Chapter 12: Chapter 12

TYLER

A week and a half. A week and a half of hell. The first night I’d met her in that crowded, dark bar, her friends told me she was a heartbreaker. But Kate had denied it.

I was beginning to believe they were right. Kate interpreted Jason and I bringing her sister home as a completely different situation than it was, but it~did~look bad the next morning.

Either way, I could bet I was hurting more than her right now.

The pain worsened every time we saw each other. She was at every game, congratulating the team after, but she wasn’t herself. My teammates hated seeing her that way, sad and tired.

Everyone commented on it; she wasn’t able to fool anyone. The guys were worried, as everyone loved her as a friend or sister. The only exception was Chris, who had an obnoxious crush on her.

Kate ignoring me wasn’t all bad though. I’d thrown my gloves off at least once in each of the games we’d played over the past couple of weeks. I’d been called “The Punisher” lately.

I was knocking players out left and right. Granted, I spent more time in the penalty box than ever before, but it was worth it for the rush I received.

My phone buzzed, waking me up. We had a game in L.A. that night. The Blades didn’t exactly have a rivalry with them, but both teams were by no means friendly.

L.A. played dirty, which brought that side out in the Blades’ players. I knew I’d have to work harder to behave myself in the game that night.

I answered the call. “Hello?”

“Baby,” my mom started. “You always call me when you land, and then I hear from your brother that you reached California yesterday?” she yelled through the phone.

I rolled over in my hotel bed and stretched. “I was exhausted. Sorry.”

“No more of your excuses,” she said. “We make the move next week.”

I rolled my eyes. “Glad to hear it. Where’s Dad?”

I heard some grunts in the background and knew he must have been trying to fix something.

“You know your father, honey. He’s doing things he shouldn’t be doing…because THEY WILL HURT HIM!”

I walked over to the window in my room, hearing my father argue that he was in perfect health and that my mum would give herself a heart attack if she always worried about everything.

The sun beat down on the window; I could feel the warmth when I pressed my hand against it. I put my parents on speakerphone so I could check my text messages. Just in case. And nothing.

What drove me crazy was the fact that Kate wanted me as much as I wanted her. She just had better self-control than I did. Either way, I was going to get, at the very least, one more night with her.

I wasn’t done with her yet, and when I want something, I make sure I get it.

Not long after I hung up on my mom, some of my teammates came and knocked on my door to make sure I was awake. We had practice before the game, and we all wanted to come out on top that night.

“Wake up, babe!” Chris yelled in a female voice from the other side of my door.

Throwing on a t-shirt and some sweatpants, I opened the door. My hair was all over the place, and my eyes were still glazed over. Just then, I realized, I was staring into a camera.

“What the fuck?” I asked, more to myself than anyone else.

“Try to watch your mouth while on camera please, Mr. Carlson,” the woman holding the camera replied. “It just adds more editing for me and my crew.”

I looked between the woman and Chris, who was grinning widely.

“Don’t bring a camera to my door and then tell me what to do,” I uttered. “Why are you filming?”

Chris pushed past me and into my room, the camera woman following close behind. “She’s filming a documentary on me for her college class,” Chris said.

I laughed. “A documentary about douchebags?” I asked.

She looked like she wanted to laugh but instead warned, “Language.”

I stood up, walked to the door, and held it open for them. “Okay, that’s enough. As fun as this was, I need to get ready.”

The two of them walked out, but Chris jumped to a stop in the hallway, staring at something. He slowly turned to me, letting a sly smile creep on his face. “I think I just saw Kate.”

My heartbeat picked its pace. My fingers drummed the sides of my thighs as I said a quick goodbye to them and slammed my room door close.

~Kate’s here. Why is Kate here?~ ~Well, because she owns the team~, ~dumbass~. I paced back and forth in my room, the plain white walls doing nothing to soothe me.

I hoped at least a picture could distract me, but no. The only picture in the room was a generic, uninteresting one of an ocean. However, I could tell the picture was of the Atlantic Ocean, not the Pacific.

A hotel in California should at least have pictures of its own ocean.

My annoyance at the picture heightened as I tried to figure out what to do about Kate. I could text her, call her, or just go and find her. But really, I knew it was best to wait and see if she wanted to see me.

We skated across the ice, taking shots on the net to warm up for the game. I skated effortlessly and got distracted only when I looked for any sign of Kate.

Chris thought he saw her, but then, he’d said that countless other times in the past week and a half. Part of me wondered if he knew I had a thing for her but just didn’t say it to my face.

“You ready, big man?” Jaromir tapped his helmet against mine.

“Let’s make ‘em cry,” I responded.

The lights lowered, and the national anthem was sung loud and proud. Afterward, a new techno song blared through the speakers, pumping everyone up at the rink.

My teammates and I pounded our fists together. My line was out on the ice, and the other players had climbed over the boards to sit on our bench.

~Breathe.~ I took steady breaths as I skated to the center ice. I nodded to the guys on my line, Chris winking at me in return like an idiot. An idiot I had grown really close to.

I bent my knees and stared right into the face of L.A.’s centerman. Already sweating profusely, he glared me down, a smile forming on his lips.

“You ready, rook?” he asked.

“To kick your ass?” I responded. “Yeah, I’m ready.”

I wasn’t a rookie, but I was significantly younger than that guy, Clay Thibideou. From what I knew, Clay wasn’t the fighter on their team.

That honor belonged to their astonishingly large defenseman, who was easily a few inches taller than me and fifty pounds heavier. I knew he’d start something, but I wasn’t scared.

That was the best part about hockey—the fighting. Players known for their rough behavior would usually end up dropping gloves against each other.

The game started, but he wasn’t out on the ice yet. One of L.A.’s players was charged with high-sticking and got sent to the penalty box for two minutes.

We had two minutes to push ourselves ahead and make that a 1-0 game. Our team got fueled by early goals. If you score within the first ten minutes of the game, you just can’t help your adrenaline.

Their four players on the ice were expertly executing their penalty kill. The Blades also played with precision and determination. My line passed the puck back and forth, making L.A. work for it.

The puck was now by my stick; I could either go for a slap shot or send it down to Chris last second who was conveniently placed by the net with minimal coverage.

A quick pass to him, and FIVE HOLE! Chris scored right through the goalie’s legs. We skated toward each other to hug as we did after every goal, then had a line change.

The coaches poured water over our faces, and we got a few minutes to rest. That’s all we needed.

In the last ten minutes of the third period, the score was finally 1-1.

We knew it’d be a close game, and I also realized that Jakob Desprais, the fight-filled defenseman, was waiting until the end to deal with me.

We had stared each other down a few times throughout the game, even shoved one another, but nothing more.

With only eight minutes left, L.A.’s right wing skated up behind my left wing, Mathieu, as he moved forth with the puck. I cleared myself for the pass. Unfortunately, that player checked Mathieu from behind.

An ~illegal~ check from behind. We all knew that was a penalty, but that didn’t stop us from skating over and hitting him.

And, of course, if our entire team steps in, all members of the opposing team will step in as well. And that’s when it happened.

Arms were flying angrily all around, multiple sets of gloves strewn across the ice by our feet.

The world around me went pitch dark. My knees buckled, and the blade of someone’s skate slashed my cheek.