BLAZE: Enemies to Lovers College Hockey Romance

by Eddie Cleveland

  The standoff Prissy and I had in this parking lot flashes in my mind. She refused to let me drive back to Hector House. It was the right call. I had no business getting behind the wheel. After that stunt she pulled on the stage, I knew she wasn’t going to back down either. Turns out Becky Ball-Buster had the biggest balls of us all.

  What pisses me off the most about Player’s judgy shit is he’s right. Is it surprising Rookie looks up to me? No. As far as heroes go, he could do a lot worse. Bringing an inexperienced freshman to a place like this to learn to pick up chicks, that was a dumb move. Now he’s got himself in shit, and it’s probably my fault.

  I never realized how jaded I was before. Hook ups and sex were just a game, no different than hockey. Except, hockey gave me an endorphin rush when I scored. I was so numb, most days I felt nothing, and that’s how I liked it. When I buried Logan, my happiness went in the ground with him.

  Drinking, weed, girls, they all started out as an attempt to jump start my brain. It was the only way I could forget that loss. At first, they were like a shot of dopamine. It didn’t take long for it to stop working though. There weren't enough drinks, drugs or distractions to stop the pain, so I let it overwhelm my system; I let it shut me down. If nothing made me feel good, it was good to feel nothing.

  Prissy changed that.

  If you dull out the entire world, you don’t just block the pain, you miss the beauty. Prissy makes me want to be present. She makes me want to feel. She makes me want to try.

  The entrance has two bouncers tonight. Neither of them are the guy who gave me the boot last time, so that’s nice. It’s still not Frosh-week busy, but there’s enough guys waiting outside in the cold that they roped off a section for the line. I cut straight to the front of it.

  “Hey!”

  “What the fuck, man?”

  I ignore the sweatpants crowd and approach the bouncer with the curly mullet and goatee.

  “I’m here to get my friend. He’s in your office,” I explain.

  “Follow me,” he grunts. A path clears for this guy as he leads me to the back of the strip club. He takes me down a hall to a room that looks like it might be used for Russian spy interrogations on the weekends.

  “He’s here.” The bouncer announces me as I follow him inside. Then my mulleted escort leaves.

  Rookie is sitting on a metal folding chair with rusty legs and the gray paint flaking off. He looks like he’s been crying.

  Across the barren room, a girl with a sexy cop costume and fishnets is sprawling across the imposing desk. Behind it is the bouncer that walked our asses out of here. I recognize him, but there’s nothing in his eyes when he looks at me.

  “Your friend thought the champagne room was gonna be free.” He nods at Rookie. Now that I’m closer, I can see the tear tracks down his cheeks. He has definitely been crying.

  “I already paid them one-fifty.” Rookie sounds scared, like might-get-his-thumbs-broken scared.

  “How much?” I ask.

  “Another three-hundred,” the girl on the desk answers.

  “What the fuck did you do in that room?” I stare at Rookie, wide eyed.

  “It wasn’t like that. She was flirting, and I thought she liked me. The songs kept going and…” He hangs his head in shame and sniffles.

  Fuck, Rookie’s mistake is such a rookie mistake. Not that it matters now. I know I helped create this problem, and now I’ve gotta help fix it.

  “It’s fine. There’s an ATM in the lobby. We’ll go get the cash.”

  “He’s not going anywhere until my girl gets paid.” The bouncer behind the desk stands up like he’s giving me a visual reminder of what I’m up against. I’d have a better chance against a polar bear.

  The girl on the desk twirls her long, blonde hair around her finger, bored.

  “Alright, I’ll go alone.” I put my hands up, backing toward the door. “I’ll be right back. I promise,” I say to Rookie.

  I try to get to the bank machine by the front entrance as quickly as possible. I’m not running, but I am rushing. Of course, when I get to it there’s a line of guys draining their life savings for booze and skin. One by one, they push their cards in with shaky hands and pray to the ATM gods to grant them just one more dance. Just one more drink.

