Page 59 of Worth the Risk

Fuck. Hannah.

God I miss her.

We weren’t even really together that long, but I feel like part of my soul is missing. It’s complete bullshit that we’re apart. I don’t even know where she’s staying. I’ve asked Caroline, and she claims she doesn’t know. Coach Davenport won’t look me in the eye, only holding me off the one time I almost punched Woodward after he commented that I was way too wound up, and should probably call my skank to service me. Davenport looked me in the eye, albeit briefly, and said, “don’t do it. You’ll regret it. Let all of this play out, Luca.”

He called me Luca.

I could be looking too deeply into things, but that subtle name change gives me hope. Does this mean he supports my relationship with his niece? I hope I’m not being stupidly optimistic in hoping it means something is going on behind the scenes. Maybe Hannah is working on something. Is she okay? Is she thinking about me as much as I’m thinking about her? Who knows.

“Santo! Get the fuck off the ice, you piece of shit,” Woodward yells. Sure would be nice if my coach didn’t refer to me as a piece of shit, but whatever. At this point, I’m surprised he hasn’t started calling me Italian slurs.

As I pass him, though, he clearly mutters, “can’t wait to get rid of you, you fucking prick. Your whore of a mother should have aborted you when she had the chance.”

I whip around to face him. He did not just call my mother a whore. “The fuck did you just say to me?”

“You heard me, Luca,” he sneers. “Get the fuck off my ice before I make you.”

That’s it.

This shit ends now.

“Oh, yeah, Coach? How exactly are you going to make me?” I skate to within inches of him, towering over his meager frame. I’m a few inches taller than Woodward normally, but my skates add a few more inches. You ever hear that expression those who can’t do, teach? Well, those who can’t make it in the NHL become coaches. And Woodward hasn’t played one game as a professional hockey player. He didn’t have the speed or the stick skills. But he had tenacity, and he had the drive to start at the bottom and work his way up. Considering what I know now, though, it makes me wonder how he rose to head coach so quickly.

“You won’t touch me, Santo. You don’t have the balls,” he says deeply, but a slight tremor is detected in his tone.

“Obviously, I’ve gone mental, right? Isn’t everyone concerned about my wellbeing?” I taunt.

“That’s enough, Santo. Hit the showers,” Davenport says, stepping between us and effectively stopping what would have undoubtedly ended my career immediately. I’m acutely aware of the letdown I feel. I’m just not sure if it’s due to me really wanting to be done with hockey, or if I really just want to knock Woodward around a little.

I hear Woodward spouting off nonsense about me as I stomp into the locker room, and I roll my eyes in annoyance. Ripping off my practice jersey and pads, I throw them across the locker room.

“What the fuck were you thinking, Santzy? Are you trying to get yourself blackballed out of the league?” Davenport seethes as he follows me into the locker room. “I told you to lay low. Let things play out. This isn’t laying low, asshole.”

I turn to him as the adrenaline of the almost fight leaves my body. My back hits the wall next to my locker, and I slide to the floor. Jesus. I’m so fucking tired.

“Are you okay, man?” Davenport asks.

“What do you think?” I murmur.

“Hey, Coach!” Dawson yells from the doorway. “Since Santzy here is a ticking time bomb, and obviously can’t show your niece a good time, can I have her number?”

What the fuck?

I’m off the floor immediately and in Dawson’s face. “You so much as look at her, Dawson, and I’m ending you. Do you fucking understand me? Don’t even think about it.”

Dawson smiles victoriously. “Told you guys he was fucking her.”

I look behind him to see most of the team, including Woodward, as they all look at me with varying expressions of disappointment and disgust. “I’m not fucking her. Davenport’s niece is too good for us. Even me.”

I walk away from Dawson. Technically, it’s not a lie. I’m not currently fucking her. Would I like to be currently fucking her? Hell yes. But since that clearly isn’t going to happen, I’m certainly not going to allow any of these jack wagons access to her, most of all Dawson. He’s a weasel, and I wouldn’t trust him with Hannah.

After ridding myself of all my practice gear, I dress quickly and leave the arena. Typically I shower here, but I need to be away from these people. I’ve never felt so alone. Our practice today was at The Sports Facility Zone, which means I’m driving back to my apartment when my phone rings.

When I see it’s Davenport calling, I almost send it to voicemail. Almost.

“What? I didn’t hit any of them. I can’t be in that much trouble,” I begin.

“I wouldn’t have said a word had you hit Dawson. I would have been right behind you. But that was clearly a setup.”