Rebound (Seattle Steelheads #1)(82)

“Hey.” Grady nudged me gently. “Talk to us.”

“Yeah. You’ve been a wreck for months.” Bruiser was uncharacteristically serious, which did nothing to keep me together. “And then tonight you’re standing at the bar, and…” He flailed a hand toward where I’d been standing when not-Nathan had appeared. Voice softer, he said, “Seriously, talk to us, man. We’re your team.”

I squeezed my eyes shut. Why was I so hell bent on keeping this off the team’s radar? What was the point? Even if they thought I was a pussy, they deserved to know why I wasn’t playing for shit. If this meant they went to Coach and asked to have me benched until I got myself together… hell, maybe that wasn’t the worst thing that could happen. And either way, I was exhausted from keeping this to myself. Let the consequences come. I needed this off my chest before it ate me alive.

I rubbed my neck and kept my gaze down. “It’s…my ex. I thought I saw him.”

“Your ex?” Wilson asked. “Nathan?”

“Yeah.”

“What’s up with him?” Bruiser asked.

I swallowed hard. Well, here goes. Taking a deep breath, I lifted my head and scanned my gathered, visibly worried teammates. Some of them were a little wobbly because they’d been drinking hard, but the concern was etched on to all their faces.

When I finally found my voice, I stared into one of my untouched beers. “Guys, he beat the shit out of me.”

The ripple of shock was palpable.

“He what?” Grady asked.

“Are you serious, Crows?” Kelleher’s question came out as a hollow whisper.

I forced back the acid rising in my throat, and nodded. “Yeah. That video outside the restaurant? When the cops showed up?” I shook my head, still not looking at anyone. “That wasn’t the first time. Wasn’t even close to the worst.”

“Holy shit,” someone breathed.

They hadn’t called me out for being a pussy yet, so I barreled on. “Two seasons ago? When I was on the bench for three months for a broken rib? That…wasn’t from getting checked.”

Several guys’ lips parted.

“But…” Grady shook his head. “I remember that happening. At the…the Portland game, wasn’t it?”

“I thought it was Anaheim,” Dane suggested.

“Officially, it was Anaheim,” I said quietly. “Truth is, that was just when I couldn’t hide it anymore.”

“Are you serious?” Grady asked. “How long had it been broken?”

“Anaheim was the second game after it happened.”

Another ripple of shock.

“You played two games,” Bruiser said, sounding stunned, “on a busted rib?”

Avoiding his gaze, I nodded. “It was only fractured before. Hairline, I guess. Hurt like a motherfucker, which is why I wasn’t playing so hot. Then after that asshole checked me during the Anaheim game, well…” I shuddered, wondering if I was imagining the dull ache where that break had been. “He made it worse, let’s put it that way.”

The table was more silent than any table full of inebriated hockey players had ever been in the history of hockey or alcohol. I didn’t like it. I wondered if they were remembering that game. It was one of two times in my professional career when I hadn’t been able to leave the ice on my own power. Between the concussion and the white-hot pain in my chest, I hadn’t been able to move, never mind stand up and skate. And yet, in a way, it had been kind of a relief. At least I’d finally been able to scratch for a while instead of playing through eye-watering pain, and I hadn’t had to tell anyone the truth. Not until tonight.

“So, there it is.” I leaned back in my chair, suddenly drained. “Now you know.” I braced for the comments.

“Dude,” Dane said, and he slurred a bit as he added, “If we’d known that, we would’ve kicked his ass a long time ago.”

I managed to laugh. “Thanks.”

“He ain’t kidding.” Grady squeezed my shoulder. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

I turned to him, ready to say I’d been afraid of them thinking less of me, but the earnestness in his eyes brought me up short. As I scanned the table again, I saw the same thing in everyone else’s faces. They might’ve even been hurt, if I was reading them right. Like they couldn’t believe I’d kept something like this from them for so long.

I took a swig of beer because my mouth had gone dry. Cradling the bottle in both hands, my forearms resting on the table, I shook my head. “What was I supposed to say?”

“That your boy was beating the shit out of you,” Kelleher said like it was plainly obvious. “Man, he hung out with us.”

Several of the guys made disgusted noises and shifted in their chairs. I almost let go of a laugh. How ironic. I’d been so scared early on that a team wouldn’t accept a gay player on their roster. Now the only thing making them squirm was realizing they’d had beers and broken bread with Nathan, all the while unaware that he was knocking me around behind closed doors.

“Seriously,” Grady said. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

Well, hell. I’d already told them this much. Might as well go all in. “I guess I thought you guys would think I was a pussy.”