Page 50 of The Substitute (New York Gods #4)

FORTY-TWO

TOBI

Ihave spent years of my life in hockey arenas, forced to study in crowded stands among screaming fans and parents, while getting knocked into anytime something happened, so my stuff flew out of my lap.

I’ve been shaken, had beer spilled on me, screamed at for not watching the game, and once someone even threw up on me when his team lost. There are no good memories here, only annoyance, pain, anger, and frustration, but I’m trying.

Being in here makes my skin crawl. It feels like I’m breaking out with hives just breathing the air.

Why did I agree to do this?

Because Ambrose asked you to come, and you want to make him happy, and what else were you going to do?

Sit in the dorm and boo hoo over Savage?

It’s been a week, but it’s felt like longer.

With Ambrose filling my time, I shouldn’t miss Savage so much, but I do. They both feed a different part of me.

I find my seat on the second deck, where hopefully it won’t be packed, and Teddy won’t spot me.

We’re talking more, but it’s still weird.

I put my headphones on and sit back waiting for the game to start.

Most people expect it to be cold in here since there’s a huge sheet of ice, but it’s not bad, especially up here, since heat rises.

I decided to wear one of my brother’s jerseys so it won’t be suspicious.

My phone pings, and I’m both excited for something to do and nervous to see who it is.

Ambrose: Are you here?

Tobi: Yes. I told you I would be here!

Ambrose: Prove it.

Tobi: How should I do that?

Ambrose: Send me a picture.

I smile at my phone and shake my head, both at myself and at him.

Tobi: How would you know it’s from today and not a previous time?

Ambrose: Because you act like you’re going to go into anaphylaxis just walking past the building.

Tobi: I’ve spent plenty of time in arenas thank you very much.

Ambrose: Be a good boy and send the picture.

I have to wait for the flush on my face to calm before I lift my phone and force an unamused expression while flipping off the camera when I snap the picture. Damn, the way ‘good boy’ does things to me should be illegal.

Tobi: Happy now?

Ambrose: Wow. You look so excited to be here. Don’t hurt yourself.

Tobi: I was coerced.

I’m smiling, but I’m not telling him that.

Ambrose: Send me a picture that looks like you aren’t getting dental work done and I’ll send you one too.

Tobi: I know what you look like.

Ambrose: You are the worst at flirting.

I sit up straight and stare at my phone, confused. Flirting? Is he flirting with me? Scrolling back through the messages, I read over them again, but I don’t see the flirting. Isn’t this just normal shit?

A picture pops up from Ambrose. He’s holding his jersey up, exposing his abs and the front of his hockey pants. Damn, that’s sexier than I expected. Who knew hockey players were hot in their gear?

Tobi: JFC

Ambrose: You’re so easy.

Ambrose: Now your turn.

My face heats a little at the idea of pulling up my shirt to take a picture with all these people in here. I would feel like an idiot trying to be sexy.

Tobi: There’s people in here!

Ambrose: Are you blushing for me?

And my face burns even hotter. The jerk.

Tobi: Obviously.

Ambrose: I need to see.

Fighting the embarrassment, I open my camera and mess with positions and angles until I find one that shows one cheek red as fuck and my sleeve-covered hand hiding the other side of my face.

Ambrose: Fuck. I’m going to be hard the whole game.

I laugh, and it’s mostly fueled by embarrassment.

Tobi: Why’s that?

Ambrose: There is just something about your innocent shy expression that makes me want to dirty you up.

I’m halfway through typing my reply when he sends another one.

Ambrose: Okay, I gotta go. I’ll try to check in during the break.

Tobi: Good luck!

With a sigh, I shove my phone into my hoodie pocket and look around. The stands are filling up quickly now, and it looks like the Griffins are on the ice, warming up.

What the hell am I supposed to do for the entire game? I don’t actually know the rules or what is happening. I’ve spent a large chunk of my life deliberately avoiding learning anything about hockey. That may have just come back to bite me in the ass.

Could I text Rhys hockey questions, or would he mercilessly make fun of me for it?

