Iced Out (Leighton U #1)(13)

Half the officials in the league wouldn’t have called anything on it, but luck wasn’t on my side with the set we had tonight.

The other time was for a fight, and hell if I’ll apologize either. Not when a winger checked me straight into McGowan, sending us both to the ground. Under normal circumstances, that’d be enough to get my temper boiling, but when he skated past me after scoring the winning goal and spat the words cheating juicer at me, I was done. I don’t regret a single punch I threw at him after that. Fucker deserved the bloody nose. Honestly, part of me even hopes it’s broken. It’d serve him right for running his mouth about shit he has no business in.

Plastering a plastic smile on my face, I reply, “You know me, always the over-achiever. Why play one sport when you can combine them?”

“Why play any at all when it’s just a childish game and a waste of time?” he counters, stony eyes narrowed on me.

And there it is again. His never-ending disapproval for my decision to play hockey.

“I guess knowing it makes me happy isn’t reason enough?”

“Really? Because you don’t look very happy right now.”

Observant as ever, Dad.

“Hard to be when we racked up another loss,” I snap, momentarily forgetting myself. But I’m already on edge from missing out on the two games last week against Blackmore, and adding this loss tonight isn’t helping.

“Losses happen all the time, son. In any aspect of life. They shouldn’t make you look this miserable.”

It almost sounds like he understands where I’m coming from, but I know him. I can tell he’s working out ways to use my words against me. Twist them to fit his version of how this conversation should go, all to make his point.

“Maybe this loss is meant to be a wake-up call. One saying it’s time to focus on a real career path, rather than skating around chasing after a rubber disk.”

And there it is.

“Not like you have to come watch me do it.”

“No, I don’t,” he murmurs, his tone low and measured. “But I do have a business. One you’re meant to be groomed to take over down the line. Preparing yourself for when the time comes would be much more appropriate.”

My teeth clamp together tightly, somehow knowing this would, once again, be the subject of discussion. Lately, it’s about the only thing my father wants to talk about. When I’m planning to call it quits on my own dreams and aspirations to make it to the NHL, all so I can follow the life plan he wants for me.

If being sidelined for almost a week, not even able to step on the ice for practice, has taught me anything? It’s that I’m miserable without hockey in my life. And doing whatever he does would only make it worse.

Watching my team get their asses handed to them in two more consecutive losses—both of which were complete shut-outs—and not being able to do anything about it was maddening. The worst of it is I can’t help but feel it’s partly my fault for being benched. Even when none of the blame actually falls on my shoulders, because I didn’t do anything wrong, I still feel the pang of guilt.

“It’s one more season. My team needs me,” I grind, teeth still clenched.

I don’t miss the subtle arch of his brow. “Didn’t seem like it tonight.”

It’s a low blow, but unfortunately for me, he’s not entirely off base. Because the loss tonight is one that can’t be blamed on my lack of appearance on the ice, but rather because I was on it.

Something was just off with the energy in the locker room when Coach told the team I was able to suit up—clearing the air about my test actually being negative. I thought that’d make it so nothing ever happened, and we could get back in the groove of things as a team.

Unfortunately, I was wrong.

I could feel it when anyone would look at me tonight—teammate or opponent. The judgment and the disbelief. That I’d be so careless to have ruined the namesake of Leighton’s program. Like my reputation—what little good there is of it—has been tarnished by what happened. Doesn’t seem to matter much to anyone that the results were actually negative and I was proven innocent; I’m still stuck with the stigma.

In their eyes, I’ll always be guilty of a crime I never committed. One I’d never dream of committing.

And now I’m being iced out for it. Like a fucking pariah.

Surprisingly, the only one who seems to give me any benefit of the doubt is fucking Oakley. Though, I must admit, it’s probably just because he got my title as captain when there was no actual reason for it to be taken. Which only makes me feel like I’ve lost pretty much everything I’ve earned. The captain spot and the respect of my team.

The last thing I need right now is my father digging the knives in deeper.

“Is that all you needed? To let me know, once again, of your disapproval in my decision-making? Remind me I’m not necessary?” I hiss, willing my temper to ease off. “Because if it is, I’m gonna go.”

I don’t stick around to hear what either of them have to say, hauling my bag over my shoulder and moving toward the exit. Continuing even after I hear both my parents call after me.

With a glance over my shoulder, I catch my father furiously pacing in place, which is far better than him chasing after me to continue this pointless conversation. I’ve got nothing left to say, no more fight left in me. Not for them, not for anyone. So I’ll take the easy way out and let another set of people think I’m sucking air where I don’t belong.