The Game That Breaks Us

by Micalea Smeltzer

  Thump.

  Thump.

  Thump.

  I needed to get back out on the ice. I needed to start training again.

  But I knew Coach Harrison wasn’t going to let me do that. He was going to stick to his word and wait until my leg had loosened up—so I’d make sure it got there as soon as possible.

  Thump.

  Thump.

  Thump.

  The sun began to rise above the tall gothic style buildings that dotted campus. Even I had to admit that Addams University was pretty damn nice. It was a beautiful location and only thirty minutes from where I grew up.

  Speaking of, my mom would be wondering where I was. I promised to meet her and my dad for breakfast at a little diner halfway between campus and home. I turned back around and jogged toward the dorms—that was part of the condition Coach had for working with me; I had to stay in a dorm. My apartment in Boston was only two hours away, and I would’ve gladly made the drive every day, but he wouldn’t have it. He said something about, “That shiny apartment of yours will only inflate your already inflated head, Bennett. It’s time to come back down to Earth.”

  So here I was, back on campus, living in the fucking dorms.

  I’d say it was the fucking Circle of Life, but I’m pretty sure that’s not how that works.

  Thump.

  Thump.

  Thump.

  The dorm is in sight so I slow to a walk. With the sun only beginning to rise, the campus is dead. I’m the only one crazy enough to be up at this time. Once upon a time, I would’ve never even been to bed yet.

  I lift my formerly-injured leg onto the stairs and use them to stretch the stiff muscle.

  Playing right wing, I was constantly getting hit and doing the hitting. Hockey is a fucking aggressive sport. My injury, though, hadn’t happened on the fucking ice. Oh, no, this idiot fell down a mountain because I was trying to save my fucking beer. I’m never drinking again.

  I stand with my hands on my hips, breathing in and out deeply trying to catch my breath.

  I like this time of morning.

  The peace.

  It is one of the only times I ever feel that wholly calm feeling. I know all too soon campus will be packed and soon word would spread that I am here. There will be the ones who revere me and the ones who hate me. I’m not ready for all the attention. The questions. The speculation as to why I am here. The only people who know I am on campus at this moment are the dean, Coach, and Grace—and she obviously doesn’t know who I am. Most of the freshman arriving yesterday haven’t noticed me, either, since they are too busy finding their way around campus. That will all be a different story soon.

  I finish stretching and head inside the building.

  When I attended school here, I’d had a shared dorm, but this time, Coach had mercy on me and made sure I got a single since I wasn’t actually a student. The room is small, barely enough room to turn around in. It’s definitely nothing like my apartment in Boston. I swing the door open to my room and inhale the stale air. It smells like disinfectant.

  My tennis shoes squeak on the linoleum floor and I take a seat on the lumpy mattress. I kick off my shoes and flop back on the bed. I know I need to get in the shower. My mom will be calling if I’m late for our eight o’ clock breakfast, and the last thing I want is to upset her—especially with all the shit I’ve put her through.

  I rub my hands over my face. I have to make things better. Not just with my mom, but with everyone. I have to be the person everyone expects me to be.

  I have to become respectable and not the laughing stock of the NHL.

  Fuck. My. Life.

  I grab my clothes from the dresser and smell them—yeah, they’re clean—and head into the small-attached bathroom. It’s so small that it makes my room look like a fucking mansion.

  The water in the shower is either scalding or too cold, with no in-between, and I seem to have no way to control it. It’s Russian roulette as to what I’ll get.

  I step inside and am pelted with shards of ice.

  I shower as quickly as I can and get out, drying off my hair and getting dressed before I catch frostbite.

  I check my phone, and sure enough, there’s a missed call from my mom. She worries about me more than she should—scratch that, I’ve given her every reason in the world to worry about me.

  I stuff my phone in my pocket. I’ll call her back once I’m in the car. I grab my wallet and check the room to make sure I’m not forgetting anything and spot my gym bag. Yeah, I’ll need that. As soon as I get back to campus, I’m hitting the gym.