Eh, better not to risk it. I think he has a game today anyway. I do a quick check, and he did, but it’s wrapped up now. Since they’re only a few hours away, he’ll be home soon. Which means Savage will too.

I haven’t talked to him since our fight, though he keeps texting. Nothing pushy, but he checks in, and I like it. But it’s killing me to see his name and face pop up on my phone. I don’t know how to respond, and every time I pick up my phone to try, I replay finding out all over again.

I’m still angry, but I’m more hurt at this point. He lied to me. For months.

Over something stupid.

Hockey.

Fucking hockey.

I’m mad at myself, too. How did I miss it?

He fucking plays on Rhys’ team! How did I not know?

Have I really put up so many walls around hockey that I didn’t notice when he and Rhys were out of town at the same time, especially over winter break when Rhys was living at my parents’ house with me?

I guess I spent so much of the past few months avoiding Rhys, I blocked out what he was doing.

But how did I not notice the bruises, the practice schedule, game schedule?

How did I not question any of it? I guess splitting my time between the two of them, one of them was around most of the time, so I didn’t question it that much.

I don’t know how he handled hockey, school, interviews, and me, frankly.

I felt like I was buried in work just trying to balance school and them.

I’m so fucking gullible.

This is how I get myself in trouble. I’m so fucking desperate to be loved that I wave away or ignore any red flags.

He paid attention to me and said he cared, so my brain latched on to it.

I can’t believe Ambrose stayed around the whole time just being nice while I was splitting my time.

And now he has to put up with me grieving the loss.

I want to shake myself and scream to do better.

Ambrose has been so sweet, so attentive. Checking in all the time, making sure I’ve eaten, and snuggling me so I sleep. I’m sure Savage is annoying him with texts, too. He glares at his phone sometimes, angrily types out a message, then tosses it away.

But a part of me is missing.

It aches right in the center of my chest. Like a chamber of my heart is dying.

When Ambrose is around, I can pretend I’m okay by focusing on him. But tonight I’m alone in the stands. No distracting away from the hurt. Everyone I know is doing hockey shit, and for some reason, so am I.

I can’t stop myself from checking the score of the Gods game too. Looks like they didn’t do well. That hurts my heart. Since I know how personally Teddy takes losses as a goalie, I assume Savage does too. Is he not playing well because of me?

Guilt eats at me.

I’m mad at him, but I don’t want him to hurt.

My phone pings again. Speak of the devil and he will appear.

Savage: Can we talk?

I shut my screen off and shove my phone in my pocket. I don’t know how to do this.How do you deal with being upset with someone and forgive them, too?

Not to mention Savage and Ambrose still hate each other.

I don’t know how to hide the emotions I’m struggling with over Savage when I’m with Ambrose.

My insecurities are fighting for control, telling me I mean nothing to Savage, despite what feels like proof of the opposite.

He’s still checking in, still shows up when he gets home from a game.

Misery wraps around my heart and squeezes. I don’t know what to do anymore.

The lights darken some over the stands to make the rink shine, and the announcer starts talking. I’m not listening to whatever he’s saying, just watching the crowd and the feed on the video monitors hanging over the ice. The players are introduced, the national anthem is sung, and the game begins.

I’ve never understood how anyone can follow this game. People are coming on and off the ice constantly, the puck is so small you can barely see it, and everyone is moving constantly. It’s giving me a headache.

I’m dying of boredom, so I text the only person I know will respond.

Tobi: Why does anyone enjoy this sport?

Rhys: What sport?

Tobi: Are you really that dense?

Tobi: Hockey! No one is on the ice longer than 12 seconds, the puck is so small you can barely see it. What is the point?

Rhys: You’re watching hockey?

Rhys: Are you okay? Is someone holding you captive? Do I need to call the police?

Tobi: Fuck off.

Tobi: I’m at a game. Focus.

Rhys: I’m trying to focus! Why are you at a hockey game?!

Tobi: I was coerced!

Rhys: Right…well since the hockey player I know you’re involved with is currently with me, I’m going to need more details.

