Page 108 of Overtime
He jumps to his feet to push open the door to the tunnel. “Well, I don’t give a shit. You broke my rules. You don’t deserve to be on my team.”
My throat already feels raw from screaming, but I don’t care. I don’t care about anything but the rage and frustration and the pit that sinks deeper and deeper in my gut. I, too, get on my feet and look down at Coach Green.
“Why the hell do I need to abide by different rules from the rest, huh? Why is it okay for the rest of the team to fool around and do whatever they please while I can’t even fall in love? Why can’t I have a normal life? Why do I have to work so much damn harder?”
“Because you’re different! Because guys like you have to work so much harder to prove to everyone else why you deserve a spot.”
“What the hell doesguys like meeven mean?”
But we both know. Guys like Amadi and me. Guys who don’t look like everyone else.
Coach’s expression shifts the moment it hits me, and he tries to change tack by adding, “And on top of that, you’re the captain. You’re supposed to lead by example.”
I’m not listening because the buzzer goes off again, and I don’t need to see who scored with the way the whole place seems about to go down.
“Great, so you tried to teach me a lesson about how hard the world is for brown kids, as if I already didn’t know that. Boo freaking hoo.”
His face goes red. “Of course I didn’t?—”
“But if I’m the captain, then what are you?” Coach and I are breathing hard as we square off. I point toward the ice. “You could’ve blown up on my ass after we won this game, but no. You had to put me in my place in front of everyone and make a damn mess of tonight, huh? Please tell me again how this is supposed to help me.”
“Don’t you dare speak to me like?—”
“Oh, I’m sorry. Let me say it more nicely: teaching me a lesson wasn’t more important than the team. How’s that for being the freaking captain?”
I push the door so hard it slams against the board and walk off the bench.
“If you walk away?—”
“What?” I glare over my shoulder. “You’ll kick me off the team? Good luck explaining that to the team and the boosters.”
As I head to the hallway, I’m aware of many pairs of eyes on me. Blood roars in my ears. I let out my anger in a burst when I’m alone at my locker, throwing my helmet at the bench so hard it leaves a dent. And then I hit the locker with my stick for good measure.
I stand there, shaking from head to toe.
I’m the absolute stinking worst. She was right. I really wanted to have my cake and eat it too. I fooled myself into thinking what we were doing wasn’t anything like dating and that no one would ever have to find out. Steps One and Two of my plan were a total bust the second I caught her making notes about me. I was drawn to her like a moth to a flame, and now I’m burning.
Because I’m in love with a girl who is obsessed with strawberries and writing and knitting and making me saypleaseandthank you—and I realize now that I lost her while trying to keep something I already had.
Hockey will be there for the rest of my life, even if today’s game is my last as a St. Cloud Thunder Bolt. I will never give up on this game, because I know I belong in it. And I’m not going to let assholes like Edwards and his connections, or Coach Green and his white savior complex, bring me down. But I gave up on her, even though, deep down, I knew I belonged with her.
I drop a mitt onto the floor and rub my eyes. This thing in my chest that’s squeezing my lungs until I can barely gasp for air feels a lot like that night at the hospital after Luz took the hit.
I was just a nine-year-old kid, and I didn’t understand a lot of what was going on, but I did get very well acquainted with a sense of loss. Pure dread filled me up, and I didn’t know how to deal with it. So I lost my shit. Just absolutely went on a rampagein an ER waiting room, hitting chairs and people and myself, until they had to sedate me.
Somehow, I feel as if I’ve skipped all that now and I’m already sedated.
I feel nothing as I sit back on the bench. My ears barely register the noise from the stands above. I lean back against the closed locker and shut my eyes, wishing I could just sleep.
Is the rest of my life going to feel like this? Empty. Nauseating. Distant.
I can’t.
That can’t be it.
The door bursts open, and Assistant Coach Thomas sighs in relief when he sees me. “Oh, praise be. I thought you’d walked off the premises.” He jerks a thumb behind him. “I cooled the hotshot down, and we’re subbing you in.”
“Why?”
