Reckless King

by Maya Hughes

  “There’s no other way, man.”

  He glanced behind me, and I followed his gaze. Makenna was on her feet with two fingers shoved into her mouth, cheering the guys on.

  “Heath!”

  My head whipped up at Coach’s call. Every muscle tight, I climbed over the boards. My skates hit the ice, and I took off into the play, ready to finish this.

  With the precision and timing we’d honed over the past four years, even without Preston at our side, we held them back. Declan and I had been skating together for almost ten years. We fell into the groove we’d laid down long ago, and the team filled in all the missing gaps.

  A wing from the other team came out of nowhere, skating full power across the ice, and slammed straight into Declan while his head was turned. Nothing pissed me off more than a cheap shot, and that was beyond cheap. His stick came up and hit Declan straight in the chest.

  Unable to brace himself, Declan went flying and slammed into the glass so hard it rattled and splintered. I was frozen in horror as I watched him fall to the ice. A roar of disapproval blasted the walls of the stadium from the crowd.

  Gritting my teeth, I got to them first. The other guys on the team were right at my back, and I could tell they were out for blood. Throwing down my stick and my gloves, I skated right up to the guy, my hands fisted at my sides and my blood boiling.

  He tried to get away like a coward, but I was faster. I slammed into him so hard his helmet flew off. With my hands wrapped around his jersey, I gave him another shake. My nostrils flared, and he tried to take a shot at me. I dodged it and held him there. My blood pounded even harder than it had in the game. My vision clouded as I wrapped my fingers around his jersey and slammed my fist into the wing’s head. Pain exploded in my fist, but he’d sure as hell feel it tomorrow.

  His hands came up, taking wild swings at my face, and I hit him again. My knuckles sliced open, and blood poured down my hand. The ref’s whistle sliced through the melee, but it didn’t get me to stop. I’d already had one teammate end up in the hospital because of someone’s shitty decisions, I didn’t need that happening to Declan. The wing from the other team dropped to the ice when I let go of his jersey.

  Someone wrapped their arm across my chest, and I shook them off, ready to take on whoever was next. I whipped around and came face-to-face with Declan.

  “Heath. Calm down. I’m good.” He got in front of me and pushed me away.

  The curtain of red lifted, and I could see the guy who’d hit Declan. He sat up on the ice, shaking his head. Hope he liked getting his bell rung as much as he liked ringing others’.

  “That was uncalled for, son.” The ref skated in front of me.

  “And what he did was uncalled for. He could have killed him,” I shouted at the ref and got into his face. Declan held me back.

  “Two wrongs don’t make a right.”

  “Tell that to one of my teammates when someone puts them in the hospital.” We’d already been there. We were already dealing with one man down. I didn’t need that shit happening again. Declan wrapped his fist around my jersey and jerked me back. I hadn’t even realized I’d been advancing on the ref.

  I grabbed my stick from Declan and skated past the ref.

  His whistle split the air, and he gestured with his thumb. “You’re out of here.” And he skated away.

  “Are you fucking kidding me?” My nostrils flared, and the boiling anger threatened to overtake me. I threw down my stick, ready to go after him, but Declan and the rest of the guys got in front of me. Coach was shouting at me from the bench. I let them push me back and stepped off the ice, going straight for the locker room.

  I ripped my helmet off and threw it against the wall. Grabbing my stick in both hands, I slammed it down over my leg, snapping it in half. Dropping down onto the bench, I ran my hands through my hair, sweat pouring off me. It dripped down into my face, blinding me.

  It was all getting to be too much. Everything converging into this mess I didn’t know how to fix. Preston was going to be out for a while. There wasn’t spinal damage, so thank fuck for that, but that didn’t mean he’d be back out on the ice anytime soon. I could not keep this team together like everyone had had faith that I could.

