The Game That Breaks Us

by Micalea Smeltzer

  The old me would punch something and spout off, but the new me takes a deep breath and lets it out.

  This Zen shit is harder than I thought it would be.

  I stalk off toward the training facility with Coach hot on my heels.

  The team is already there, lifting weights and running on the treadmills. It’s easy to pick out the senior members and the newbies. They automatically segregate themselves. The older players hover around the weights, cheering on one guy. The freshmen are on the opposite side of the room, using some of the other strength training equipment and watching the guys with awe in their eyes.

  When I step into the room, everyone stops.

  Up until this moment, I’ve been working out on my own when they’re not around. To be honest, with my weakened leg and knee, I was embarrassed to work around them. They’re all athletes in their prime and I might be only a few years older than them but I feel like an elder.

  Coach claps me on the shoulder and bellows, “A’ight, fellas, I’m sure by now you’ve heard the rumors that Bennett was on campus. Those rumors are true. He’s here to train with you guys until he’s ready to rejoin his team. This is a unique situation, and I hope you’ll be mindful of that.” He glares at each and every one of them. I know he’s warning them off from blabbing their mouths about everything I do and say. I appreciate his effort, but I doubt it’ll do any good. When people want to talk, they do. “Get back to it,” he orders. In a lower voice says to me, “You too.”

  I sigh and move over to one of the weight-lifting machines by the freshmen.

  “Dude, what’s the NHL like?”

  I turn to look at the freshman on my right. “Like this but harder,” I answer, increasing the weight on the machine before taking a seat.

  “Why’d you get kicked off the team?” another one asks.

  I push up on the machine, my arms straining. “I didn’t get kicked off the team.”

  “But you’re on probation. Isn’t that the same thing?”

  I glare at the guy. “No, it’s not.”

  One guy hits them in the arm and they move off to the treadmills. The two other guys beside me seem uninterested in talking to me, which is fine by me. Besides, they seem to be having a conversation of their own.

  The blond guy says, “Dude, this girl in my English class fell in my lap on the first day. It was hilarious.”

  “Was she hot?” the other one asks.

  “Oh, yeah. Legs for days and long brown hair.”

  I perk up at that. Could it be? No …

  “Have you talked to her?”

  “A few times. We also have economy together so I purposely took the seat beside her,” he chortles. “She’s pretty embarrassed around me after the lap incident, but I think I’m wearing her down.”

  “What’s her name?”

  “Grace.”

  Fuck. Can he be talking about Grace?

  I quickly tune out what the guys are saying. It’s none of my business anyway.

  I push myself harder. Sweat courses down the side of my face, but I keep pushing harder, trying to quiet my mind, but I can’t let go of that conversation and I hate that it bothers me. I spent one afternoon with Grace—the brief run-in with her at the coffee shop on Monday doesn’t count—and all we did was go to fucking Target. How can she possibly be under my skin this deep?

  “You’re gonna regret that in the morning,” one of the senior guys says, coming over to stand beside me and crossing his arms over his chest.

  “Don’t worry about me,” I say.

  “Here,” the guy says, holding out a towel. “It’s clean. Promise.”

  I take the towel from him and mumble a quick, “Thanks.” I wipe the sweat off my face, cursing myself for leaving my bag back at Coach’s office. It has all my stuff in it, including my water.

  “Michael Thomas,” the guy holds out his hand. “I just want to say, I really admire what you do on the ice. I don’t think you get enough credit.”

  I look up at the guy. He’s tall, slightly taller than me, and wide like a wall. He has close-cut brown hair and brown eyes, and he sports a near-beard.

  “Thanks,” I say. “Are you a senior?”

  “Junior,” he answers. My eyes widen, the guy is huge so I just figured he was already in his final year. “Hoping to get drafted this year.”

  I nod. “Good luck.” I start to leave.

  “Maybe you could train me?” he calls out questioningly.

  My feet falter. “Uh…” I pause, not knowing what to say. I laugh lightly. “There’s not much I can teach you that you don’t already know.”

