Page 57 of Puck to the Heart
“And…that’s not what captains do?” Maybe I’d figure out more of the nuance of hockey eventually but today was not that day.
He gave me a side eye. “Yes, but also no. It’s more than just telling people what to do, it’s keeping up with what everyone needs as a team and working together. Like team big brother, I guess, if Coach Olsen is our dad.”
“That’s actually kind of sweet.”
“Hockey isn’t sweet, Liv.”
Holy shit, that might be the first time he’d ever called me Liv. He must’ve beenreallypissed off.
“Ooookay.” Fuck, fuck,fuck. I told him I didn’t know how to do this, then I went and screwed it all up. I shouldn’t be surprised, but not knowing what I did was the worst. If I didn’t know, I couldn’t fix it.
“Ash?”
“What?” he snapped, but he softened when I flinched, pushing a hand through his hair. “What is it?” At least his tone was less… something, but he still sounded angry.
“I’m sorry? I’m not sure what I’m sorry for, but I wanted to apologize anyway.” My voice shook, and ugh, was I fucking crying again? “Can—can you tell me what I did wrong? I won’t do it again.”
“Fuck, of course, you don’t know if I don’t tell you. I’m sorry. It’s not you.” He softened, the tension in his face receding a fraction. “I was already mad when Allen started his shit, so that didn’t help.” He tilted his head back, turning his face to the sky, his breath clouding above him.
Chilly wind blew through the parking lot, and painfully bright lights cast circles in the night. Shining cars reflected the lights, and it might have been pretty if I weren’t still trying not to cry out of confusion and anger. Thin knives of cold slithered beneath my layers of clothing, sending shivers across my skin.
Still, Ash stayed silent, so I waited. His hand darted out, grabbing mine and enveloping it in his familiar warmth.
“Come home with me? I don’t want to talk about this here.”
“You’re not asking me to come home with you to—to end this, right? If you are, tell me now. I won’t go home with you just for you to kick me out.” My voice cracked on the last word.
“What? End—Olivia, no.”
A ragged breath left my throat, and I squeezed my eyes closed at the tears that wouldn’t. Go. Away.
He opened the car door, his hand brushing over my arm as I slid inside. The bench seat was smooth, cream-colored leather. I’d expected a modern sound system, but the old-fashioned dial radio was endearing with its knobs and bright colors.
When Ash sank onto his seat, he silently draped his arm across the seat, giving a ‘come here’ flick of his fingers. Sliding across the seat was easier than I expected, and I nearly smacked into him when I pushed off with too much effort. Remaining silent, he let out a huff of breath, dropping his arm across my shoulders as I pressed in closer.
How doyou tell someone important to you about the worst part of yourself? The pieces you wish you could gouge out and burn or bury.
The answer: you don’t.
I didn’t tell anyone about the things that made me want to vomit. Scrub my skin until it bled.
Of my teammates, I was sure some would, if notunderstand,at least be understanding. But enough of them would laugh it off, say it was all part of the job. Navigating off the ice was hard. Sure, I cultivated the playboy persona, but it wrecked me in the end, and it seemed about to do so again.
Olivia’s downturned face as she apologized cut me deeply, and the hurt only exacerbated the bees swarming in my gut.
Beside me, her solid warmth was a grounding presence as I drove through the city on autopilot in silence.
Even when we arrived at the house, I couldn’t speak. Nana’s car was in the garage, so I braced to speak to her. But she left a note on the counter beside a carafe of hot chocolate. It explained she went to bed early and would leave early in the morning, so we should have as much fun as we wanted.
I filled the two mugs Nana left out and pulled the lid off the cookie jar to peer inside. On second thought, I tucked the jar under my arm and grabbed the mugs. Olivia followed me down the hallway into the library. I didn’t know why, but it always felt like a safe space. Maybe it was from books so familiar they’d become more like family in the hours of my youth not spent practicing or studying. Maybe it was from spending so much free time with my grandparents here. Outside the kitchen, anyway.
Whatever it was, its magic slid over me, helping steel my bones for what was to come.
The old, colorful glass lamps projected patterns on the walls with dim light, making the space more intimate.
Olivia waited, looking at me as she sipped from her mug. I waited to take in the contemplative look on her face before I dropped a metaphorical bomb on her.
“So,” I began. Olivia leaned forward, cupping the mug in both hands. “I kind of alluded to how I went through a… wild phase. But I didn’t tell you everything.” I closed my eyes, leaning my head back against the floral upholstered back of the chair. “It was after my first big season. I started getting brand deals, bulked up a lot with the trainer. I started getting… attention.”