  A bellowing horn filled the stadium. God, I hoped that was one for us. I slammed my head against the lockers. The metal rattled, and I took off my jersey, sliding it up over my head. My shoulders pressed against the cool metal, and I tried to inhale through the burning in my throat and lungs. Staring down at my bag, I let out a curse. My phone lit up.

  I shoved my clothes aside and grabbed the phone.

  Kara: I know you have a game, but I wanted to wish you good luck. You’ve got this and I know any guy who can spend months splicing the perfect floral specimen has whatever he needs to do anything.

  The next message came in a little while later.

  Kara: And I miss you. I know the promise we made, but I wanted you to know that. It’s not any easier for me.

  I dropped my head into my hands and stared at her words. It didn’t seem possible that someone could come into your life for such a short time and make such an impact that every day you didn’t see them was like agony, but here we were. Here I was doing what I needed to do to protect her and get her away from me when I was losing my cool left and right. Understatement of the year. I was fucking things up—royally. The guy she saw me as wasn’t who I was anymore. Had I ever been that guy, or was I really good at putting up a front? That chill laid-back guy had disappeared into the murky surf, and I needed to get my head on straight. Maybe this was for the best. The universe’s way of giving her an out. Getting me away from her before I broke something I couldn’t fix.

  Heath: I miss you too. Game isn’t going well.

  Another stadium-shaking blast from the goal buzzer. I wrenched open the locker room door and spotted one of the screens lining the hallway: 3-5 us. Maybe I was a fucking distraction on the ice. I’d never dealt with this before, the uncontrolled spiraling that threatened to throw everything off track.

  I wasn’t this guy. I was the fucking laid-back one, damn it. But these outbursts. This anger scared the shit out of me. I hated to think this was what had always been there. Had I been pretending, covering who I really was and only now was the real me coming out? The guy who got kicked out of games and lost his cool.

  The other thing I’d shoved in my bag poked out of the side. A plain white envelope. It looked so innocuous and ordinary, but what lurked inside was one of my worst nightmares. California Department of Corrections and Rehabilitation printed along the top left-hand corner. I’d grabbed it from the pile of mail at home when I’d stopped by.

  He might get out. My dad’s parole hearing was scheduled, and less than a decade after he’d tried to kill us both, he could be out free and roaming the streets. The urge to get in my car and make that trek across the country thudded hard into my chest so hard I swore I’d crack a rib.

  My phone buzzed in my hand, only it wasn’t a message. It was a call. Her name lit up the screen, and I hesitated before answering. Somehow she’d known I needed to hear her voice. I answered the call and held it up to my ear.

  “Heath?”

  “Yeah, it’s me.”

  “Are you okay?” The sweet fullness of her voice was like a salve to the burning anger coursing through my veins. I shoved the letter back into my bag and leaned against the locker.

  “I’m a lot better now.”

  “I saw you got kicked out of the game.”

  I winced and then smiled. “Been checking up on me?”

  She let out a small laugh. The kind that was made from happiness tinged with a hint of embarrassment. “I can’t even lie and say I wasn’t. I have no idea what all these stats and other numbers are on my screen, but I saw the note about you getting ejected.”

  “I lost my cool. It shouldn’t have happened.”

  Another blare of the horn signaling a goal sounded outside the locker room.

 
“They scored again. It’s three to six.”

  “Maybe they’re better off without me.”

  Another bellowing horn to signal the end of the game.

  “Don’t say that. They aren’t. Maybe they are digging deep because they know you’re not out there with them and they want to make you proud.” I could see her now, downright indignant over it.

  “Maybe.” I stared up into the locker room lights. “I’ve missed the sound of your voice.”

  “Me too. I mean, not the sound of my voice. I hear that all the time. I’ve missed the sound of your voice.”

  I couldn’t help but laugh. She was probably the only one who could have gotten one out of me at this point.

  “Are you in your office?”

  “No, I’m home, trying to remember why the hell I chose this department.” Pages flipped on the other end of the line.

  “Studying?” I could see her now with her hair up, pencil behind her ear, diligently working through problem after problem.