  “Yeah, but you made it. You’ve been there—on the big stage. That counts for something.” Michael’s eyes light up.

  I sigh and lean against one of the pieces of equipment. “I’ll be out on the ice with you, practicing like I’m one of the team—I’m sure you guys are going to teach me more than I can you, but yeah, I’ll do what I can.” I shrug. It would feel good to give back in a way. I was these guys only a few years ago with stars in my eyes—dreaming of being drafted. I would’ve shit my pants to work with a pro—even one as fucked up as me.

  “Thanks, man.” Michael holds out his fist for me to bump mine against.

  “I’m going to hit the showers,” I tell him. “See you tomorrow.”

  He nods, lifting two of his fingers to his forehead and saluting me.

  I go to Coach’s office to grab my bag and stop when I hear my name. “Are you fucking crazy? Letting Bennett James train with us? What were you thinking?”

  “I will not be reprimanded by you,” Coach says in a steely-calm voice. “You might be the team captain, but I’m the coach and you never address me that way ever again or you’re off the team.”

  “But, Coach—”

  “No buts.”

  I grab my bag and haul ass down the hall to the showers before Coach or the team captain spots me. I knew some of the players were bound to not want me here, but to have the team captain be the main one isn’t going to be good, and something tells me he’s going to set out to make my life a living hell. After all, you never really leave high school.

  I head out of the gym and toward the garages. I need to get out of here. It’s late and I need a fucking drink. The last thing I need to do is get drunk at a bar and have it show up in a magazine, but fuck it.

  I shove my hands in the pockets of my jeans, hunching my shoulders as I power across campus.

  I become distracted when I notice a girl standing at one of the coffee carts. She’s dressed in a blue skirt and white blousy thing with long dark hair.

  My gut tells me it’s Grace even if I can’t see her.

  I should keep going, ignore the urge to speak to her, but I can’t, and the conversation the guys were having back at the gym comes flooding back to me.

  I hesitate for one second—warring with myself—before I veer to my left and over to where she stands in line. I settle into line right beside her. “You have a thing for hockey players, don’t you?”

  She looks up at me, jumping back a bit. “Jesus, Bennett, you scared the crap out of me.” She raises a hand to her heart. “And what do you mean?” Her nose crinkles in confusion.

  “The guy you fell on is a hockey player.”

  Her mouth pops open and pink blooms across her cheeks. “How do you know about that?” She hisses, looking around like she’s afraid someone’s going to overhear.

  “The prick was talking about it in the gym,” I answer, unable to keep the sneer from my voice.

  Her eyes widen in horror. “I’m going to kill him,” she hisses under her breath. Raising her voice, and her chin, she says, “I didn’t know he was a hockey player. I’m not one of those fuck bunnies if that’s what you’re thinking.”

  My lips twitch ever so slightly with the urge to laugh. “They’re called puck bunnies.”

  She wrinkles her nose again and we move forward in line. “I like my term better. It’s more accurate.”

&n
bsp; She’s got that right.

  “I’m going to the bar, you wanna come?” I find myself asking before I even thought about what I was going to say. What the fuck is the matter with me?

  “Um …” She looks up at me with wide, doe-like eyes. “Bars aren’t really my thing.”

  “Come on,” I find myself coaxing. “It’ll be fun. You’ll be with me.”

  She bites her lip. “I’m supposed to meet Elle and Ryland,” she hedges.

  The monster named Jealousy rears up inside me when I hear the name Ryland, but I quickly douse it. I have no right to feel jealous. “Tell them to come.”

  She bites her lip and I know she’s caving. “Let me text Elle.”

  We step out of line so that other people can get their caffeine fix. I shuffle beside her as she texts her friend. I’ve never been so awkward around a girl before. It’s kind of alarming. I lean against a lamppost and stare down at the ground; it’s riddled with splotches of gum and pebbles and dirt.

  “Elle says they’re in.” Grace puts her phone away and looks up at me. Her hair blows slightly in the wind, a stray piece getting caught in her lip gloss. Before I can stop myself, I reach out and grab the strand of hair, plucking it away.

