I’VE HAD a migraine for well over twenty-four hours.
It started when Aaron Carlisle stood in front of me with a busted arm and bruised hip and blamed me for it. That’s when I felt the twinge at the base of my skull, shortly followed by blistering heat spreading through my head until it was so painful, I could feel it at the back of my eyes.
The whole mess descended into chaos. Sabrina shouted at Robbie, JJ called Aaron a fucking liar, and I frantically gripped Anastasia, trying to promise her I never touched him.
She flew to his side, not caring about anyone else, examining his arm carefully, and said his name with the most broken, heart-shattering voice. “We’re not going to be able to compete at sectionals.”
I couldn’t see her face, but I could tell. We could all tell. The anguish, the realization, the hurt. She was stunned, and when she sank into his chest and began to sob, I had no idea how things could go wrong so quickly.
I didn’t know what to say to her. I never touched him, despite joking about it and her telling me off. I’d never jeopardize her dreams.
Aaron’s hand stroked her head, soothing her. I wanted to drag her away from him and promise her I didn’t do it, but he ushered her out of the booth, Brin close behind them, and I let them leave.
The team was just as confused as me, each promising it was nothing to do with them either. No pranks, no misbehaving, they’d all stayed away from him like I told them to. Nothing was making sense.
I called Anastasia the minute we got home from the club, but she didn’t answer. Not the first time nor the second time. On the third time, Sabrina
answered and told me she was asleep. I tried to explain I didn’t do anything, but she said she wasn’t the one I needed to convince.
On Sunday, Stassie texted me saying she needed some space because she didn’t know what to think. She was stuck between her partner and me, both promising we were telling the truth, and she needed to process the fact she’d have to pull out of her competition.
I told her I’d miss her, but she didn’t reply.
I spent all day Sunday bouncing from house to house to grill each of the guys who weren’t there last night, and they all swear it wasn’t them. Call me naïve, but I believe them.
I was sitting on a disgustingly sticky couch in a frat house with three underclassmen in front of me. Their eyes were bloodshot, and they collectively looked like they’d had five minutes of sleep. How I was supposed to be looking if my Saturday night out hadn’t been fucking hijacked in the worst possible way.
“We didn’t do anything, Cap. Johal said no messing with the skaters— even when they were being dicks. He said we couldn’t upset your girl, or you and Robbie would bench us.”
Your girl. She couldn’t be further from being my girl than she is now. She felt closer to being my girl the other night, but now I’m not even back to square one. I’m not even on the board.
Now that the weekend is over, I’ve been trying to sike myself up for college for an hour, but even the darkness of my room isn’t helping soothe the stabbing pain in my head.
My phone starts to vibrate, but instead of Stassie, I find messages from the team.
PUCKBUNNIES
ROBBIE HAMLET: Email from Faulkner: Award room at 7:30 a.m.
BOBBY HUGHES: Welp. Was nice knowing you guys. Fly high.
MATTIE LIU: Should have played fucking basketball.
HENRY TURNER: You haven’t got the hand-eye coordination for basketball, Liu.
NATE HAWKINS: My brain feels like it’s trying to turn itself into goo while simultaneously set itself alight.
JAIDEN JOHAL: You need Tylenol, buddy?
NATE HAWKINS: I need a shovel to the head.
KRIS HUDSON: I’m sure you won’t need to ask Faulkner twice.
This was always coming, so I can’t act surprised. Aaron told his coach something was on the floor outside only his locker, and he slipped. The hockey team is playing pranks again, he told her.
He told Anastasia someone saw me do it and told him afterward. But he doesn’t know who the supposed witness was, and he’s not told Brady it was me. No, he saved that bit for Anastasia, claiming he doesn’t want to get me into trouble because he’s looking out for her.
I only know because of Robbie, who has a distraught Sabrina on his hands. She’s stuck in the middle, unable to take sides or do anything to make things better. Her friends are all hurting.
She knows I’d never do anything to hurt Anastasia. It’s all bullshit.
Seven thirty sneaks up on me quickly, and I’ve somehow managed to drag myself to Faulkner’s impromptu meeting. The room is in total silence as Faulkner sits and stares us all down, and for the first time, I can’t read his mood.
I don’t know what he’s waiting for. An admission of guilt? A look that says it was me?
“Did everyone have an enjoyable weekend?” Faulkner drawls.
I’ve been in enough of these meetings over the years to know he does not give a shit about our weekend, and it is not a question that needs answering.
Henry looks at me for guidance and I give him a slight shake of my head.
“Mine was great,” Faulkner continues. “I spent Saturday at my daughter’s volleyball game, filled with pride. They won and I couldn’t have been in a better mood. Even planned a family day on Sunday to celebrate together.”
If there’s one thing I’ve learned in the three-plus years I’ve played on this team, you don’t mess with Faulkner and his family time.
He traveled a lot when he was pro, the nature of the job, but he struggled with being away from his wife and his then newborn daughter, Imogen. The accident forced him to slow down, and now there is nothing he values more than time with his girls.
