Landon Reilly
I was too busy glaring at Cooper talking with my usual line mates to hear Rojas call out for me the first time. It wasn't until he raised his voice and shook my shoulder that I turned to face him.
"You good?" he asked, staring intensely into my eyes.
"Yeah," I answered quickly. "I'm fine."
"Don't be nervous about switching it up," he said. "Change is good and it's going to make you an even better player, so don't sweat it."
He lightly punched my shoulder and started us on some drills for warm ups.
I found myself having to focus more on my movements, having to stop myself from moving center, looking to Rojas for direction. Usually I had no problem focusing on hockey, but there was too much going on in my head at once to keep my thoughts on the task at hand.
Whatever I had going on with Wren was stuck in my mind all the time, and sometimes my father's voice found its way back to me. It was mostly random. I wouldn't even be thinking about Wren and then suddenly I heard my father telling me how disgusting I was for letting another man touch me. Sometimes I felt myself agreeing with him.
Now I had Cooper replacing me on my line and all the anger and resentment that came with that.
Then, of course, the game started and I came face to face with someone I didn't expect to see on the ice. One of Elijah's old teammates, Ian, was on the opposing team, and I would have believed that he didn't recognize me if it wasn't for the side ways glances he kept throwing my way and the stare down every time I skated by their bench.
So that was another thing for my mind to dwell on. Ian being here, a physical reminder of all I had done to Elijah and everything that had happened last year.
I didn't remember much about that night I was drunk and stumbled my way to Micah's house, but when he had told me about it afterwards, he said Elijah and Ian were there which only added to my embarrassment. Ian, someone I barely even knew, saw me at my most vulnerable, and now I had to face him.
And he wasn't going easy on me.
Every check was deliberate and rough. He sent me right into the boards every chance he got. He stole the puck from me whenever it was on my stick. I was all the motivation he needed to play the best hockey of his life.
Ian wouldn't let me get a shot on net. He blocked me, crowded me, made me miserable on the ice. That was just what he wanted. Although he didn't look smug, I could tell he was enjoying tormenting me.
"That number 77 seems like he's out for blood with you," Rojas said from beside me on the bench, squirting water into his mouth.
"Yeah, we sort of know each other," I muttered, glaring out at the ice.
"Okay, so give it back to him," Rojas said. "Don't let him push you around. That gives him the advantage."
On our next shift, I took Rojas's advice. When Ian came for me, I passed off the puck and put force into our collision which made him stumble back. He barely spared me a glance before taking off toward where I sent the puck.
However, the next time he came after me, he caught me off guard and sent me flying face first into the boards. The refs' whistles blew and I looked back to see one of my teammates shoving Ian.
"You good?" Rojas asked, bending down to talk to me.
I nodded and took his out stretched hand to let him help me up.
I watched as Ian skated over to the penalty box, earning himself two minutes for boarding and putting us on the power play.
Coach Foreman had called us off the ice for the first half of the power play to give us some time to rest up. Then, for the last half, we were on the ice. And without Ian and his personal attacks, I could actually move with the puck.
I took a pass from Rojas as we entered the offensive zone. The two of us passed back and forth until I saw an opening and shot the puck, resulting in a goal. My teammates engulfed me in a celebratory hug as I watched Ian stand from the penalty bench, shaking his head.
Ian and I didn't meet again on the ice until the next period, and that was when the fists started flying.
I was skating up ice with the puck, Ian close behind me. Knowing he was catching up to me, I moved my legs faster and searched for one of my teammates to pass it off to. Ian was with me before I could get rid of it, and he slammed into me, his elbow smashing under my chin and sending a wave of pain through me.
He didn't even get called for the blatant elbow, which caused an uproar from my team's bench.
Frustrated, in pain, and angry, I went after Ian. He had turned around back toward our end of the ice. I used all my strength to catch up to him and check him hard before he got rid of the puck. I hit him with so much force that he stumbled and lost the puck, one of my teammates retrieving it.
Instead of getting off the ice like his coach was directing, Ian came over to me and shoved my shoulders.
Part of me knew this was inevitable the way the two of us had been playing. There was only so much anger one could let out through a few hard checks and some shoves. And since he started it, I was now angry, and I still wasn't all that great at dealing with my anger, especially not during a game.
Hockey was physical and rough. There was no way for me to clear my head during the game without getting physical. It seemed Ian felt the same way because, soon our gloves and helmets were off and our fists were flying.