  I swallow thickly; the way my heart’s beating in my chest is something I’ve never felt before. My gut tells me to run, run far and fast, away from this girl, and yet my feet are planted firmly to the ground. I’m frozen, locked in her gaze. We stare at each other, neither of us saying a word. I wish I could read her mind, to know if she’s as confused by this as I am, but I’m scared if I open my mouth I’ll discover I’m the only one with these thoughts, and for some reason, I can’t bear the thought of that.

  “Cool,” I finally say in response to what she said. “Shall we go?” I point over my shoulder in the direction I’d originally been headed.

  She looks away and then back up at me with uncertainty in her gaze. “Just tell me the place. Ryland has a car; he’ll make sure we get there.”

  I’ve never hated a person I’ve never met before the way I hate this Ryland guy. It’s a bit—no, a lot—ridiculous. I don’t want to argue with her. I mean, I do but I don’t want to wave my asshole flag, so I sigh and say, “Yeah it’s Costello’s down on the corner of 5th and Main. You can’t miss it.”

  She nods. “I’ll see you in an hour then?” She starts to move away and her backpack strap starts to slip. She quickly hikes it back up before it falls.

  “Yeah, see you then,” I say.

  She smiles one last time and hurries down the cobblestone walkway to her dorm.

  I watch her go. When I can no longer see her, I finally force my legs to move back to my dorm—still sounds fucking ridiculous to say dorm—so I can change. If Grace isn’t going to be there for another hour, there’s no point to rush.

  It doesn’t take me long to change, and I spend the rest of my time trying to figure out what’s so different about Grace and why I can’t get her out of my head.

  The bar is packed with college kids and what looks like a few professionals enjoying an after work drink.

  “Do you know if Bennett is here?” Elle asks, shouting to be heard above the noise. “I still can’t believe you know Bennett James.”

  I shake my head. “I don’t have his number.”

  “Girl, you have to get his number,” she says with a look like I’m crazy.

  “I think he’s back there.” Ryland points to a horseshoe-shaped booth in the back where someone has an arm raised, waving. I can’t see them, but I head that way, dragging Elle along by her arm with me. Ryland moves behind her, paving his own way with his wider body.

  I’ve only been at school for a week, but in that time, Ryland and Elle have become my friends. I’m beyond shocked by how much Elle and I actually have in common, considering she probably wanted to slit my throat when she first saw me. I’m learning that’s just Elle, though. She’s like that with everyone until she gets to know you—except Ryland: she let him right on through her fortress, but I think that’s in part to him saving her that first night and the crush she has on him which she won’t admit to.

  I finally break through the crowd, and sure enough, Bennett occupies the booth. I slide in beside him with Elle on my other side and Ryland beside her.

  “Hey,” I say in greeting to Bennett. A glass of beer sits in front of him, half-empty.

  He gives me a close-lipped smile back. “Hi.” He lifts his fingers in greeting at Elle and Ryland.

  “Oh, this is my roommate Elle, and my friend Ryland,” I introduce.

  “Hey, man.” Ryland holds his fist out for a bump, and Bennett reluctantly returns it, giving Ryland a disgruntled look.

  “I’m a huge fan,” Elle chimes in, lighting up. Her obsession with hockey cracks me up considering her dark princess persona she insists on wearing. “That one play you did in your last game was ah-mazing. I’ve never seen anything like it. You’re a rock star on ice.”

  Bennett chuckles and lifts his glass of beer to his lips. “Thanks.” He signals for a waitress. “Order whatever you want. It’s on me,” he says.

  Elle and Ryland both order beers, and I’m shocked when the waitress doesn’t card Elle. I’ve drank before, at parties, sure, but never in a bar like this. “Water for me,” I say. “And some food. What do you guys want?” I ask.

  “We’ll take an order of cheesy fries and nachos,” Bennett tells her.