  Finally, the last guy in front of me stumbles off, and I take out three hundred off my credit card. It probably feels like forever to Rookie by the time I make it back to the interrogation room. I expect to turn the corner and see him blubbering in front of the bouncer and dancer, but it’s just him. Blubbering alone.

  “Where is everyone?” I step in cautiously like it’s some kind of trap.

  “I don’t know, man. They left right after you did,” he answers, wiping his eyes.

  I have half a mind to grab Rookie and bounce, but the idea of getting my ass kicked or arrested keeps me in place.

  “Listen, Rookie, I never should have brought you here before. I was an idiot. Living fast and loose is a rush, but it makes your whole life a blur. Next thing you know, years go by, and you’ve got nothing to show for it but a bunch of nights you don’t remember and mistakes you can’t forget.

  “I’m such an idiot,” Rookie sniffles.

  “I know a thing or two about being an idiot, trust me, you’re fine. No one even knows this happened, and they don’t need to. I’m not gonna say anything to the guys. Just pay me back when you can and learn something from this.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Awww, isn’t it sweet that you two have worked out a payment plan.” The blonde-haired dancer walks back in the room. She holds her hand out at me. “Pay me now.”

  “Fine. Here’s your cash.” I pull out my wallet and scoop out the fat wad of bills.

  “There he is. Pay up.” the bouncer walks back in the room, and I can’t see who he’s talking to until he moves away from the door.

  Prissy.

  “This was your emergency?” She blinks at me in disbelief.

  Shit.

  “This isn’t what it looks like,” I start to explain.

  “I don’t have all night. I danced my ass off. You still owe me three-hundred bucks. Pay up.” The blonde opens and closes her hand in front of my face.

  “Three hundred!” Prissy gasps.

  “You owe me a hundred bucks lady,” the bouncer who sold me out interrupts.

  “You haven’t changed at all.” Prissy can’t look at me. Disgust is etched onto her face as she pulls money out of her purse and hands it off to the bouncer.

  “This isn’t for me. It’s for Rookie.” I clutch the handful of money I withdrew from the ATM.

  “He already paid. Now it’s your turn,” the stripper interrupts.

  “Yeah, sounds like it.” Prissy’s voice is flat.

  “Prissy will you just…”

  “Shut up, Blaze. I don’t want to listen to any more of your lies. I can’t believe I ever thought you could be better than this. Guys like you don’t change. Why would you?”

  “Give. Me. My. Fucking. Money!” The woman who bamboozled Rookie out of close to five-hundred bucks yells in my face. I hand it over to her just to shut her up.

  Prissy turns and disappears out the door, but I don’t try to stop her. She came in here believing the worst, so I’m done trying to give her my best.

  27

  Something to Prove

  Priscilla

  I rest my coffee and bag of Skittles on the counter while I struggle to get my debit card out. Overpriced airport convenience food is not exactly the breakfast of champions. It looks like it might be a breakfast favorite for frazzled, exhausted and angry travelers though.

  So, I fit right in.

  I punch my bank pin in and rip the edge of the candy bag open with my teeth while I wait for the machine to do its thing. Dumping Skittles in my mouth, I chase it down with a huge gulp of coffee. I swish it around like mouthwash before swallowing it all down. The guy behind the register looks at me li
ke I’ve personally pained him.

  “Don’t forget your card.” He points. I was going to. I completely forgot it was even stuck in the debit machine.

  “Thanks,” I speak around the candies that sort of welded my top and bottom teeth together.

  How many times a day does he have to remind people to take their cards? The only thing more depressing than travelling in airports must be working in them. The endless churn of distracted, rude and hurried strangers must wear down a person’s soul.

  I wash down another handful of Skittles with burnt coffee, and not because I love the disgusting flavor combination. Caffeine and sugar are the only chance I have to jolt my brain back to life. I know I did sleep last night, but I don’t feel like it. Every single time I would start to drift off, my brain would play a dirty trick on me. I’d swear I heard my phone ding with a text message so I’d jolt for my phone, only to see a whole lot of nothing.