  I head out of my room, keeping my head low in the off chance that there’s someone in the hall. I doubt anyone is in this building but me. It usually only houses upperclassmen, and they probably won’t arrive until Sunday.

  It takes me ten minutes to get from the dorm to the garage where I park my car. My mom’s going to be standing on her head by the time I call her back.

  I start my car and my phone hooks up to the Bluetooth.

  “Call Mom,” I say.

  “Calling Mona.”

  “No. Call Mom,” I yell at the stupid piece of shit.

  “Calling Papa John’s.”

  “Why the fuck is Papa John’s in my phone?” I mutter as it starts ringing. “Shit,” I curse and quickly end the call. I end up dialing my mom myself.

  “Hello? Bennett? Where are you?”

  “I’m on my way, Mom,” I tell her, speeding down the highway.

  “Don’t speed.”

  I eye my speedometer and back it off. “I’m not.”

  “Don’t you know you can’t lie to your mother, Bennett?”

  I rub the back of my hand. “Yeah, I know.”

  She laughs on the end. “We’ll see you soon. Sabrina’s coming too.”

  “Great,” I say, sarcasm leaking into my tone.

  “Be nice,” she warns.

  “I’m always nice.”

  “Mmhmm,” she hums. “We’ll see you soon.”

  I love my sister, don’t get me wrong, but sometimes she can be a judgmental thorn in my side and with the shit storm that’s my life right now I don’t need to hear it from her too. Right now, what I need is my family on my side.

  There’s barely any traffic since it’s so early, and a Saturday at that, so I make it to the diner only two minutes late.

  I head inside and back to the booth that my mom always chooses. I spot her and my dad on one side and she waves, bouncing in her seat. She’s always so happy to see me, and it makes me feel like an ass for not visiting more when I live so close.

  “Where’s Bina?” I ask, sliding in the booth.

  When I was little, I couldn’t say Sabrina to save myself and called her Bina. The name has stuck through the years. She says she hates it, but I know she secretly loves it.

  “She’s coming,” my mom says, picking up her menu.

  I don’t know why she even bothers looking at the thing; she always ends up getting the same breakfast every time. The Denver Omelet with hash browns on the side. If my mom’s anything, it’s predictable.

  “Well, if it isn’t my favorite family,” the waitress, Jolene, says cheerily. She’s older, probably in her sixties, and has been working here since I was a little boy. She always waits on us when we come here and knows our order by heart. “The usual?”

  “You know it.” I slide my menu over to the edge of the table, and she picks it up.

  My mom and dad hand over their menus as well when the bell above the door chimes.

  “I’m here!” Sabrina waves enthusiastically, pushing her sunglasses up into her hair. Sabrina and I look a lot alike, although her hair has more blonde while mine has just a bit more red. We both have freckles covering our arms and noses and the same hazel eyes. There is no mistaking us as siblings, that’s for sure.

  “Bina!” I call, throwing my arms out.

  She rolls her eyes and I laugh. “Hey, Bennie,” she retorts.

  I smirk as she t
akes the empty seat beside me in the booth. “Still excellent with the comebacks, I see.”

  “Stop it, you two,” my mom scolds.

  “Hey, Jo, you know what I want, right?” Sabrina calls over.

  Jolene nods. “I’ve got your orders memorized.” She winks and comes over with a tray of drinks. Like a little boy, I grin when I see the root beer float. She sets the glasses down and leaves us alone.

  I take a sip of my drink. Ah, that’s good.

  Sabrina turns back into the booth and glances at me. “So, some magazine is saying they have a picture of your dick.”

  I spit out my drink all over the table and my mom and dad.

  I glance over at them sheepishly. “Sorry.”

  My dad wipes the droplets from his face, his expression stoic. He doesn’t say much anymore. He had a stroke a few years ago and hasn’t been able to talk right since.

  My mom dabs at her purple shirt with a napkin, wiping away the moisture. “Oh, Bennett,” she groans.

  I turn to my sister. “Where the fuck did you hear that?”