  “Sure thing. I’ll be right back with your drinks.” She smiles up at Bennett, and I swear she bats her long, obviously fake lashes. It shouldn’t bother me—it doesn’t bother me. Bennett’s not mine, and we barely even know each other. Women are free to check him out, and he’s allowed to return the favor. Although, at this particular moment, he’s not returning it. Instead, he’s staring at me.

  “You don’t want a beer?” he asks, twirling a coaster between his fingers.

  I shrug and trace my fingernail over the word DICK carved into the top of the table. People are so amusingly base. “Beer’s not my thing.”

  His lips twitch. “Maybe you’d prefer one of those girly fruit drinks with the little umbrellas.”

  I suppress the urge to laugh. “Yeah, that’s probably more my speed,” I agree.

  Beside me, Ryland and Elle chat, and for the moment it feels like Bennett and I are alone, when in reality that’s the farthest thing from the truth.

  Bennett’s brows draw together, and he seems to be mulling over what he wants to say. I don’t pester him, knowing he’ll speak when he’s ready. “You really didn’t know who I was, did you?” he asks.

  “Honestly? No,” I admit. “My dad and older brother are into cars, not sports, and the only sport my little brother likes is football, so I hate to disappoint you, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen any hockey games ever in my life.”

  Bennett grins—I get the feeling he doesn’t smile like that very often. At least around me it seems like he’s always trying not to smile. Like he has to keep up some bravado of the big bag hockey player that’s going to hurt you. My gut tells me that’s not the real Bennett.

  “We’re going to have to change that,” he says.

  I raise a brow. “Oh, are we?” I emphasize the word.

  He lifts his beer to his lips. “Yes, we are.”

  Elle punches my arm. “I have to go pee.”

  I snap my head in her direction. “What does that have to do with me?”

  “Girl code,” she hisses under her breath.

  I roll my eyes and glance at Bennett. “We’ll be right back.”

  Ryland slides out of the booth so Elle and I can pass. She takes my hand and pulls me into the bathroom. The noise from the bar dulls and only one stall is in use so we’re relatively alone.

  “I think Ryland likes me,” she states.

  “You dragged me into the bathroom for this?”

  “Grace,” she whines. “What do I do? I’m not good at this kind of thing. I mean, you saw what happened at the party—the kinds o
f guys I tend to go after. Ryland is … He’s sweet and he makes me laugh. I like him.”

  I lift my hands at my sides. “I don’t know what to tell you other than to just be yourself.”

  She rolls her eyes. “You sound like a damn fortune cookie.”

  I sigh. “It’s the truth, though. You are your own most unique quality about yourself. Embrace it.”

  She heads over to the sink, gripping the white porcelain between her fingers. “That’s hard for me,” she says softly.

  “It’s hard for everybody,” I agree. “We think if we can’t love ourselves for who we are that nobody else can. We rarely see the beauty in who we are and just the ugliness. We all focus too much on what’s wrong and not what’s right. I promise you, even if you can’t see it, you’re pretty amazing.”

  “Really?” she asks with wide puppy dog eyes.

  “Really,” I concur.

  “How can you even say that, though? I was such a bitch to you that first day.”

  “And that’s not who you really are, is it?” I counter. “Just like I’m not the uppity rich girl you thought I was.” Well, technically, I am rich but I certainly am not uppity. In fact, in high school, I was noted for letting people walk all over me. I just wanted to be liked, but something I learned is you can’t roll over and expect people to love you—they’ll only use you.

  The girl in the stall comes out, washes her hands, and leaves all without sparing us a single glance.

  Elle inhales a deep breath, looking at her reflection in the mirror. “I’m overthinking this, aren’t I? I’ve only known the guy a week.”

  “Yeah, you are. Just let things play out.”

  “Okay.” She nods and takes a step back. “Now I really do have to pee.”

  I laugh as she scurries into the stall. I figure since I’m in the bathroom, I might as well do the same.

  When we head back to the table, Bennett looks at us with a knowing smile. Ryland stands, and I slide back into my original spot. Bennett now has his arm stretched along the back of the booth and his fingers dangle dangerously close my shoulder when I settle.