He keeps going, calling out every mistake he noticed from up in the box, and every time, he’s right. I may be a figure skater, but hockey runs through my veins too. I know every rule, every penalty, every play in thebook. My dad might be pissed at Rhodes right now, but one day, he would probably be thrilled to see Rhodes as a coach somewhere.
I hang back and wait for the guys to start heading out for their media interviews so I can do my post-game clean-up of the locker room.
“Matthews,” I hear Jax say amongst the slamming locker doors.“You see the coach’s daughter tonight?” Ice runs through my veins as smugness drips from his voice. “Fucking smokeshow.”
There are some chuckles and murmurs of agreement from other members of the team echoing through the locker room.
“You know she was a figure skater, right?” one of the other guys replies. Kieran Holt, maybe—another new trade. Defenseman. “Olympic level. Had a really bad accident, total career-ender.” His tone isn’t mean, but I don’t like the reality of what I look like from the outside.
A sick feeling coils in my stomach. I don’t want to hear this, but I can’t make myself put my headphones back in my ears to drown it out.
“Yeah,” someone else chimes in. “Really messed her up. Couple frat guys I know from the university say she’ll sleep with just about anyone.” There is laughter from the team.
“Well,fuck, put me next in line.” Jax laughs. “I’d love to strip her down and see what’s between those pretty little thi—”
I freeze when I hear Rhodes’ voice among the chatter. Low, lethally calm. “Finish that sentence, Jax, and I’ll break your fucking jaw.”
“You got the hots for the coach’s daughter, captain?” Jax sneers. “Hey! Let’s make a bet on who can get her panties off first. Hell, we can even share, if you want.”
My face is flushed with embarrassment. There is a brief pause, silence. I wonder for a moment what’s going on, then I hear the dull smack of a fist colliding with skin.
Another beat of sickening silence. Then—
“What thehell, McKnight,” I-think-Kieran cries.
Jax is screaming a stream of curses at Rhodes. I consider peeking around the corner to confirm what’s happening.
“I think you broke my fucking nose.” Jax is still screaming, voice garbled with what I assume is blood.
Well, there goes Rhodes’ no-fighting streak. And he wasn’t even on the ice tonight.
“I better not hear her name so much as whisper out of your goddamn mouth again, Callahan. I held back this time, and you’re lucky all I did was break your nose.”
It’s quiet for a minute, and I notice my shaking hands. I clench my fingers to try to still them.
Whatwasthat? He’s already suspended for fighting on the ice, but off the ice? Breaking his own teammate’s nose?
He’s going to be insomuch trouble.
And if Jax knows what’s good for the Wolverines, he will keep his mouth shut to my dad about what happened here, or they’ll all have hell to pay. Coach Abrams has a zero-tolerance policy on physical fights between his players—but he’s also my dad. And Carter Abrams doesn’t play about me, either.
I stay in my hiding spot until I’m sure everyone has left, then I go into the locker room to begin cleaning up.
I’m surprised to see I’m not alone when I walk into the room. Rhodes is sitting on one of the benches, head leaning against the lockers, eyes shut. An ice pack is on his fist. His phone is vibrating on the metal next to him,and he smacks it to the floor without sparing a glance. It hits the concrete so hard I’m sure the glass will be shattered when he picks it up.
“You sure you don’t want to get that?” I say, leaning against the wall. Rhodes slowly opens one eye to look at me.
“Why are you here?” he asks, ignoring my question and closing his eye again. Rhodes looks tired. Hesoundstired. There is a pang of sadness in my chest for him that I quickly shove down. I don’t know him well enough to feel like I can ask him if he’s okay. I had no time to feel sorry for Rhodes McKnight, especially since the last time we were in a locker room together, we were trading insults like playing cards. I turn up the dial on my snark instead, because that’s what I’m good at.
“Post-game cleaning duty,” I retort. “Fulfilling my biggest dream of becoming the Wolverines sanitation staff.”
“No,” he replies, quietly, ignoring my sarcasm. “Why are youhere, working, at all? Locker duty, at the rink. You didn’t answer me the other day, and I can’t figure it out. It’s driving me crazy.” I’m silent while I look at him. There’s something raw about the way he asked. “You were one of the top figure skaters in the world, Monroe. What are youdoinghere?”
He sounds so obviously frustrated that I decide to throw him a bone.
“Werebeing the operative word,” I start. He sits up and looks at me, surprise in his face. I don’t think he actually expected me to answer. “My dad. He cut me off.”
A puzzled look crosses his face. He leans forward, forearms on his knees, eyes never leaving mine. “Cut you off?”