Page 15 of Beautifully Broken

Conrad

Florida sucks. You got moved here as some sort of divine punishment. My team hates me. I have no friends. I can’t get the girl. The same thoughts repeated over and over again. Threatening to pull me back into the black hole, swallowing me whole, making it impossible for me to claw my way out.

Examining myself in the bathroom mirror, I notice the lack of sleep across my features. Heavy eyes, scruffy beard, and furrowed brows.

“Come on, Hoyer. Get it together. It’s your first game with the Rays today, don’t fuck it up.” I scold myself, gently slapping cold water over my cheeks before grabbing my trimmers to clean myself up before I head to the arena.

Arriving at the arena, I’m buzzing with anxious energy and am ready to skate it out. I dash through security, smiling for the social media girl, and into the locker room where everyone is getting geared up.

As we follow Nik into the tunnels, the sounds of cheers and rambunctious fans echo around us, accompanied by the smells of beers and fake cheese. I let myself take it all in, relaxing and rolling my shoulders before Nik leads us onto the ice as our entrance song booms.

Coach doesn’t put me on ice in the first period, which I expected. I watch as Hart, McKee, and Montez glide across the ice in perfect sync and hope that I will be able to fit in flawlessly.

“Hoyer, get out there.” Coach hollers from down the bench when the second period rolls around and we’ve returned from intermission.

Hopping over the boards and taking my position opposite Collins, I get ready for puck drop.

“Let’s do this, Hoyer,” Dom yells from behind me, and I give him a quick nod of acknowledgment before the ref blows the whistle. Second and third-period blow by, we work together to protect Hart, allowing him to score three goals—unfortunately, not a hat trick.

I’m following closely behind Hart when a body slams into him from out of nowhere.

The impact of him hitting the boards had to have been heard in the nosebleeds.

He’s knocked to the ice, but there's no whistle from the ref.

That anxious energy that was starting to wear off has now breezed into full-blown rage as I watch McKee attempt to help Hart up.

“Ref! Blow the whistle!” I hear Coach yelling from the bench, but he doesn’t.

“What the fuck, dude!” I yell at number three, grabbing him by the neck of his jersey, shoving him down to the ice, and covering his body with my own. I begin throwing punches, not letting up and giving him all of my pent-up emotion, then all hell breaks loose around me.

Whistles start blowing, and I’m pulled off the other player. I fight to get back to him, but there are too many people pulling me up for me to keep pushing back.

“Number twenty-seven, maroon, penalty for fighting, five minutes in the penalty box.” We hear an echo over the arena speakers. Boos erupt and the fans having my back soothe the burn a bit.

“This is fucking ridiculous.” My scream is filled with rage.

“Watch it!” The ref yells at my back as I skate towards the box. Once there, my foot bounces up and down with anxious energy to get back onto the ice. It takes a moment before Maverick can get back onto his feet, McKee helping him across the ice and towards the tunnel to get checked out.

Hart spends the second half of the game off the ice, so we have to fight hard for our win with our second-line center filling in. The communication is jerky– McKee and I don’t flow down the ice like when Hart is on the ice.

As we skate towards the tunnel, I prepare myself for Coach’s berating despite the win. He’s had steam pouring out of his ears since my penalty and behavior towards the ref.

“Everyone. Sit the fuck down and shut the fuck up.” Nik demands before everyone has even made it through the locker room doors. Everyone obeys immediately, including me .

“First off, you asshats are lucky that you won this game otherwise you’d be skating until you vomit at the next practice.

Hoyer, I don’t know what the fuck that behavior was out on the ice but you’re lucky you didn’t get ejected.

Don’t let it happen again.” He glares at me as he shouts, “Shower, get out of here. I’m done with you for today. ”

“Sorry, Coach. That was out of pocket.” I direct, before following everyone else into the showers.

I know I’m going to be skating until my ankles bleed come next practice. Yet, it felt good to get out some of the frustration that’s been simmering beneath the surface, though I know I can’t do that again.