“On Sunday, I got a phone call from the dean.” He brings his coffee flask up to his lips, watching people shuffle awkwardly over the brim. “Oh yeah, you can all look fucking uncomfortable. Not Director Skinner, oh no, it was above him. The dean wanted to know why my team of highly skilled, division one athletes had purposely injured another student.”
“Coach, we—”
“Shut your mouth, Johal,” he barks, slamming the flask down on the table. “The dean received a phone call from the student’s mother, who threatened to pull her sizable donation to the new Arts building. She’s understandably very upset, not only because her child was hurt on college property but also because he has a competition in two weeks.”
He doesn’t need to tell us. We all know about sectionals. It’s all Anastasia shouts at us when she’s trying to get us off the ice.
Kris had told her he would take a shot every time she said the word sectionals, earning snickers from the guys around him. I had been ready to step in, but she pinned him with a glare so cold a chill ran down my spine, and she wasn’t even looking at me.
She had looked him up and down slowly, and I saw him shuffle on the spot, but then, she gave him a dazzling smile and patted him on the arm. “I’d take a shot every time you miss the goal, but I don’t have time to get alcohol poisoning this week.”
That’s why the guys love her, even if she does spend most of her time calling us the bane of her existence and telling us to learn how to tell the time. She can hold her own and she’s funny when she’s grumpy.
“Am I boring you, Hawkins?” I hear faintly, only fully registering he’s talking to me when Mattie elbows me in the ribs.
“No, sir. I have a migraine, but I am listening.”
His eyes narrow as he assesses if I’m lying, but I’m white as a sheet with huge bags under my eyes. He’d be hard-faced to try to say I’m not ill right now.
I would get migraines when I lived at home from the stress of spending so much time with my dad. They were unbearable, which is how I know if I keep on top of the painkillers, I can just about function. If I let it spiral out of control, I’ll be vomiting and hiding from the light like a vampire before I know it.
“So, you can see we’re in quite the predicament here. Now tell me, who did it?”
The room is still silent because, as I said, everyone has said it wasn’t them. The normal thing to do would be to speak up, tell Faulkner he’s got it wrong, and work together to find out the truth.
But that isn’t the Titans’ way.
He’s decided we’re guilty because we’ve given him no reason to believe he can trust us to tell the truth.
He’s had years of petty, exhausting bullshit where it’s turned out to be a guy on the team to blame every single time. He won’t give us the benefit of the doubt because we’ve never earned it.
“You’re all off the team until someone comes forward and admits the truth.”
The silent room erupts into chaos as every person tries to reason with him. The volume increases and my head aches until he eventually bellows, and everyone stops talking instantly. “I don’t give a fuck about forfeiting your games. I will make this team finish bottom if you boys don’t start behaving like men!”
I’ve said before he’s a scary guy. His anger is bubbling up so blatantly it’s unmissable, but he’s disappointed when you look beyond the flushed face and the loud voice. Robbie has been pinching the bridge of his nose and staring into his lap for the last five minutes, disappointed, too, because he can’t coach a team that doesn’t exist.
“Hockey is a privilege! College is a privilege!” Faulkner shouts. “When I have my answer, you can play again.”
I clear my throat and avoid eye contact with my teammates. “It was me, Coach.”
 |
I KNOW the Tylenol is wearing off the moment nausea hits me like a bus.
Coach is on the phone to the dean, uhming and yesing, not giving too much away. I’ve already received about twenty messages calling me a whole host of creative insults, which is deserved, I’d say.
Faulkner doesn’t believe me. I can tell by how he’s watching me as he mumbles into the phone, but his hands are tied, and I gave him an out he desperately needed.
He could lose his team for God knows how long because nobody would ever say it was them. Alternatively, he can lose me temporarily and have me back before the season is in full swing. It was a risk on my part, I’ll admit, since I don’t know what the punishment is but the longer we drag it out, the more my team suffers, and the more I want to beat the shit out of Aaron.
At least if I knock Aaron out I’d have something to be guilty of.
He puts the phone back in its cradle. “You don’t play until he can skate again. That’s what the dean said. You can come to games in your suit, but you sit and watch. You don’t train with the team, and you can’t be part of any team-related activities other than traveling.”
“Do you know how long he’s out for?”
“No. He’s seeing a specialist this evening and we should know then. It will be two weeks minimum based on the bruising on his wrist and hip. He hasn’t broken anything, so rest and a few mobility actions should be enough, but his parents are demanding he gets a second opinion to be on the safe side.” He drags a hand down his face, and when I take a second to look at him properly, he seems about as ill and exhausted as I do. “He obviously lifts his girlfriend when they skate, so they don’t want to put her at risk if he’s not going to be strong enough in two weeks.”
“She’s not his girlfriend.” The words fly out of my mouth before I can even stop them and his eyes instantly close in on me. Fuck.
“If I find out this is over a woman, Hawkins, so help me God, I’ll kill you myself. I’m not totally clueless. I know this doesn’t add up, but what am I supposed to do when you tell me you did it?”
He pinches the bridge of his nose and I wish I had something to offer him in the way of an explanation.
“I don’t have the energy to scream at you right now; I’m too disappointed. I suggest you tell your guardian about this shit show because I do not want angry emails when you’re not playing. Now get the hell out of my office—I’ll call you later in the week.”
