Chapter 7- Suspended

Logan

I snap out of it and swing my punch in return, my knuckles screaming in pain from the impact against the bones of his face.

We charge at each other like bulls in an arena, and just as we're about to clash, strong hands hook around my neck and shoulders, pulling me back.

The same happens to him, and we're pulled apart. But I'm already writhing to get to him, to scratch his face. Stupid jerk.

"I'll fucking kill you!" Nate yells, and all I can do is laugh just to spite him. I wanted so badly to hurt him the way he's been hurting me these past few days.

All he's done is treat me like an outcast, and he didn't even know me. Just because of a stupid make-out session with a seeming stranger.

Admittedly, it was supposed to feel good to get back at him. To draw such unbridled rage from him. To get him back and make him as frustrated as he'd been making me.

It did feel good. I think.

But my chest is still tight, and when I look at his yelling face, it's not just rage I see.

It's hurt.

Fear.

He's furious, but his eyes are so conflicted, and he's trembling, literally thrashing just to get to me. It's like he's lost all control over himself and his life. Not because of the people holding him back... but... but because of who he's looking at.

Me.

My heart lurches as I recognize the look on his face and in his eyes.

The same one I had back at Pemberton. The one I saw in the mirror every day after it all came crashing down.

When I felt everything slipping from my hands. When everyone looked at me like I was a piece of trash.

Bile rises in my throat at the thought.

I made him feel the exact way the students at Pemberton made me feel.

I'm just like them.

Pushing back, I rush through the crowd of the team. Their hands release me as they realize I'm not trying to get to Nate.

I run into the locker room and straight into the restroom.

Bending over the toilet, I empty my meager lunch—and then some—into the bowl.

Spitting and groaning, I flush it and sit upright, barely able to steady my breathing.

I made him feel the exact way I did.

Out of control. Helpless. Judged.

A sob burns through my throat, wracking my body. My eyes sting, and the tears flow freely.

And I finally put two and two together. Nate's either gay or bi. Maybe he doesn't want people to know, or maybe he just hates me in particular after what happened between us. Either way, it doesn't make me feel any better.

What's wrong with me? Am I just like those Pemberton bullies?

Does it even matter? I have to do something to make this right.

I can't. I need to leave Nathaniel alone.

But what do I do when he won't leave me alone? When he'll do everything to make my life miserable?

Ignoring me on the ice.

Ignoring me at school.

Trying to make sure his friends don't become mine.

When will it end? How did things get so bad so quickly? Everything's gonna repeat itself all over again.

Footsteps echo from the entrance to the restroom, and I immediately wipe my tears and get to my feet.

"Logan?" a voice calls.

It's Dylan.

"Are you here?" he calls out again.

I quickly open the stall door.

"How bad?" is the first thing I ask, looking everywhere else but his face. The last thing I need is for him to realize I have been crying.

"I don't know." He shakes his head. "But if I were to bet, you guys are stuck on the bench."

"Shit. How long?"

"Could be one game. Could be a few. Could even be the entire season." The other boy shrugs, his slightly longer brown hair reaching the back of his neck.

Fuck.

~

My head is bowed as I stand in front of Coach's desk.

The crowd from the match had already gone home.

It's just the team left in the building. And they're all standing outside the office, most likely eavesdropping.

"I would like to know what issues you boys have," Coach starts.

I swallow hard and glance at Nate, whose face is lifted, his spine as straight as a ruler, almost like a military officer being questioned.

What the fuck is it with this kid? So weird.

"I don't think I'm speaking to a rock," Coach says, his voice cool and controlled. I can only count the seconds until he blows up on us like a fucking volcano. His jaw ticks, and he drums his fingers forcefully on the table.

Fuck. He's so pissed.

"N-Nothing," I manage to croak out.

"I will not tolerate a lie."

"It's personal," Nate says, unflinching.

"Personal?" Coach rises from his seat to his full height.

Even though Nate stands a good two feet taller than him, it's like Nate is a tiny ant under his scrutiny. Even Nate has the good sense to shrink beneath his gaze.

"Personal doesn't affect games and doesn't make you play like shit." His voice is teetering on the edge of anger.

Nate just swallows hard and continues staring ahead, never really meeting Coach's eyes.

The silence stretches between us.

It's clear neither of us is going to talk. And I have a feeling Coach isn't going to let that slide.

"Since you're not going to speak? Fine." He takes a deep breath, steadying himself. "You're suspended for the next two games," he says, lifting his head to look at me.

"And you..." He turns to Nate. "You're suspended for three games."

"What?" Nate howls, snapping his gaze to meet Coach's.

"You're Captain Nathaniel. You should know better. You can't destroy the same team you want to lead. I expected better."

He sighs and shakes his head. "One more strike, and you can kiss that 'C' stitched to your jersey goodbye."

"You can't do this!" Nate protests.

But Coach just waves a hand at me. Taking the signal, I scurry out of his office.

This is a shitshow.

As I open the door, footsteps scuffle away, and I'm face-to-face with the team.

All of them walking away like their ears weren't just glued to the door.

"Coach's gonna give him an earful," Dylan says, shaking his head.

"An earful? At this rate, I can't be sure he'll remain captain for long," one of the teammates, Luke, replies.

"Hey, don't talk like that," Cam shushes Luke.

"Whatever." The boy scoffs and leaves, heading toward the locker room. "I'm tired anyway."

"So..." Cam looks at me, expectantly waiting for the full gist.

"I'm off the ice for two games. Nate's off for three."

Cam winces, and Dylan hisses.

Elias just shakes his head. "There's something between you two, and you'd better fix it before I find out what it is. And when I do, you don't want to know what I'll do about it."

"How's it your business?" I snap, annoyed at the boy. Why won't he just give it a rest?

"It's everyone's business because it's affecting the team. You've been here, what? Two weeks? And Nate is a fucking ticking time bomb. This is so unlike him."

"And that's my fault? This is the only side of him I've ever gotten to see, and somehow I'm the problem?"

"Who else do we blame, Logan?" Dylan drawls, more frustrated and tired than angry.

"How about him for being an absolute dick to me for no reason? Go drill him and see how he likes it, seeing that this shitshow is his fault."

I scoff and walk away.

"See you at practice," I spit out of pure spite.