TWENTY | NATHAN
I’ve hada migraine for well over twenty-four hours.
It started when Aaron Carlisle stood in front of me with a busted arm and bruised hip and blamed me for it. That’s when I felt the twinge at the base of my skull, shortly followed by blistering heat spreading through my head until it was so painful, I could feel it at the back of my eyes.
The whole mess descended into chaos. Sabrina shouted at Robbie, JJ called Aaron a fucking liar, and I frantically gripped Anastasia, trying to promise her I never touched him.
She flew to his side, not caring about anyone else, examining his arm carefully, and said his name with the most broken, heart-shattering voice. “We’re not going to be able to compete at sectionals.”
I couldn’t see her face, but I could tell. We could all tell. The anguish, the realization, the hurt. She was stunned, and when she sank into his chest and began to sob, I had no idea how things could go wrong so quickly.
I didn’t know what to say to her. I never touched him, despite joking about it and her telling me off. I’d never jeopardize her dreams.
Aaron’s hand stroked her head, soothing her. I wanted to drag her away from him and promise her I didn’t do it, but he ushered her out of the booth, Brin close behind them, and I let them leave.
The team was just as confused as me, each promising it was nothing to do with them either. No pranks, no misbehaving, they’d all stayed away from him like I told them to. Nothing was making sense.
I called Anastasia the minute we got home from the club, but she didn’t answer. Not the first time nor the second time. On the third time, Sabrina answered and told me she was asleep. I tried to explain I didn’t do anything, but she said she wasn’t the one I needed to convince.
On Sunday, Stassie texted me saying she needed some space because she didn’t know what to think. She was stuck between her partner and me, both promising we were telling the truth, and she needed to process the fact she’d have to pull out of her competition.
I told her I’d miss her, but she didn’t reply.
I spent all day Sunday bouncing from house to house to grill each of the guys who weren’t there last night, and they all swear it wasn’t them. Call me naïve, but I believe them.
I was sitting on a disgustingly sticky couch in a frat house with three underclassmen in front of me. Their eyes were bloodshot, and they collectively looked like they’d had five minutes of sleep. How I was supposed to be looking if my Saturday night out hadn’t been fucking hijacked in the worst possible way.
“We didn’t do anything, Cap. Johal said no messing with the skaters—even when they were being dicks. He said we couldn’t upset your girl, or you and Robbie would bench us.”
Your girl. She couldn’t be further from being my girl than she is now. She felt closer to being my girl the other night, but now I’m not even back to square one. I’m not even on the board.
Now that the weekend is over, I’ve been trying to sike myself up for college for an hour, but even the darkness of my room isn’t helping soothe the stabbing pain in my head.
My phone starts to vibrate, but instead of Stassie, I find messages from the team.
PUCKBUNNIES
ROBBIE HAMLET: Email from Faulkner: Award room at 7:30 a.m.
BOBBY HUGHES: Welp. Was nice knowing you guys. Fly high.
MATTIE LIU: Should have played fucking basketball.
HENRY TURNER: You haven’t got the hand-eye coordination for basketball, Liu.
NATE HAWKINS: My brain feels like it’s trying to turn itself into goo while simultaneously set itself alight.
JAIDEN JOHAL: You need Tylenol, buddy?
NATE HAWKINS: I need a shovel to the head.
KRIS HUDSON: I’m sure you won’t need to ask Faulkner twice.
This was always coming, so I can’t act surprised. Aaron told his coach something was on the floor outside only his locker, and he slipped. The hockey team is playing pranks again, he told her.
He told Anastasia someone saw me do it and told him afterward. But he doesn’t know who the supposed witness was, and he’s not told Brady it was me. No, he saved that bit for Anastasia, claiming he doesn’t want to get me into trouble because he’s looking out for her.
I only know because of Robbie, who has a distraught Sabrina on his hands. She’s stuck in the middle, unable to take sides or do anything to make things better. Her friends are all hurting.
She knows I’d never do anything to hurt Anastasia.
It’s all bullshit.
Seven thirty sneaks up on me quickly, and I’ve somehow managed to drag myself to Faulkner’s impromptu meeting. The room is in total silence as Faulkner sits and stares us all down, and for the first time, I can’t read his mood.