  “No. I should be.” She let out a deep breath. “I’m writing.”

  “As in a story?”

  “Sometimes. Sometimes it’s poetry. Sometimes it’s an entire plot arc, someone’s journey. It depends on my mood.”

  “I didn’t know you were writing again.” It seemed like something I should know. It didn’t make sense as to why, but it did.

  “I started back up a little while ago, and I kind of haven’t been able to turn it off. Heath, I—”

  The door to the locker room burst open, and the guys piled in.

  “The game’s over. I’ve got to go. It was nice to hear your voice.” Let’s do it again soon. Actually screw that; let me drive back to you right now and bury my face in the side of your neck.

  “It was nice to hear yours too. I’ll see you at our session.” She ended the call, and I put my phone back in my bag. Coach barreled into the locker room, and his eyes blazed. I steeled myself for the chewing out to come because I deserved it. It seemed like I was fucking up left and right. Glancing down at my phone, I wanted to pick it up and call her back. It seemed I wasn’t ready to learn my lesson yet.

  25

  Kara

  My texting with Heath was not advisable. It was downright stupid and only the slightest bit better than what we’d been trying to avoid in the first place, but more than a day without hearing from him and I got antsy. The texts poured in at night. When I was alone in my room and thinking of him. Even when I promised myself I’d wait or I wouldn’t reply, I couldn’t help it.

  My notebooks were filling faster than I could buy them. I’d taken to shoving extra pieces of paper, napkin, backs of menus, whatever I could get my hands on to get the words out that wouldn’t stop coming until I’d freed them with my pen and paper.

  Heath had made me less afraid of the words. Less worried about what it meant that I couldn’t stop writing. It was so fast and furious sometimes I’d fall asleep on top of my composition book. Rereading my words and knowing how much he’d brought them to life made the temptation so much worse.

  Not a single hand raised in the air as we neared the end of the recitation session. We’d worked through the questions, but I had to make sure all the material had sunk in. The midterm had gone well, but they’d have to incorporate the new concepts we’d been learning.

  My pacing along the front of the classroom at the beginning of the session slowed to a meandering crawl, but my mouth was still drier than a desert. More than once I’d had to ask one of the busybody students a question where they’d ramble on so I could gulp down some water. The humidity from our rainy afternoon had wreaked havoc on my hair. It was most likely a frizzy mess if I was lucky and a giant poufy triangle if I wasn’t.

  The handouts I’d given the class of sophomores had gone down well. I distilled everything as simply as I could and prayed they’d retain the information. Things had picked up considerably since the exam. I had no idea how Jason’s students were coping, because mine were barely hanging in there and they’d performed a hell of a lot better than his. Standing in front of thirty-five students, I felt like any moment they’d know I was an imposter. You nearly flunked eighth grade! How can you be teaching us this!

  I hadn’t exactly been an amazing student before high school. Detentions. Suspensions. And terrible grades were what I associated with school. It was a place to go and hang out with my friends or a truancy officer would be pounding on our apartment door. It had happened more than once before I’d learned to go to school and sneak off to the bathrooms to smoke with my friends.

  No one knew about my past and no one probably would have cared, but it was always like someone was waiting in the wings to rip off this mask I’d created for myself over the past ten years. Those were my nightmares in the days leading up to the first sessions.

  Someone would stand on top of their chair and pull out my middle school report card, showing everyone how unqualified I was to teach anyone. My insane fears had been unfounded. Instead of standing up on their desks to point and laugh, the students stared at me with fear in their eyes and shaky pencils as they freaked out about understanding everything we would be cramming into their heads over the next semester.

  Waking up in a cold sweat had given way to a queasy stomach before classes started. Examining my stack of notes, I made sure I’d hit on every topic we needed to and had a few students work through some methods aloud. I nearly leaped over the desk with joy when almost all of them could work through problems that followed the same patterns but were different enough that it meant they knew the material.

