I have no idea where the hell those thoughts came from. Am I turning into a fucking poet? A snort escapes my mouth before I can cover it.
Unwrapping his ankle bindings next to me on the bench, Joey throws a questionable look at me. I curl my lip at him, basically telling him to piss off in one single glance. He raises his hands up and backs away.
“Sorry, bro,” he says in a rush, glancing around nervously like I’m about to sock him in the face or something.
I’m mad at everyone who basically screwed me over, but I can control my fucking anger.
He eventually turns his back to me and pretends to find something that holds his interest in his locker next to mine. I don’t bother responding, I never do anymore. I play the part of team captain by showing my face and charming smile at the parties we throw every Saturday, but when no one is looking, I isolate myself. ‘Trust no one’ is my new motto.
My teammates knew about Jeff’s betrayal and decided to keep it a secret from me. I became the campus laughing stock—a fool who didn’t even know his girlfriend at the time was sleeping with one of his own teammates. That lazy piece of shit has always been jealous of me, wanting everything I have and doing whatever it takes to get it, even if it means sleeping with my girlfriend behind my back.
I shake that shit off my shoulders. I have more pressing matters to attend to. First, I need to be the best on the ice to get my ass off this team and on to bigger and better things. Second, the new semester starts today. I’m determined to get drafted by the end of the season, but just in case, I need to focus on my studies if plan A fails.
I climb to my feet, stretching with a grunt, and pull my hoodie on while hightailing it out of here before our coach decides to pull me into his office to talk about nonsense, like how I’m supposed to set an example for my team. Fuck that shit. I stomp my way to the door. Everyone’s either avoiding eye contact or running into the steaming showers to get away from my wrath. Just as my hand grips the door handle, the coach’s booming voice comes from his office.
“Granger! Get your ass in my office, now!”
I slump my head against the door, giving it one solid bang before turning around. Striding to the coach’s office, I notice Jeff smirk as he comes out of the shower from the corner of my eye. Inside his domain, Coach Miller is reclining in his desk chair with his feet crossed on his desk and fingers interlaced over his pudgy belly. Coach's receding hairline, glasses, stunted height, and loud mouth seem stereotypical for a head coach, but he has a good heart, even when he makes us repeat drills on and off the ice for hours until I feel like my legs might fall off.
“Have a seat, son,” he says, gesturing to the chair across from him.
Planting my ass on the excessively expensive leather seat, I school my expression and make sure I bury any emotions tumbling through my head. We wait in silence for him to start his lecture about teamwork once again. He sighs as he looks up at the dimly lit ceiling, shaking his head and muttering under his breath. It sounds like he says ‘bullheaded,’ but I could be wrong.
“I’m not going to downplay this with you. Your game has been shit for weeks. My grandma could score more goals than you, at this point. You’re slipping, son. You’re supposed to lead this team to glory at the nationals. As team captain, your job is to make sure your players are flocking to you, not trying to find an exit when you charge at them. Either you find a way to make this work and build your way back to the team, or you’re out. No scout will look twice at you when you're playing like this,” he says, shaking his head in disappointment.
I clench my jaw so tight that it makes a cracking noise as I rub my hands on my jeans to release the tension spreading through me. Fuck me. I need this more than anything—to be handpicked by a scout and to make my own living by myself. To not live off my rich parents’ money, I need to prove to everyone that I can do this.
I see no remorse on the coach's face. He’s here to build this university the best damned hockey team anyone has ever seen, so I don’t blame him for giving me this ultimatum. Blowing out a gust of air through my puffed-up cheeks, I give him a single nod before observing the trophies gleaming in the display case behind him, mainly to avoid his ever so watchful gaze.
“Yeah, Coach. I’ll get right on that. They may be my team, but they aren’t my brothers,” I grind out, feeling my face turn an angry red. Fucking hell, will I ever be able to move past this?
“Then you’d better start winning your brothers back. I’ll be damned if I’m going to let you fail this team.” He points his index finger at me, leaning over his desk.
“You’re absolutely fucking right, Coach. But they fucking betrayed me, failing me. How can I move on after how they’ve broken my trust? Earning trust goes both ways, but I can’t even pass them the puck because in my head, I’m thinking they can’t be trusted to end the game with us on the winning side. I’m their fucking captain, for God’s sakes, and yet my own team lied to my face.” I throw my hands in