***

The next day, I stroll into Shell Shock’d, sandwiches from the Cuban Sandwich shop around the corner in hand.

“I brought you lunch, Bubbles.” I paste on my most charming smile, hoping that Enid will give in to me, if only for just today.

“You can leave it on the desk, Hotshot. It’s not break time yet.” Enid’s sweet voice fills the air around us.

“What kind of work?”

“Turtles eat before I do.” She shrugs.

“Okay, well, how about I help you feed the turtles, then we eat lunch together? Should save some time.” I ask.

“Letting random hotshots feed the turtles is against protocol,” she tells me, but I hear a slight excitement over the prospect of showing me how it works.

“Please, I was really off my game last night. It would make me feel better.” I give her my best puppy dog eyes in hopes she’ll give in.

“Oh, I know. Mace watches every Manta Rays game. Can’t let you feed them though, you can watch, but let’s eat first. I skipped breakfast.” Enid reasserts, waiting for a response.

So, she saw me lose my shit on the Knights defenseman who shoved Hart. My fists clench at my side, feeling the bubbling anger that rose to the surface last night come up again.

“Are you doing okay?” Enid adds on after a moment .

“Yeah, I’ll be alright. Lost my cool with how that douchecanoe shoved Mav last night.” I paste on a smile to cover all of the underlying emotions. The feelings of defeat, loss, and loneliness.

“You know… It’s okay if you’re not.” She reassures me and while I wish that I could confide in her—I don’t want to seem weak or incapable of handling my shit.

“I’m good, Enid. Promise. Tell me about Bart’s rescue.” I say, with the sandwiches, drinks, and chips as we sit on the floor in front of the aquarium, watching some of the smaller turtles swim slowly around one of the tanks.

“I was working the desk and got a call from some people out on the beach that there was a turtle, but it was swimming funky. Tia, the owner, was like ‘You took the call, you take the rescue, load up.’ I was so enthused to be on my first rescue, so I geared up and loaded into the van with Tia and a few others.” Enid’s smile is like sunshine on a cloudy day, and her excitement over telling me about Bart is palpable.

“We got to the location that was pinged for us and immediately spotted Bart. We got all our gear out and headed out into the water. The waves were crazy that day, so it took us about forty-five minutes to get him situated into the sling and back to the van.”

“Sounds thrilling.”

“It’s such a rush, one that I’m sure is similar to flying down the ice.”

We continue chatting about mundane life things, learning small facts about each other and munching—before heading out to the rescue pools where I watch Enid toss lettuce into the enclosures. We end up sitting on the edge of Bart’s enclosure once she’s done, knees barely touching.

“Do you mind my asking how you ended up with Mace?” I prod, genuinely curious.

“Do you really want to know?” Her posture tenses up, I figured this topic may be one she doesn’t talk about often.

“I do.”

She clears her throat, staring out over the water in front of us before speaking, “Our dad was an addict; he had lots of kids running around. Mace and I were the only ones who didn’t get placed with our Mom, because she left him.

He passed away when Mace was ten and I had just turned nineteen.

I was already working, so I just had to prove to the courts I had a safe space for us to live and that I could care for my brother.

I didn’t want him in foster care, so I did everything I could to prove I was worthy.

It was rocky at first, I had helped with Mace but never cared for him twenty-four seven.

In the end, I’m glad he’s with me and not being passed around foster families. ”

“That’s tough, but I’m sure he appreciates you for taking him in,” I say, just as a sniffle escapes her.

“Thank you, Conrad.”

I look over at Enid to find tears running down her face, and before I have time to second-guess my decision, my hand is bracketing her cheek, thumb swiping away the tears.

She doesn’t stop me, and I have the overwhelming urge to kiss her.

I lean forward, but before our lips can brush against each other, she scoots away from me.

“We shouldn’t. I’m sorry.” That’s all she says.

In the deafening silence, I decide to just get up and walk away, leaving both sandwiches behind.