  She shrugs. “One of my friends texted me about it last night. I think she thought I had them, which is so wrong on so many levels.” She gags. “Please tell me you weren’t dumb enough to take a dick pic and send it to someone?” I look away. “Bennett!” she cries and slaps the back of my head.

  “Ow!” I grab my head and glare at her. “I could’ve done without that, thankyouverymuch,” I slur.

  My mom pinches the bridge of her nose. “The last thing you need is another scandal.”

  I roll my eyes. I love how no one will refer to the first scandal.

  “I’m sure nothing will come of it,” I reason. “Plus, I’m not the first athlete to send a dick pic.” I glare at my sister. “And I’m certainly not the only guy to do it.”

  She rolls her eyes and plays with the paper of her straw. “I don’t know why you guys think we want to see your dick so bad anyway. Trust me, we don’t.” She lifts her gaze to me. “Do you not care about anything other than sex?”

  I bristle. “Hockey is the most important thing to me. Period.”

  “Then prove it,” she challenges. “Because so far, all you’ve done is prove to me and everyone else that it’s not. You’re going to end up kicked off the team.” Her voice softens at the end and she bites her lip. There are tears in her eyes. Bina is truly worried about me.

  “Don’t worry about me,” I tell her.

  She glares at me. “Shut the fuck up. You’re my little brother, of course I’m going to worry about you.”

  “Guys,” my mom intervenes, “I wanted us to have a nice family breakfast, can we please let this go?”

  “Already dropped.” Sabrina raises her hand in surrender.

  “Ditto,” I agree.

  “How’s Coach Harrison?” my mom asks, changing the subject.

  I shrug. “Same old Coach, riding my ass.”

  “It’s what you need,” Sabrina and my mom say simultaneously and then laugh.

  I sigh. “I know. He’s good. Without him, I probably wouldn’t have made it to the pro level.”

  My dad grunts, and I know it’s his way of disagreeing with my statement.

  My mom shakes her eyes. “I’m sure Coach Harrison helped sculpt you into the amazing player that you are, but you underestimate your raw talent.”

  I slurp at my root beer. “He won’t let me out on the ice,” I grumble.

  I need to be out there. To have my skates glide against the ice and feel the hockey stick in my hands as I slap it against the puck.

  “He must have a good reason for keeping you off the ice,” my mom reasons.

  “He says my leg isn’t ready,” I mumble, looking into the depths of my empty glass like it holds all the answers to the world.

  “Then it isn’t ready,” she says.

  I sigh. There’s no point in explaining my need to her. People don’t understand even if they have their own obsessions.

  Jolene brings out our food, and my stomach comes to life.

  I’d forgotten how good the food was here.

  I look down at my plateful of scrambled eggs, sausage, and toast, and lick my lips.

  “You’re so weird,” Bina says, having seen my reaction.

  “So are you.” I bump her elbow with mine and she glares.

  My mom sighs heavily. “You guys are old enough not to act like children anymore and yet…” she trails off.

  I take a bite of sausage and smile through the food. “Get used to it, Mom, you’re going to be stuck with us acting like two big kids for the rest of your life.”

  She cuts into her omelet. “Trust me, I’m very aware.”

  “So what’s new with you, Bina?” I ask, trying to be nice. It’s rare but it happens

  “Work, work, and more work.”

  Sabrina works for a newspaper as a reporter. Luckily, she’s not a sports reporter, or I’d be fucked.

  “I hope you’re doing your finger work outs.” I flick my fingers through the air.

  She rolls her eyes. “You’re such an ass. At least I don’t party for a living.”

  I wince. “Touché.”

  Her face softens. “I think this will be good for you, though. Working with Coach Harrison again. He’s a nice guy. There’s something off about your new coach.”

  I look away. There is something off about my coach. He’s a fucking prick.

  Frank West is supposed to be one of the best coaches in the league. He’s been coaching my team, the Plymouth Hunters, for almost ten years, but he’s crooked. A fucking bad guy in my opinion. He wants me off the team and fuck, if I was in a position to be traded, I’d fucking take it just to get away from him, but with my recent media firestorms no one wants me, and the Hunters are stuck with me until my contract is up next season. I have one year. One fucking chance to make this right.