  After the strip club, I thought Blaze might text or call or come to my house. Why did I think he’d be sorry? Why did I expect him to have any remorse? I spent my entire drive home waiting for a call that never came. Then I spent my entire night listening to the whispers of ghost texts haunting my imagination. Even when I pulled my heavy eyelids open this morning, I fully expected a message to be waiting for me. To hear something.

  Not a word.

  He’s not sorry. Why would he be? Blaze has never hidden who he is. He’s shared a few tender words, and I let myself think they meant something. Whatever message I thought he was sending me has been erased by his silence.

  Making my way to the gate, I keep doing the Skittle and coffee thing until both are empty. I toss the trash and wait for my magic energy elixir to do its thing. I’m pretty sure when you get as bad a night’s sleep as I did, Skittles and coffee are only good for keeping you alive. Barely.

  Slumping into one of the airport seats, it isn’t sugar or caffeine that snaps my spine to attention; Blaze’s voice sends that jolt. Not that he’s talking to me. He and Canuck sit next to each other in the next aisle over.

  I do my best not to look at him, but my best is pretty weak. I blame the lack of sleep. If he can feel my eyes on him, he doesn’t show it. Even though I keep telling myself not to look his way one more time, I do.

  It keeps happening until the boarding announcement starts. It keeps happening when the group shuffles into two big lines. It happens again when I get on the plane and see him slump in his seat near the back.

  Blaze never looks at me. He never notices my presence. Not once. It’s not like he’s trying to ignore me either. He’s not twisting away, pretending he doesn’t see me. He doesn’t care.

  My seat seems like the perfect place to slump down and feel sorry for myself. I am fully prepared to wallow in self-pity all the way to Philadelphia. At the very least, I will weave it in around some naps.

  The waft of booze hits me before I realize where it’s coming from. Rookie sits next to me, and the smell spreads. He looks like he got run over by a truck, and then the truck reversed to make sure the job got done. He leans his head back and closes his eyes.

  “Uhhh,” he moans. “I want to die.”

  “I don’t feel any sympathy for you.” I sniff at him.

  A lady with a blue blazer and a bored expression stands at the front and starts the airplane safety routine.

  “You knew we were flying,” I whisper. “You knew you were playing in finals. You knew you were breaking rules. You get what you deserve.”

  I’m not sure that Rookie deserves my anger. It’s Blaze who broke my heart. Now it’s my turn to lean back in my chair and close my eyes. Except, I’m trying to stop myself from crying, not from throwing up.

  “Prissy?”

  “What?” I open one eye and peer at Rookie. He looks gray. The dark circles under his eyes aren’t helping his complexion. He might be wishing for death, but he already looks like it.

  “I just want to say sorry. I know I caused a lot of shit. Thank you for not narcing to the coach.” He keeps his voice low just in case. “I don’t know what I would’ve done if Blaze didn’t bail me out. God, I can’t believe how much money I spent.” He rubs his hands down the sides of his face. “Ugh. He was right… living like this sucks. I’m never drinking or going to another strip club as long as I live.”

  “Wait, so you went to Foxies by yourself?”

  “Yeah.”

  “And that money?”

  “I know,” he groans. “I’m going to pay Blaze back as soon as I can.”

  My stomach sinks. “Why?”

  “With hockey, you’ve always got something to prove. I'm in my first year on the team, and I’m sure you know why they call me Rookie.” He looks down, embarrassed. “I was pretty drunk by the time I showed up at Foxies. I’m not even sure how I got there, to be honest.”

  “Okay.” I nod.

  Rookie looks relieved, and his confession must help ease his conscience because he passes out cold. I don’t disturb him. He needs sleep.

  I cringe, realizing that all that stuff I said to Blaze...ugh. Now I understand why he never called me or tried to make it right. I’m the one who messed it up. I jumped to conclusions and jumped down his throat.

  An apology is absolutely needed, but I’m the one who needs to make it. After the way he’s been ignoring me, I know he doesn’t want to hear the words I have to say. After how I treated him, I don’t know if he’ll ever listen to me again.

