The Game That Breaks Us

by Micalea Smeltzer

  She bites her lip and I know I’ve worn her down. “Okay,” she says softly. “Give me like fifteen minutes to pack and change and I’ll meet you at your car.”

  “No, I’ll wait outside,” I tell her. “I don’t want you walking across campus in the dark by yourself.” I pause, my brows furrowing. “Wait, fifteen minutes? Princess, we’re only going to be gone overnight. You don’t need to pack your whole closet.”

  She rolls her eyes. “My books, laptop, and a change of clothes, Bennett. That’s all. Promise.” She promptly closes the door in my face.

  I chuckle. “Well then.”

  I stuff my hands into the pocket of my sweatshirt and head outside to the steps to wait. If we’re spending the night at my apartment I don’t need to pack anything and I have my gym bag with me so I can at least wash that stuff tonight. I’m sure Grace will shit her pants at the sight of me doing my own laundry. She seems to think I’m incapable of doing most things. I like to think I just might surprise her.

  The air is growing cold as we move into October and I love it. It’s my favorite time of the year. I love the change of the leaves and the crispness in the air—something in the air just smells of hockey. I might play the whole year between training and scrimmages, but fall time means real games. It means the rush and high of a win and the crushing feeling of defeat when we lose.

  My phone rings in my pocket and I pull it out, seeing my sister’s name light up the screen.

  “Hey, Bina,” I say into the speaker.

  “Bennett, what the hell?” I hear something slam in the background, like a kitchen counter or something.

  I take a seat on the step and pinch the bridge of my nose. “What did I do now?”

  Something else slams and she curses. “Our sports reporter cornered me today, with this gloating smirk on his face, and informed me that he had exclusive news that you’ve been suspended for doing steroids. I told him that was an outright lie, but is it, Bennett? Are you on steroids? Do I need to come there and haul your ass to rehab? Because I will. You might be a giant, but I can do it. Don’t underestimate me, Bennett James.”

  “Shit, Bina.” I sigh, defeated.

  She squeaks and I’m scared she’s about to cry. “No, Bennett. No.”

  “Bina, it’s complicated,” I say.

  “So you’re doing steroids?”

  “No,” I say firmly. “I’m not. But Coach Matthews has made it look like I am.”

  “Why would he do that? I don’t believe you.” Yep, she’s about to cry.

  “Dammit, Sabrina, I’m your brother. Who are you going to believe? Some shitty sports reporter or your family?”

  “It doesn’t make any sense, though.” She bangs something else, it sounds like she’s rattling in the silverware drawer. “Why would he fudge a drug test?”

  I sigh. “I can’t talk about this with you, Bina.”

  “Is it because I’m a reporter or your sister?”

  “Both,” I answer, feeling a headache coming on. “There’s just a lot of shit going on right now.” I rub the back of my head. “The last drug test I did for Matthews was when I was still playing for the team so that was months ago. Just let this go, please?” I beg her. “All I want is to make it through this season and get traded to another team.”

  “Traded? You want to leave?”

  I look toward the lights dotting campus. “Yes. I have to.”

  I have to get away from Matthews before he ruins my life.

  All because of what I saw.

  “Why? What’s going on?” She pesters. “Talk to me, Bennett. I’m your sister.”

  “That’s exactly why I can’t talk to you. You don’t know what I’m up against. This guy … I don’t trust him.”

  “Your coach?”

  “Yes.”

  She grows quiet. “I’ll look into it.”

  “Bina, no,” I beg.

  But it’s too late, she’s already hung up.

  “That sounded intense.”

  I look up to find Grace standing over me. It’s the second time she’s stumbled upon me in a heated conversation.

  “Yeah.” I sigh. My voice sounds tired, like all the fight’s gone out of me, but the fight is really only beginning.

  “Are you going to tell me why we’re taking an unexpected trip to Boston in the middle of the night?”

  “It’s not the middle of the night,” I counter. She raises a brow. “I’ll explain in the car.”