I don’t know what he’s waiting for. An admission of guilt? A look that says it was me?
“Did everyone have an enjoyable weekend?” Faulkner drawls.
I’ve been in enough of these meetings over the years to know he does not give a shit about our weekend, and it is not a question that needs answering.
Henry looks at me for guidance and I give him a slight shake of my head.
“Mine was great,” Faulkner continues. “I spent Saturday at my daughter’s volleyball game, filled with pride. They won and I couldn’t have been in a better mood. Even planned a family day on Sunday to celebrate together.”
If there’s one thing I’ve learned in the three-plus years I’ve played on this team, you don’t mess with Faulkner and his family time.
He traveled a lot when he was pro, the nature of the job, but he struggled with being away from his wife and his then newborn daughter, Imogen. The accident forced him to slow down, and now there is nothing he values more than time with his girls.
“On Sunday, I got a phone call from the dean.” He brings his coffee flask up to his lips, watching people shuffle awkwardly over the brim. “Oh yeah, you can all look fucking uncomfortable. Not Director Skinner, oh no, it was above him. The dean wanted to know why my team of highly skilled, division one athletes had purposely injured another student.”
“Coach, we—”
“Shut your mouth, Johal,” he barks, slamming the flask down on the table. “The dean received a phone call from the student’s mother, who threatened to pull her sizable donation to the new Arts building. She’s understandably very upset, not only because her child was hurt on college property but also because he has a competition in two weeks.”
He doesn’t need to tell us. We all know about sectionals. It’s all Anastasia shouts at us when she’s trying to get us off the ice.
Kris had told her he would take a shot every time she said the word sectionals, earning snickers from the guys around him. I had been ready to step in, but she pinned him with a glare so cold a chill ran down my spine, and she wasn’t even looking at me.
She had looked him up and down slowly, and I saw him shuffle on the spot, but then, she gave him a dazzling smile and patted him on the arm. “I’d take a shot every time you miss the goal, but I don’t have time to get alcohol poisoning this week.”
That’s why the guys love her, even if she does spend most of her time calling us the bane of her existence and telling us to learn how to tell the time. She can hold her own and she’s funny when she’s grumpy.
“Am I boring you, Hawkins?” I hear faintly, only fully registering he’s talking to me when Mattie elbows me in the ribs.
“No, sir. I have a migraine, but I am listening.”
His eyes narrow as he assesses if I’m lying, but I’m white as a sheet with huge bags under my eyes. He’d be hard-faced to try to say I’m not ill right now.
I would get migraines when I lived at home from the stress of spending so much time with my dad. They were unbearable, which is how I know if I keep on top of the painkillers, I can just about function. If I let it spiral out of control, I’ll be vomiting and hiding from the light like a vampire before I know it.
“So, you can see we’re in quite the predicament here. Now tell me, who did it?”
The room is still silent because, as I said, everyone has said it wasn’t them. The normal thing to do would be to speak up, tell Faulkner he’s got it wrong, and work together to find out the truth.
But that isn’t the Titans’ way.
He’s decided we’re guilty because we’ve given him no reason to believe he can trust us to tell the truth.
He’s had years of petty, exhausting bullshit where it’s turned out to be a guy on the team to blame every single time. He won’t give us the benefit of the doubt because we’ve never earned it.
“You’re all off the team until someone comes forward and admits the truth.”
The silent room erupts into chaos as every person tries to reason with him. The volume increases and my head aches until he eventually bellows, and everyone stops talking instantly. “I don’t give a fuck about forfeiting your games. I will make this team finish bottom if you boys don’t start behaving like men!”
I’ve said before he’s a scary guy. His anger is bubbling up so blatantly it’s unmissable, but he’s disappointed when you look beyond the flushed face and the loud voice. Robbie has been pinching the bridge of his nose and staring into his lap for the last five minutes, disappointed, too, because he can’t coach a team that doesn’t exist.
“Hockey is a privilege! College is a privilege!” Faulkner shouts. “When I have my answer, you can play again.”
I clear my throat and avoid eye contact with my teammates. “It was me, Coach.”
* * *