though—least of all Gavin.
He was the last one off the ice again—same as yesterday, same as the day before. Earlier this week, he blamed his ribs, but now his hand kept going to his knee. A quick wince before he covered it. Always guarding that left leg. Careful, but not careful enough to sell it. And when he thought no one was looking, he skated fine. No limp, no hesitation, nothing.
And now we were paying attention. Every single one of us.
Rowdy pulled off his mask and leaned against the boards with a heavy breath. “Guy’s got a lower-body injury, right? Then why did he look fine during the power play scrimmage?”
“Because he was fine,” Owen muttered beside me, voice low. “He only started limping when Coach looked his way.”
A few guys nodded, cutting glances toward Gavin. He was crouched by the tunnel, pretending to retie a skate that didn’t need it.
The tension was spreading.
“Anyone get a straight answer from him yet?” someone asked.
“He told me it was a sprain,” Levi said. “Yesterday, it was a pulled muscle. Now it’s a bruised knee. Either the kid’s made of glass or he’s full of shit.”
“More like scared of something,” Owen muttered. “You saw how weird he got when Wren showed up. He couldn’t even look at her.”
I followed their stares. Wren was still near the assistant AD, voice low, face unreadable. Gavin, on the other hand, looked like he couldn’t get out of his gear fast enough. Practically shaking as he rushed to the tunnel.
I pulled off my gloves, jaw tight. Something was wrong. The guys were restless, losing trust. I couldn’t just stand there and wait for it to explode.
As captain, it fell on me to handle it.
The locker room was quieter than usual after practice. Normally, there’d be music blasting, guys chirping each other, laughter echoing off the walls. Today, it felt like everyone was holding their breath.
Gavin sat on the far end of the bench, hunched over as he worked at his laces with shaky fingers. His hair stuck to his forehead, and he hadn’t said a word since we left the ice. Not even the usual half-assed “good practice.”
I waited until the room thinned out. Rowdy had already bolted for food, and Owen trailed Levi out the door mid-conversation about protein shakes. Then I crossed the room.
Gavin flinched when he saw me coming. Not a good sign.
“You got a minute?” I asked, keeping my voice low.
“Yeah,” he said quickly. Too quickly. “Yeah, of course.”
I dropped onto the bench across from him, leaning forward on my knees. I let the silence hang until he started shifting.
“Guys are starting to talk,” I said. “About your injury.”
His eyes darted down. He shrugged. “It’s nothing serious. Just sore.”
“Is that the same line you’re feeding Coach?”
He swallowed hard and picked at the tape around his shin guards. “I didn’t want to sit out. Thought it would get better on its own.”
“It’s been over a week.”
“I know.”