  I don’t think I was made for standing up in front of a class. Everyone said your first few weeks were rough, but this was my fifth session standing in and it never got easier. Class days were by far my worst days. It usually took me at least another day to recover from the nerves. It wasn’t helped by the crossover at the end of the class. Jason taught his session right after mine.

  As if I’d conjured him with my thoughts, Jason whipped open the class door and strode into the classroom like he owned the place. I hated it when he did this. All heads turned to him as I wrapped up the session.

  Every eye snapped back to me. The urge to crawl under my desk warred with the one to punch him straight in the solar plexus. With my luck, I’d end up breaking my hand and he’d report me to campus security.

  “I think we’re good for today. The first exam went well, and you’re all well on your way to nailing it. I’ll have office hours on Tuesdays and Thursdays, so be sure to stop by if you weren’t able to answer the questions we went over. Thank you, everyone.”

  Notebooks and textbooks closed, bags zippered, and feet shuffled across the floor. Everyone glanced between me and Jason as they walked out of the class. I clenched my fists at my sides and shook my head. In seconds, he’d completely thrown my class into disarray, and he sat in the back with a smug smirk on his face as everyone filed out.

  The last student left, and the door slammed shut. My blood boiled so hot I wouldn’t have been surprised if steam started pouring out of my ears. I kept my head down and packed up my things. I gritted my teeth at the soft squeak of the desk as Jason unfolded himself from it, jamming my supplies into my bag, imagining it was a straight shot at Jason’s solar plexus.

  His shadow fell over me as he stepped up to the front of the desk. He leaned in and pressed his hands onto the top on either side of my bag.

  “Why are you here so early?” My jaw was clenched tight. It wasn’t the first time he’d shown up and interrupted my session. It wasn’t like saying anything to Prof. Stevenson would matter. He’d give her some excuse that she’d lap up.

  “I like to be on time. I can’t help it if you’re easily distracted.” His bag hit the desk with a thump.

  “Don’t interrupt my class like that again. Wait outside like anyone else in your session.” I tried my best to keep the venom out of my voice, but his smirk stayed firmly in place, so it hadn’t fazed him.

  “Maybe I wanted
to see you in action. Since you tried to foist that hockey player onto me earlier this semester, I thought maybe you might be struggling with the sessions and I could help you out.” His voice was like a slime trail across my eardrums.

  “I didn’t try to foist anyone off on you. I thought for so many reasons Heath would be better suited with you for the semester.”

  He sat on the edge of the desk. “And what reasons were those?”

  “It doesn’t matter now, does it?”

  “Let’s see what extra information you might be slipping your students in here.” He slid one of my study sheets across the desk.

  I snatched it back from him and shoved it into my bag. Just what I needed, him ripping off my study materials and passing them off as his own. I’d give this sheet to Stevenson after the weekend and let her know the students found it helpful. But I wasn’t going to let him weasel his way into it.

  “I’d have thought you’d have had better manners after all these years, Kara. How long have we known each other?” He rounded the desk.

  “Too fucking long,” I grumbled and slipped the strap to my messenger bag over my shoulder.

  The classroom door flew open so loudly that it crashed against the wall with a bang. I jumped, and Jason backed up, knocking over the chair behind the desk.

  Standing in the doorway was a disheveled Heath. His eyes were ringed with red. Droplets of water fell from his hair, and his clothes were wet. What the hell had happened?

  His gaze darted behind me to Jason, and he backed up.

  I took a step forward, and Heath took one back. Glancing behind me, I turned to meet Jason’s wide eyes. I whipped back around to see Heath disappearing around the corner. The blood surged in my ears so loudly I could barely hear. If I raced after him, Jason would know something was up, but the way Heath had looked at me… The way he looked, disheveled and lost. I’d deal with the fallout later. I called out Heath’s name. My feet slapped against the tile floor, sliding as I stepped into Heath’s wet footsteps. I pumped my legs harder, determined to catch him.