I couldn't really explain why I had suddenly gotten so angry. I should have been able to handle being pushed around a little on the ice. Maybe it was the fact that he was targeting me. Maybe it was the fact that it was Ian and I didn't understand why he had some personal vendetta against me other than the fact that he was friends with Fox and Elijah. Or maybe it was a mix of all of that and the embarrassment of knowing he had seen me at my worst.
It didn't matter though because it was too late to reign any of that anger in.
Ian got one good punch in, but it was like he wasn't really trying to hurt me. The two of us didn't exchange any words as the fight progressed. I grabbed onto the front of his jersey, pulling him to me as I released my fist onto his face.
I hadn't even heard the whistle get blown before the refs were pulling us apart and sending us off the ice and toward our locker rooms.
I picked my gloves and helmet off the ice and went down the tunnel to the locker room, not even bothering to spare a glance at my teammates, though I could hear them cheering me on and tapping their sticks against the boards. They were happy about this fight, but my coaches certainly wouldn't be. I could kiss the first line goodbye after that, maybe even my spot on the team.
Once I was back in the locker room, I threw my helmet and gloves down in front of my locker space. My knuckles were already starting to bruise and they ached as I undressed. I threw my pads down, along with my jersey and my skates and then the rest of my uniform before grabbing a towel and heading toward the showers. Throwing things hadn't done much to get the rest of my anger out of my system.
The hot shower calmed me down a bit, relaxed my muscles, gave me time to clear my head. I could have stayed in there forever and been content.
But when I turned the water off and got out, I was cold and all the thoughts I was trying to avoid came back. I went into this game unsettled because of my line change and the fact that Cooper was replacing me, and everything just spiraled from there because of Ian and my inability to keep my emotions in check. I also always had thoughts of whatever I had going on with Wren lingering in my mind at all times which did nothing to settle me.
I got dressed and started putting away everything I had thrown on the floor. The game must have almost been over at this point and I wanted to be ready to get the hell out of here when they were done.
"Listen," a voice said from behind me, startling me. I whipped around and jumped back, hitting the back of my head on the locker. Ian was standing in front of me with a blank expression, a dark bruise forming on his cheek.
"Jesus fucking Christ," I snapped, rubbing the back of my head. He looked unamused, like I was inconveniencing him even though he was the one that walked in here in the first place.
"Listen, I didn't mean to start a fight with you," Ian continued.
I scoffed, standing up straighter. "Get the fuck out of here."
"I didn't mean to start a fight with you, but I'm glad I did," he said. "Consider it payback for the Masters Tournament last year."
That was the tournament we had gotten kicked out of because of me. Because my father wanted me to injure their best players and I couldn't go through with it. All that anger and resentment was with me on the ice. I was practically a ticking time bomb then. One off hand comment from Fox and I exploded.
"Is that all?" I asked. I didn't know Ian that well, but he didn't seem like much of a talker. Neither was I, really.
"I don't like hitting people," he replied.
"So you came in here to make yourself feel justified for hitting me? Fine, you can go now."
Ian shrugged and looked around the room, making no move to leave.
"I guess that's why," Ian said. "Because you're some dipshit I should feel justified in hitting."
It felt like we were treading dangerously close to territory I wanted to leave unsaid. Ian didn't seem like the type to feel guilty or want to have some heart to heart. He was almost like Wren in that way. It made me feel like Wren that I was standing here and trying to analyze this guy.
But maybe Ian had a softness to him that he didn't let others see. Maybe that was why he was actually here.
Either way, I didn't want him to talk about that night. I wanted to pretend it never happened, that this guy I barely knew never saw me like that.
"Really, you can go," I urged him. "We're probably not going to see each other for the rest of the season so it doesn't even matter." We wouldn't see each other again unless we met in the playoffs or a tournament.
"You seem different," Ian commented, still looking at me blankly.
So do you, I almost said.
The buzzer went off to let us know the game had ended. Ian nodded at me once before turning and leaving the room. I sat down on the bench and waited for the team, bracing myself for whatever the coaches were going to say to me.
***
Wren Ridley
My brother Robin texted me exactly one hundred twelve times until I finally agreed to FaceTime him. When I called and asked him what was so urgent he just said he was bored and missed me, which I clearly didn't buy. He had just spent the last ten minutes talking absolute nonsense that I didn't care about and now we were on the subject of Thanksgiving.
"You're actually coming home for Thanksgiving?" I asked.
It seemed like a waste of time and energy to me. He went to school all the way in LA, so he would have to get on a five or six hour flight during the busiest time of the year just to be home for a few days. Then it would only be a couple more weeks before he would be flying home for winter break.