The walk to my car feels like a marathon, but I eventually make it, immediately reaching for painkillers and a bottle of water I stored in the glove box.
My phone is still blowing up, and I finally force myself to look at it because the guys deserve answers.
PUCKBUNNIES
JOE CARTER: Hawkins, you fucking turnip. What the hell is happening?
BOBBY HUGHES: Not been this stressed since I found out condoms aren’t 100% effective.
JAIDEN JOHAL: Excuse me? What was that now?
KRIS HUDSON: How are we supposed to play without a captain? JAIDEN JOHAL: No let’s not move past the condom thing????????? NATE HAWKINS: Can’t practice or play until Aaron can skate.
MATTIE LIU: How long is that?
NATE HAWKINS: *shrug emoji*
NATE HAWKINS: Going to Stassie’s place to try to talk to her.
NATE HAWKINS: See you all later.
My head is still throbbing, and I’ve never been as grateful for a car that drives itself as I am right now.
JJ texted me her apartment number since I’ve never been invited around and don’t know it. He was here on Saturday to drop off his jersey, so I hedge my bets that she hasn’t taken his name off the visitor list and give his name to the guy in the lobby. It works and thankfully he doesn’t ask me to provide ID. He hands me a temporary code to make the elevator work and tells me it’ll work for twenty-four hours.
It makes me happy that she lives in such a safe and secure building. When she’s not angry with me, and I’m not essentially committing fraud to gain entry, I’m going to mention I managed to lie my way in here.
But now is not the time.
Maple Tower is said to be the best accommodation Maple Hills offers, and I can see why—the whole block is luxurious and beautiful. Part of me wonders how Stas can afford it because I doubt her Saturday teaching job pays enough, and I know her scholarship doesn’t cover accommodation. But then I get to her door, apartment 6013, and right underneath the numbers in cursive, it says, The Carlisle Residence.
I take a deep breath and knock on the door a few times, hard but not frantic. I don’t want her to think I’m here for a fight because I’m not.
I can’t tell if the cramping in my stomach is anxiety or because my body and my brain are giving up. But the urge to vomit intensifies when the door pulls back, and Aaron is on the other side of it, only wearing basketball shorts.
“I’m here to see Anastasia. Can you get her for me, please?” I ask calmly. I want to scream at him, call him a liar, pummel my fist into his obnoxious fucking face, but I don’t.
He smiles at me. I swear I’m not imagining it, he smiles and moves to the side and opens the door wider, holding out his bandaged arm to indicate for me to come inside.
“She’s in her room,” he chirps, closing the door behind me.
“I don’t know which one that is,” I say, lifting an eyebrow. “I haven’t been here before.”
He shrugs and the fake smile drops. “Middle door. The one next to the table with flowers.”
“Thanks,” I murmur back, making my way toward it. He’s being too nice, too calm, and it’s putting my entire body on edge. I’m waiting for whatever he’s so pleased about to show itself.
I tap lightly on the door, but I don’t get an answer. So I try again, and this time I hear a sob. “Go away, Aaron!”
I take my chances and push the door open, and right before me is why Aaron was so happy to let me in. Ryan is propped up against her headboard, one arm wrapped around her and the other stroking her hair as she sits between his legs and sobs into his chest. This is what Aaron wanted me to see, but the only reason my heart fucking aches is because she looks broken.
They both look at me simultaneously, wildly different expressions on their faces, but hers is unmistakable.
Betrayal.
“Get out,” she says, her voice cracking. She twists in Ryan’s arms and uses the back of her hands to wipe the tears from her eyes. “You lied to me again! You promised you didn’t do anything, and you lied, Nathan.”
“Stassie, please. Can we talk? I promise I didn’t do anything.”
“Stop promising me things!” she screams, her entire body shaking as sobs rack through her. Ryan buries his head into her hair, muttering something I can’t hear, but her eyes are glued to me. “The dean told Aaron’s parents, Nate! I know you’ve been dropped! I know it was you!”
I feel like I can’t breathe. My head is throbbing and I desperately want to tell her everything that’s happened today, but all I can concentrate on is the white stab of pain in my head and the burning behind my eyes.
Ryan lifts Stas and puts her on the bed beside him. “You good, Hawkins?” he asks, sliding off the bed. “You don’t look so great right now, buddy. Do you need to sit down? You need water?”
My head begins to spin as I feel Ryan’s arms on my shoulders, navigating me backward until my legs hit a chair and I sit down.
“What’s wrong with him?” she asks, panic in her voice.
I bring my palms to my eyes and drop my head between my legs, taking deep breaths. I can’t take any more painkillers, so it’s pointless asking.
Ending up in Coach’s office put too much of a gap between the last dose wearing off and the new dose kicking in, and now I’m paying for it while also embarrassing myself.
Great.
Her soft hands press against my forehead, and I can’t help but lean into her touch. She’s never going to let me near her again. I just wish the moment wasn’t ruined by the hot twinge in my brain and my entire body feeling like it’s being crushed bit by bit.
“Migraine. I’ll drive home. Will come back when we can talk,” I manage to whisper. “He can’t drive,” is the last thing I hear.