  28

  Pussy & Parties or Prissy

  Blaze

  “Out of sight, out of mind” is bullshit.

  Prissy has been in my periphery all day: at the airport, checking into the hotel, on the bus to the arena… It wasn’t easy, but I kept her off my mind. Controlling your thoughts isn’t easy, and adding drama like last night makes it almost fucking impossible. But I did it. I used the same techniques I explained to Prissy’s mother to block her out. My only focus today was on winning the first game of the tournament.

  And that’s exactly what we fucking did.

  Canuck and Rookie play cards at the small table and chairs shoved in the corner of my hotel room. The door is propped open and all the guys on the team are free to come and go. Every time we have an away game, the entire floor of the hotel becomes one big team hockey lounge. Until lights out, guys are weaving in and out of rooms and conversations. Normally, there’s pizza and beer, but with our final game of the Frozen Four tomorrow, it’s all veggie trays and protein shakes tonight.

  Now, at the hotel, it’s easy to avoid her. Keeping her out of my mind is another fucking thing entirely. My phone buzzes, again. I don’t know why I check. I’m not going to answer.

  Prissy: Blaze, Pls talk to me.

  The other reason it’s impossible to get her off my mind tonight is because she won’t stop texting.

  I toss my phone beside me on the bed. Griz is in the other twin bed. He’s watching some YouTube videos on his phone. Everyone watches Player float in from the hall. He’s got his phone to his ear.

  He walks in and makes himself at home, plopping down on my bed. “Uh huh. “I love you too. Okay, bye babe.” He hangs up.

  “Love you, babe,” Canuck imitates.

  Rookie makes a bunch of kissy noises.

  “Shut the fuck up. You guys are all lame and single, and no one loves you,” Player says.

  The only guy from Hector House that’s missing is Gucci. He and Griz are sharing a room, so he’s probably taking advantage of the privacy. He’s probably having phone sex with Etta.

  “Man, where is the food?” Canuck looks over to the door longingly.

  “How long ago did we order?” Rookie asks.

  Canuck checks his phone. “I guess it was only twenty minutes ago. Damn, I’m starving.”

  “What did you guys get?” Griz looks up from his screen.

  “We just got the kitchen to do some chicken, rice and broccoli,” Canuck answers.

  “Nice.” Griz nods. “Let me poach some of that when i
t shows up.”

  “You’re on your own, man. I’m starving. Maybe Rookie will share with you.”

  “Come on, I won’t take much.”

  “You always say that, and then you eat half my plate. Remember the nachos I made last week?”

  “Don’t talk about those. You’re just making me hungrier,” Griz answers.

  “You said one handful. You ate more than me! No more sharing.” Canuck shakes his head.

  “You’ll miss me picking at your plate.” Griz looks back at his phone.

  “Why? Are you going somewhere, or are you just going to make your own food?”

  “I’m moving in with Hattie. Not until next school year, but yeah, we’re doing it.”

  Rookie tries to play it cool, but I notice him sit taller and tense up a bit.

  “Officially?” Player asks.

  “Yep. It’s official.”

  “That’s a big step,” Player warns him.

  Griz shrugs. “What can I say? I’m a big guy. I want to give it a shot. I love her.”

  Player nods slowly. I hate that I understand their silent communication now. I never wanted to be a part of their stupid club. I never planned to fall in love.

  “I think the spot is as good as yours.” Player looks over at Rookie, and the smile on that kid’s face is ridiculous. It looks like he’s trying to show us every tooth in his mouth at once.

  “Nice.” Rookie pumps the air in victory.

  My phone buzzes against my thigh. I want to ignore it, but I can’t stop myself from reading her messages. I thought about blocking her, but I don’t think I’m ready to stop hearing from her.

  Prissy: Don’t wall me out.

  “Man, you must be psyched, Blaze.” Rookie pulls me back into the conversation.

  “Why?”

  “There’s only one game left until you get rid of the ball-buster,” he answers.