"I wasn't going to, but Mom made me feel guilty about it," Robin said. "She has this grand idea that we're all going to be together and watch Fox play hockey, which I guess that will be kind of nice. I try to keep up with his games but they're on so late here."
He was doing more than I was. I was in the same time zone as Fox and I didn't even think about tuning into one of his games. We were only an hour or so away from each other and I hadn't even thought about going to one.
"Speaking of Fox," Robin continued. "He's calling me now. I'm going to add him."
Before I could say anything, Robin was adding Fox to the call and his face popped up a moment later. He wore a scowl like usual, his eyes narrowed as he looked into the screen.
"What's up?" Robin asked him.
"What do you mean 'what's up?' You texted me like eighty times to call you!" Fox exclaimed. "I thought you were dying or something."
"I was," Robin replied. "Of boredom! And I missed you guys. You weren't busy, were you?"
"I was on the phone with Ian," Fox told him.
"And how is that ray of sunshine?"
I was about to hang up. Sitting here and listening to the two of them talk wasn't my idea of something fun, not when I could be doing literally anything else.
"Fine I guess," Fox said. "We were talking about his hockey game. He got in a fight with that Landon kid."
And now I was all ears.
"Hockey is so barbaric," I said in a bored tone, though I was quite intrigued by the conversation.
Fox scoffed. "It's just part of the game."
"It's part of the game to take out your personal frustrations on an opposing player?" I knew that would only get him angry, but I wasn't going to pretend like I understood the violence that took place in that sport.
"It makes it entertaining," Robin interjected. He always put himself in the middle of Fox and me, trying to diffuse situations where the two of us were on our way to fighting.
"So he just fought him for entertainment?" I asked.
"I don't fucking know, Wren," Fox replied, clearly frustrated. "Why do you care?"
"I don't," I said too quickly.
It was a good thing Fox wasn't someone who picked up on that sort of thing. But Robin was, and I could see his expression change on the screen. Luckily he knew not to say anything in front of our brother. If he did say something, I didn't know if I could explain it away. I could barely even rationalize my feelings about Landon to myself.
I wasn't used to caring about someone other than myself or my family. It was something I tended to avoid, keeping all my relationships casual. But I cared for Landon and couldn't understand it. I didn't like not understanding my own feelings. I didn't like that showing him I cared for him made me feel vulnerable. The more I thought about it, the more it made me feel sick.
So why did I care that Landon got into a fight with Ian? I shouldn't. This was a guy that had tried to pick fights with me since I had known him, a guy who had even punched me once. I had seen him fight before. I knew he could fight. But it was just a huge reminder that there was still a lot of hostility between Landon and Fox, so much so that Fox's own best friend felt the need to fight for him.
"At least it was someone who deserved it, right?" Robin said lightheartedly, trying to ease the tension.
It did nothing to ease the tension coming from me. I was sick of Landon, and other people apparently, feeling like bad things happening to him were deserved.
They didn't know him like I did. They never would. To them, he was the same kid from last year that acted like a villain.
"But now I have to live up to that," Fox replied.
"What?" I asked, raising my eyebrows. I hoped he didn't mean what I thought he did. Not only was it childish and stupid to pick a fight with Landon when he played against him, it was underserved.
"If Ian fought him for what happened last year, now I have to fight him," Fox continued.
"And why is that?"
"I was the captain of that team, Wren," he said.
"I'm failing to see how that's important," I told him. "It's not like you're still in high school. Nobody else but you cares about any of that."
"And he treated my boyfriend like shit, just a reminder," Fox shot back.
"Didn't he apologize for that?" I asked. "I do remember Elijah saying he wanted to coexist with Landon. That'll be pretty hard if you're just going to target him every time you see him."
"Oh, you mean like he did to us?" Fox snapped. "Again, why do you care?"
"I don't," I said. "I just think it's stupid and you're going to get yourself hurt. And in trouble with your boyfriend."
"Are you really trying to get into a hockey fight in front of Mom and Dad?" Robin asked him. I had nearly forgotten that Fox would be playing against Landon during Thanksgiving break, meaning I would have to be present for this as well.
"Dad will think it's funny," Fox said with a shrug.
Robin eventually turned the conversation to something else while I sat there and cursed at myself for the conversation I just had with Fox. It was a good thing he wasn't all that bright, for my sake anyway, otherwise I would be having a lot more explaining to do.
**
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