Fuck. I didn’t think that all the way through. But then something occurs to me.

Tobi: Wait how did you know he’s on your team?

Rhys: Teddy told me. I’m assuming it’s open?

That actually makes a lot of sense since Savage hasn’t tried to hide it and his roommate knows. I’m guessing that guy plays hockey too. How did I surround myself with hockey players?

Tobi: My…roommate plays hockey too. He wouldn’t shut up about it so I agreed to come to make him shut up.

Rhys:

Rhys: Since my goalie played like shit, I’m guessing you’re still not talking to him.

Tobi: I hate that my fucking business is so obvious to all of you.

Rhys: So what are you doing at the game?

Tobi: Being supportive or whatever. I didn’t know I’d get the third degree.

Rhys: I have a team meeting. Enjoy the game.

As the game goes on, I get more confused.

How is slamming someone into the side wall things not a penalty?

What is that clear stuff made of that doesn’t break when people are thrown into it?

I start searching for the information and end up down a wormhole about how uniforms and pads have changed over the years.

The buzzer sounds, and they announce that the first period is over. The crowds of people stand and move around, heading for bathrooms and snacks, I assume.

Two more periods. I can do this.

I get some food and make my way back to my seat without anyone talking to me, thankfully. As I’m shoving a piece of pretzel into my mouth, my phone buzzes.

Ambrose: You must be my lucky charm.

Tobi: Why?

Ambrose: Are you not watching?

Tobi: It’s impossible to understand what’s going on.

Ambrose: There is a giant score board and an announcer?

Tobi: I don’t know what any of the words he’s saying mean!

Ambrose: I’ve gotten a goal and an assist!

Tobi: And that’s good?

Ambrose: You are fucking killing me, smalls.

Tobi: Smalls?! That seems rude.

Ambrose: It’s from the Sandlot. Have you not seen it?

I google the movie.

Tobi: It came out in 1993. How the fuck old are you?

Ambrose: It’s a classic!

I chuckle and shove more pretzel into my face, leaving some sticking out, and snap a picture to send him.

Tobi: Does this help?

Ambrose: It will do for now.

For the rest of the game, I try to pay closer attention to who is scoring goals. It looks like we end the game six to four with us winning.

I’m slowly making my way through the rink in the crowd when I get a text.

Ambrose: What are you doing now?

Tobi: Going back to the quiet of the room.

Ambrose: You could come out with us.

Tobi: I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.

Ambrose: It won’t, come. We’ll just have to be careful.

Ambrose: Plus, your brother is on the team. It shouldn’t be weird.

Ambrose: Is that okay?

My heart swells, and I smile at my stupid phone. He’s trying, and that’s all I asked for.

Tobi: It is and I’ll show my appreciation for it later

Ambrose: Making me hard right now is not fair.

I finally make it outside when I hear my name. My head jerks up, and scanning the crowd, I find my brother.

“Tobs!” Teddy shouts, and I turn to see him hustling toward us in his fancy glitter Crocs and suit. He holds his arms up like he’s about to bear hug me. I hold my hands up as if it’s going to stop him, knowing damn well it’s going to get my wrists broken.

Luckily, one of the guys with him steps between us and wraps an arm around his shoulder, distracting my brother from squeezing me to death. Over his shoulder, Ambrose is trying to hide a smile, but I catch it before he covers it with his hand.

Jerk.

“We’re going out—you coming?” Teddy asks me

“Not a chance.” My phone vibrates in my pocket, and a quick glance at Ambrose tells me it’s him.

“Aww, come on! You can bond with my boys. Bros and boys night!”

My phone vibrates again. Fuck him and his stupid messages. I can’t open them right now, or it’ll be obvious something is going on.

“That sounds like my nightmare.”

“Could be fun, roomie,” Ambrose says in a smug tone I want to slap him for.

I glare at him. “Drunk dumbassery isn’t my definition of fun.”

There’s a glint in his eye that’s making my heart pound. Maybe this is what I need? He seems comfortable, confident, in the idea. Maybe it’ll be okay if I go.