The Game That Breaks Us (Us 3)

I called up Coach about a month ago, and after some persuasion on my part, he agreed to train me in his spare time—even going so far as to let me work with the university team. I’ve seen the guys on the team play and they’re good—yeah, it’s not the same as my NHL team, but I was one of these guys only a few years ago, so chances are, at least one of them will end up playing professionally. I know this is what I need to get back to my team, to go back to my roots. I’ve lost myself along the way, and it fucking sucks. I’ve always been cocky, according to everyone I know, but according to my manager, my head’s gotten even more inflated. He’s right, and I fucking hate that he’s right. I needed a major reality check, and I hate that it came in the form of an injury—a near career-ending one at that.

Coach leans back in his chair, sizing me up. I have no idea what’s going on in his head—his stoic expression sure doesn’t give anything away. Finally, he sighs, his leather chair creaking when he adjusts his weight.

“You’re not ready to get back on the ice,” he says. “Hit the gym.” He begins gathering his things.

“That’s all you have to say?”

He pauses what he’s doing and looks up at me with an expression like I’m the dumbest person he’s ever encountered. “I saw that look on your face when you bent down. I’m not sending you out on the ice like that. Go do some fucking yoga and loosen up that leg.”

“Yoga? Seriously?”

“I’m always serious,” he says, standing and slinging his bag onto his shoulder. “I won’t put you on the ice until you’re ready. The last thing you need is another injury.”

His words hit home, and my head falls in dejection. “Yeah, I understand, Coach.”

He nods and slaps my arm as I pass. “See you tomorrow, Bennett.”

“Mhm, thanks.” I sigh heavily and press my fingers to my eyes, letting out a groan.

This is going to be harder than I thought.

“You’re not wearing that to the party, are you?” Elle crosses her thin arms over her chest and glares at me. Is it sad that in the short time I’ve been here I’ve already grown used to her glare?

I look down at my sequined skirt and white blousy top. “What’s wrong with this?”

She rolls her eyes. “Everything.” She taps a finger to her lips. “We’re about the same size …” she muses. “Hang on.”

She rifles through her drawers, making an even bigger mess of her already messy side of the dorm room. It makes me cringe. I like order.

“Here.” She throws a pair of black jeans at me. I catch them and hold them out so I can look them over. The leg and knee area is ripped to shreds. She tosses something else at me and it covers my face. She snickers as I pull it off. It’s a top that leaves nothing to the imagination. “Change,” she demands. “We need to go before all the good beer is gone.”

“Is there such a thing as good beer at a party like this?” I grumble, changing out of my clothes. She doesn’t answer me, but I didn’t expect her to. Her clothes are the slightest bit too short for my tall, thin frame, but it’s not noticeable enough to be an issue. “How’s this?” I turn around so she can appraise me. “Does this get your stamp of approval?”

“Almost.” She steps forward and doesn’t wait for permission before ruffling my hair. “That’s better.”

I grab my cellphone and some cash, stuffing both in my pocket, before following Elle out of the dorm.

The sky is dark, only a few stars and no moon, but the night is lit with the antique-looking lamps that dot campus.

“Should we call a cab?” I ask Elle.

“No,” she snorts. “Cabs cost money and we’re struggling college students.” I almost open my mouth and tell her that I have the money, but I quickly realize that would only make her hate me more. “Besides, the party’s only a few blocks from campus.”

“How do you even know about this?” I ask, shivering from the cool air. Goosebumps dot my flesh, and I wish I’d brought a jacket.

“I heard some guy talking about it and asked about it, then he invited me.” She shrugs.

“Great.”

The party turns out to be more than a few blocks away, and by the time we get there my feet are killing me, but there’s no way I’m taking my shoes off and risking losing them—not to mention the hygiene hazard.

Beauty is pain, I remind myself.

Cars are parked all along the street and several houses are lit up so I assume they’re occupied by people from the university. It would also explain why the cops haven’t been called because of a noise complaint. The music is so loud that the ground beneath my feet vibrates.

Elle turns to me, and with the first genuine smile I’ve seen from her, asks, “Are you ready for this?”

“No,” I answer honestly.