  We finish breakfast and I pay; everyone protests that fact, but fuck it. I have the money and I want to treat my family.

  Out in the parking lot, I hug Sabrina goodbye, and she leaves, having to get home to finish an article.

  “Come by the house soon,” my mom says as she hugs me. “We miss you.”

  “I miss you too.” I let her go and hug my dad, holding on a little tighter. I thought we were going to lose him after his stroke and I don’t know what I’d do without him. This man has always been my rock, someone I can admire and look up to. “I love you, Dad.”

  He nods against my shoulder. “L-Love y-y-you.” His hands shake against my back.

  I clap him on the shoulder and step back so my mom can get him in the car.

  “I’ll see you soon.” I wave and climb behind the wheel of my car.

  Gym time.

  I open the door to my dorm, balancing two coffees carefully in my arms.

  Elle sits up in bed and rubs her eyes. Her dark hair is wild around her head and her eyes are bloodshot and puffy from crying. My heart breaks for her. She might’ve been a bitch to me but I would never wish for anyone to experience the situation she was put in last night.

  “Hey,” she says softly. She looks down at her bed covers, biting her lip.

  “I got you coffee.” I stride over and hold out the peace offering. She takes it.

  I take a seat on my bed and she looks over at me. “Thank you, for last night. For stepping in and getting me home.”

  “You’re welcome. I hope you would’ve done the same for me.”

  She looks away, shame flashing across her face. “I don’t know if I would have,” she admits quietly. “I know that’s really shitty of me, but I think before last night I would’ve let it happen. Said it was karma.” She shrugs.

  “I hope you know better now?” I raise a brow and take a sip of my coffee and cringe. It’s way too watery and weak. Looks like I’ll be checking out another coffee cart before classes tomorrow.

  “Oh, yeah.” She nods quickly. “I’m sorry for misjudging you,” she whispers. “I won’t make that mistake agai
n.” She tucks her wild hair behind her ears. “Friends?”

  I smile. “Are you sure you want to be friends with a priss like me?”

  She laughs. “Yeah, I’m sure. You’re cool.”

  “Friends then,” I agree. My phone buzzes in my purse and I fish it out, finding a text from Ryland asking if I can meet him at ten. “Hey, Elle?” She looks up. “Ryland is going to give me a tour of campus, you want to go?”

  “Who’s Ryland?” Her dark brows furrow.

  “He’s the guy that drove us back to campus.”

  “Oh.” She nods. “He was nice.”

  “Yeah, he was,” I agree. “So, are you in?”

  She taps her fingers against the side of her coffee cup. “Yeah, sure.”

  “Get ready then,” I tell her. “He wants to meet at ten and it’s already nine-thirty.”

  She sets her coffee aside. “Since we’re besties now, I have to say, that’s the shittiest coffee I’ve ever drank.”

  I laugh. “I have to agree with you.”

  She stands and stretches. “I’m going to take the quickest shower of my life, promise. I feel dirty.” She shivers. I know her feeling comes from the encounter with the guy in the hall at the party and not with sleeping in her clothes.

  “I’ll let Ryland know we might be a little bit late.”

  “Thanks.” She gathers up her things and heads out into the hall to the shared bathroom.

  I’ve never had to share a bathroom before, and I can’t say I like it. It’d be one thing if it was only Elle and me sharing a bathroom, but instead, one bathroom is allotted to half the floor. Community showers are not my thing.

  Since Elle is gone, I spend my time tidying her side of the room. I just can’t help myself. The mess is about to give me a panic attack. I don’t know how someone can make so many messes in less than twenty-four hours. That has to be a record or something.

  Elle comes back into the room with damp hair and dressed in a pair of jeans, a loose t-shirt, and red Converse. She takes one look at her side of the room and raises a brow.

  “Sorry.” I back away. “I couldn’t help it.”