Page 12 of Chase
“And you should listen to her,” he levels me with a serious stare and it’s not lost on me that his words hold a heavier meaning.
He’s heard her tell me to go for Sloane. That’s what he really means when he tells me to listen to my sister. We stop center ice to listen to Coach but my mind is lingering on Sloane again. I miss most of what he says until my brother smacks me in my helmet after Coach says my name.
He’s calling me out and orders an extra practice tomorrow morning on our only day off of the week.Fuck my fucking life. The team knows better than to protest outloud, and I have no doubt that these bastards are silently plotting my murder.
I’m sitting in front of my cubby and avoiding eye contact with my team. Everyone is pissed at me anyway. I rather avoid any more death stares. There's too much going on in my head for me to really give a shit though.
Seeing her last night was a jolt to my system. According to my sister, she’s been here for a week. I get mad as hell thinking about all the chances I could’ve had to see her before last night.
The devil’s pissed at my missed opportunities. When my anger with Monroe cleared, she was still the only thing I was thinking about. That jolt fried my fucking brain. I just told Monroe that nothing’s changed regarding her and I.
It’s safer to stay in that headspace than to consider any alternative options that would put her and I together. The angel on my shoulder agrees and is clapping in approval.
“Wilton, I swear to whoever is up there that you’ll be sharpening skates next game if you don’t figure your shit out,” Coach shouts in my direction when he enters the locker room.
We’ve got a game Tuesday and I need to either act right or risk warming the goddamn bench. If I’m being honest with myself, I’m not in the fucking mood to play at all.
“Got it, Coach.” I don't make him any bullshit promises that I’m gonna play harder or that I’m gonna work on my game. I can't commit to that. Not when I’ve started to realize that the ice isn’t what it used to be for me. If I’m being dead honest, I’m not even sure if I want to play anymore.
Today wasn’t the first time I’ve fucked up during practice and it won’t be the last. It’s like I’ve been on autopilot or some shit. I’ve played this game for most of my life and at this point, my body knows what to do even when my mind is occupied. I’ve been relying on muscle memory to push me through, I don’t really care enough to give the game any more attention than that.
The ice used to be my happy place. Where I’d go and live out my dreams. I’ve fucked it all up so badly, that it’ll never be the same. I don’t even fucking recognize it as what it used to be. Not when it’s turned into a reminder of one of my worst fucking nightmares. Being out there is like reliving a bad fucking dream. It’s where I became the villain in my sister's story.
The ice is a fucking dangerous place for me to be. It’s where the beef with Waterstone and Ellis originally started, where my fucking heart was broken for the first time over a girl who I never should’ve given it to, and where I made the worst possible decisions.
Every time I step out here since B’s second attack, I’m in a foul fucking mood. My game has gone to shit ever since. Sure I score and go through the motions, but it’s not like it was.
When Waterstone and Ellis attacked my sister for the first time, I had a different reaction. I had time to process what had happened with my family, while I ran, worked out, and had a break from hockey.
We weren’t due on the ice until we left for Havenwood and I had built-in time away. The day before we left for Havenwood in August my Dad dragged me and A to the rink and demanded we skate around. It felt good and I had missed it.
The break was over and he wanted us to start healing. He watched me all summer and caught on that I had avoided skating because I couldn’t imagine being happy when my sister was in so much pain. I spent all my time apologizing, trying to repair what I had broken, and focusing on my sister. I stayed close every day. I didn’t know what else to do.
I barely left the house except to run or go weightlifting. By the end of that summer, I was so full of guilt that I felt like the walls were closing in on me the longer I was there.
When I got back out on the ice it was like a damn light bulb had gone off. I feel like a piece of shit for admitting this, but I knew I had to get the hell out of there. Being home with my sister all the time wasn’t helping either of us.
I think it’s why we went fucking wild when we got to Havenwood. A and I immersed ourselves in college life. Looking back, it wasn’t fair to B. She was at home hurting and here I was playing hockey, living my dream, surrounded by girls, and making friends. I couldn’t be home but felt guilty for being away. It was all so confusing and fucked up.
Coach demanded all of my focus and hockey recentered me until it sent me spiraling. Her first attack left me crumbling, but her second attack left me in a pile of rubble. I haven’t been able to dig myself out since last November.
I think the difference for me and my relationship with the ice changed with the tournament last semester. It was on our home ice that I came face-to-face with those fuckers. I got my chance to lay into them after what they did to B the first time. I beat their asses both literally and on the scoreboard.
When they saw my sister, I knew I had fucked up beyond forgiveness. How can I continue to consider the ice and hockey to be sacred when the game I love to play has caused so much devastation for my sister?
I’m lost in my head and need to get the hell out of this locker room. My teammates would’ve probably stolen my clothes or pooled their money together to get one of the freshmen to take a shit in my bag if I bothered to shower.
I stuff my gear in my bag and ignore the rotten smell of sweaty equipment. I follow Jake and Monroe and throw my shit in the back of Jake’s SUV.
“You getting in?” Monroe asks when I slam the hatch closed.
“Come on, we’re gonna grab something to eat on our way home,” Jake adds and I shake my head no. I need to run. I’m so fucking antsy and my anxiety is starting to creep up. I need to get the hell away from here.
I run in the opposite direction of the athlete parking lot and head down the paved paths. There aren't a ton of people out yet, it’s still stupid early for most students to be awake on a Saturday. I’m grateful for the quiet.
I make it to the top of the hill that overlooks campus and drop down to tighten my laces as much as I can. When I stand up and look out across a sleepy Havenwood, I’m not prepared for what happens next.
Walking across campus in leggings that should be fucking illegal, is Sloane. Every shitty thing about the last twelve hours floats away. Anything that isn’t related to her falls right out of my damn head.
