Page 25 of Beautifully Broken
“You do, Sis, every time,” Mace says, mimicking my action.
“Fine, you’re right. This is my favorite time with you, don’t take it away from me.” I give my brother my pouty face.
“Ugh, you suck. Maybe we can try doing something else, a hockey game?” He asks with hope, and I don’t want to crush his dreams, but we barely scrape by as it is. Putting a large chunk of money into buying tickets would be hard to come back from.
“You knowI—”
“Never mind. It was stupid to ask, I know we can’t afford that.”
“Mace,” I try again.
“No, Enid, it’s fine. I think I’m going to bed.” He grabs two slices for the road and leaves me alone on the couch for the evening.
Reaching for one of the pillows on the couch that I can scream into, I knock our controllers to the floor in the process.
“Fuck!” I finally get out.
Great. I can’t afford to replace them if I just broke them. Before putting our leftovers away, I assess the damage, and luckily, both are still in working condition. I spend the rest of the evening wallowing until I pass out.
Chapter 5
Conrad
Florida sucks. You got moved here as some sort of divine punishment. My team hates me. I have no friends. I can’t get the girl.The same thoughts repeated over and over again. Threatening to pull me back into the black hole, swallowing me whole, making it impossible for me to claw my way out.
Examining myself in the bathroom mirror, I notice the lack of sleep across my features. Heavy eyes, scruffy beard, and furrowed brows.
“Come on, Hoyer. Get it together. It’s your first game with the Rays today, don’t fuck it up.” I scold myself, gently slapping cold water over my cheeks before grabbing my trimmers to clean myself up before I head to the arena.
Arriving at the arena, I’m buzzing with anxious energy and am ready to skate it out. I dash through security, smiling for the social media girl, and into the locker room where everyone is getting geared up.
As we follow Nik into the tunnels, the sounds of cheers and rambunctious fans echo around us, accompanied by the smells of beers and fake cheese. I let myself take it all in, relaxing and rolling my shoulders before Nik leads us onto the ice as our entrance song booms.
Coach doesn’t put me on ice in the first period, which I expected. I watch as Hart, McKee, and Montez glide across the ice in perfect sync and hope that I will be able to fit in flawlessly.
“Hoyer, get out there.” Coach hollers from down the bench when the second period rolls around and we’ve returned from intermission.
Hopping over the boards and taking my position opposite Collins, I get ready for puck drop.
“Let’s do this, Hoyer,” Dom yells from behind me, and I give him a quick nod of acknowledgment before the ref blows the whistle. Second andthird-period blow by, we work together to protect Hart, allowing him to score three goals—unfortunately, not a hat trick.
I’m following closely behind Hart when a body slams into him from out of nowhere. The impact of him hitting the boards had to have been heard in the nosebleeds. He’s knocked to the ice, but there's no whistle from the ref. That anxious energy that was starting to wear off has now breezed into full-blown rage as I watch McKee attempt to help Hart up.
“Ref! Blow the whistle!” I hear Coach yelling from the bench, but he doesn’t.
“What the fuck, dude!” I yell at number three, grabbing him by the neck of his jersey, shoving him down to the ice, and covering his body with my own. I begin throwing punches, not letting up and giving him all of my pent-up emotion, then all hell breaks loose around me.
Whistles start blowing, and I’m pulled off the other player. I fight to get back to him, but there are too many people pulling me up for me to keep pushing back.
“Number twenty-seven, maroon, penalty for fighting, five minutes in the penalty box.” We hear an echo over the arena speakers. Boos erupt and the fans having my back soothe the burn a bit.
“This is fucking ridiculous.” My scream is filled with rage.
“Watch it!” The ref yells at my back as I skate towards the box. Once there, my foot bounces up and down with anxious energy to get back onto the ice. It takes a moment before Maverick can get back onto his feet, McKee helping him across the ice and towards the tunnel to get checked out.
Hart spends the second half of the game off the ice, so we have to fight hard for our win with our second-line center filling in. The communication is jerky– McKee and I don’t flow down the ice like when Hart is on the ice.
As we skate towards the tunnel, I prepare myself for Coach’s berating despite the win. He’s had steam pouring out of his ears since my penalty and behavior towards the ref.