  Explain what I can, at least.

  “You better.” She slings her duffle bag into my chest, and I cough from the unexpected impact with my gut. “You dragged me out of my dorm room, the least you can do is carry my bag.” Her green eyes sparkle with laughter.

  My lips quirk into a smile and we fall into step beside each other, walking across campus.

  We get to her favorite coffee spot and I point. “I want some. You?”

  She nods eagerly. “I’m going to need it if you expect me to study in the car—riding in cars make me sleepy,” she admits with a sheepish smile.

  I smile down at her. Her face is clear of makeup, showing a small smattering of freckles across her nose, and her hair is pulled back in a sloppy ponytail. She’s beautiful. She’s always beautiful. And I actually like being around her—which is something I didn’t expect.

  We head into the coffee shop and place our order. Grace tries to fight me on paying for hers—arguing that I bring her coffee every morning—but then I remind her that I dragged her out of her room for a three-hour long road trip and then she stopped arguing.

  With our coffees in hand, we walk the last little bit to the garage where I park my car.

  I drop my gym bag and Grace’s into the trunk and start the car. We sit there for a few minutes while I put in the address.

  I’ve calmed down some since finding out what Matthews did, but I know my temper will rise once more when I get to his place.

  Confronting the fucker is probably the last thing I should ever do, but I can’t sit idly by while he destroys everything I’ve worked for—so that my word counts for nothing against his. I’ve already done a good enough job destroying my image, but he’s determined to make sure I never play in a professional game ever again. I promised to keep my mouth shut about what I saw, but my promise must count for nothing and he wants to silence me forever.

  “What has you so worked up?” Grace asks as I fix my phone in its spot to navigate me.

  “Hockey stuff.”

  She crosses her legs and pulls out a textbook from her backpack, plopping it in her lap. “That’s the most evasive answer you could’ve possibly given. Elaborate.” She flips through her textbook, looking for the right page.

  “I got suspended for drug use. Steroids.”

  She slams the textbook closed. “What?”

  I pull out of the garage and into traffic. “I’m not on anything,” I tell her.

  “I know,” she replies immediately. “That’s why I’m confused.”

  My head whips to her. “How do you know?”

  She looks at me with a puzzled expression. “Because I know you.”

  I glance at her briefly before my eyes dart back to the road.

  Because she knows me? My own sister didn’t believe me.

  “Why?” I ask.

  “Why what?” She begins flipping through her textbook again.

  “Why do you think you know me?”

  She snorts. “Bennett, I pretty much spend every waking moment with you that I’m not in class or studying. I know you pretty damn well at this point—and I’m not an idiot. I’d know if you were abusing anything.” She reaches over then and jabs me in the chest.

  “What the hell was that for?” I nearly run off the road trying to get away from her before she can poke me again.

  “Checking to see if your boobs are sensitive. Isn’t that what happens if you’re taking steroids. You become a woman?”

  “First, off they’re not boobs—they’re pecs, get it right, woman
. Secondly, I have no fucking clue.”

  She shrugs and sits back in the seat. “I was just making a point.” A playful smile tugs on her lips. I knock her textbook off her lap and onto the floor. “What was that for?” she cries, quickly picking it up and looking it over like it’s an injured bird.

  “Forget studying. Distract me.”

  “Bennett,” she groans. “I have to study.”

  “And I’m about to go and murder my coach for telling everyone I’m doing steroids when I’m not.”

  “Wait, your coach is the one that lied about the drug test? It’s not some fuck up somewhere else?”

  My jaw clenches. “It’s him,” I say in a rough tone. “He’s fucking up my life. If I hadn’t gotten injured, he would’ve found a way to get me off the team then. This is his latest ploy because I’m getting better—good enough to go back.”

  “I didn’t know that,” Grace says softly, and I swear there’s sadness in her gaze when she looks at me.

  “Aw, are you going to miss me, Princess?” I mock. I know I shouldn’t have said it, but that’s what I do—I always fuck up a good thing.

  “Only in your dreams,” she shoots back.

  I grin. “You love me, admit it.”

  She snorts. “Now you’re really stretching the truth.” She picks a piece of lint off her book.

  We grow quiet and I let her study, but about an hour into the drive, I break the silence. “Thank you,” I say softly.

  She looks up from her book with tired eyes. “For what?”

  “For coming with me.” I swallow thickly, my fingers tight around the wheel. “This … This is hard for me. This whole situation. And I probably shouldn’t even be doing this, but I have to speak to the fucker and I know … I know if you’re waiting for me I won’t do anything stupid.”

  Grace’s tongue slides out the barest bit to moisten her lips. “You’re welcome. I could tell you needed me, so I’m here. I’m here for you, Bennett,” she reiterates.

  “Thanks.” I reach over and take her hand in mine, entwining our fingers together

  “Bennett …”

  “Yes?”

  “You know no one can see us, right?” she asks.

  “Yeah?” I say, a questioning tone to my voice.

  “Then why are you holding my hand?”

  I let go like my hand has caught on fire. “Oh, sorry,” I mumble awkwardly.

  “It’s okay,” she says, and I swear she’s blushing but it’s too dark to tell.

  We don’t speak much for the rest of the trip. I arrive at Coach Matthews McMansion in the suburbs a little before midnight.

  “Sit here,” I tell Grace.

  My blood is boiling once more. Coach’s shiny red Ferrari sits in his driveway—the man likes his cars—and I wish I had a fucking baseball bat so I could beat the car to a pulp. It’d be a shame to hurt a car that nice, but it’s tainted with Matthews’ filth so it’s already ruined.

  I march up to the door and ring the doorbell again and again and again.

  I’m not worried about waking up his wife and daughter. He doesn’t have a family anymore. Just an endless barrage of perky-boobed blondes since he divorced his wife two years ago.

  I see a light flick on and then Coach Matthews appears through the glass in the door. It distorts his image, but I’d know the man anywhere.

  He’s a legend. He played professionally as long as he could and was one of the best players in history—still is, I guess. When he couldn’t play any longer, he turned to coaching.

  Before I became a part of his team, I revered him. I wanted nothing more than to be Joseph Matthews. The way he commanded the ice was unparalleled.

  When I first joined the team, he was just your normal hardass coach.

  But then things changed and I found out who he really is.

  Scum and a liar—he uses his position to gain what he wants.

  He swings the door open, his dark hair—graying at the temples—is ruffled and there’s lipstick stains all over his neck and bare chest.

  “James,” he greets. “Mary, Sherrie, Terry, and I were just getting started. Would you like to join us?”

  I punch him straight across his already crooked nose. I hope it hurts like a bitch.

  He falls to the ground from the force, not having expected that.

  I point a finger at him. “That’s for fucking with me. Remember what I know about you? You better watch yourself,” I warn.

  He grins up at me like there isn’t blood pouring from his nose. “And who will people believe? The man whore drug abuser or the living legend? Hmmm …?”

  I shake my head, my jaw clenched. “Don’t fuck with me, Matthews. I’ll fuck you right back.”

  He grins, and I walk away before I do something stupid—like hit him again.

  I get back in the car and Grace stares at me wide-eyed. “You punched your coach,” she states.

  “I did,” I pant, breathless. I think I’d been holding my breath and hadn’t realized it yet.

  “Is your hand hurt?” she asks, grabbing ahold of my hand and drawing it to her. She inspects my knuckles, touching her fingers lightly to the tender skin.

  “Nah, I’m fine.” I gingerly remove my hand from hers so I can put the car in drive. I want to get out of here before Matthews calls the cops or something. As we pull out of the neighborhood, I glance at her. “Are you okay to stay at my place? I can get you a hotel room if you’re more comfortable there?”

  She shakes her head and looks away from the window to me. “Your place is fine.”

  “Okay,” I say, my throat catching for some odd reason.

  We arrive at my place thirty minutes later and I park in the garage beneath the building.

  “This place looks swanky,” she comments. “At least from the outside. Garages all look the same, no offense.”

  I laugh and get out of the car, grabbing our bags. “None taken,” I say when she gets out. “It is a pretty nice place I admit. I like it.”

  She follows me to the elevator and I press the button for my floor.

  “Not the penthouse?” she asks, pointing at the P button and raising a single brow.

  I laugh. “No, not the penthouse. Didn’t want that. This is plenty big for me.”

  She nods. “Not the penthouse,” she repeats.

  “Making a mental note, Wentworth?”

  She smiles. “Maybe. I’m deciding that maybe you’re not as douchey as I originally thought.”

  I put a hand to my heart. “Aw, I’m touched.”

  She punches me lightly in the stomach, her lips twitching with laughter.

  The doors open and I lead her down the hall to my place. I set our bags down and dig my keys out of my pockets. I unlock the door and it swings open with a slight squeak.

  I pick our bags up again and motion for Grace to head on in.

  “Home sweet home,” I say, coming behind her.

  I close the door and flick the lights on, dropping our bags on the floor again.

  She looks around, and I wonder what this place looks like from her eyes. Probably pretty plain. The walls are white and gray and the kitchen has the same color scheme topped off with stainless steel appliances.

  The floors are all some sort of dark hardwood—no rugs. My couch sits in front of a large flat-screen TV and every gaming console I could get my hands on. There’s a wall of windows across from us that overlooks the city of Boston. It’s the reason I bought an apartment in this building: the view is unparalleled.

  Grace crosses her arms over her chest and looks out the windows.

  “It’s beautiful,” she comments.

  I step up beside her, our arms brushing against each other, and I swear she shivers.

  “It is,” I agree.

  But I’m looking at her.

  I’m always looking at her.

  “Wanna watch a movie?” Bennett asks, moving away from the window.

  I know I should go to bed, but tomorrow is Saturday, so I don�
�t have to be up early. “Sure.” I shrug. “But let me go change into something comfier.”

  He grins. “Oh, right, your sexy PJs.”

  I smack the back of his head, and he laughs uproariously.

  “Where can I change?” I ask, looking around.

  “Oh, right.” He grabs my bag and leads me down the hall to a bedroom. He turns on the light and steps back after putting my bag on the bed. “My room’s the one at the end of hall. Your bathroom is just across.” He taps the closed door.

  “Thanks.” I close the door behind him so I can change.

  The bedroom is plain with white walls and oak furniture. The bedding is a basic gray that matches the color scheme of the rest of the house. But considering this is a bachelor pad, I guess it’s better than it could be. I mean, there could be a pinball machine in here.

  I close the blinds and change out of my clothes into a pair of sleep shorts and a loose shirt. I add a pair of knee-high socks because I’m always freezing.

  I find Bennett sitting on the couch, changed into a pair of sweatpants—shirtless.

  Kill me now.

  The man’s body is a work of art between all his muscles—seriously, hockey must be really good for the body—and the tattoos. There’s a spear between his shoulder blades and I wonder if he got it to represent the Plymouth Hunters.

  He looks up when he hears me. “What do you want to watch?”

  “You pick. I’ll probably fall asleep anyway.” I yawn as if to prove my point. I sit down beside him, careful to keep a distance between us.

  He notices and shoots me a shit-eating grin. “What are you afraid of, Princess? That if you get too close you won’t be able to get enough? Come on, you can look … and lick if you want.”

  “You’re so gross.” I push his shoulder and he falls back cackling.

  Then, just because I can, I grab his arm and lick his firm bicep over a tattoo of a leaf.

  He laughs even louder. “That’s not what I meant for you to lick,” he chortles.

  I blush and mumble, “I know.”

  He touches my cheek, and I reluctantly lift my eyes to his. He stares at me intensely, and for a moment, I think he’s going to kiss me, but just as quickly, he pulls away and says, “I’m picking Snow Dogs.”