Chapter 23
I'm put against Toronto's top line that night, mainly because
I'm playing with Nick. "Shadow Renberg," Lewis told me earlier, "get
him pissed, throw him off of his game." He's seen the way I used to
play against Jagr, and he wants me to do the same tonight.
Lewis doesn't realize that Renberg knows me. He knows Johan.
He knows what happened in Pittsburgh. And he's using every possible
opportunity to remind me of it now.
"Feel familiar?" he asks as he checks me hard into the
boards. "It's been a while, you little bitch. You're overdue for a
beating."
I cross-check him hard in the back, and the whistle blows. He
smirks at me as I skate to the penalty box. They score 35 seconds
later, and he taunts me as I pass his bench. "Thanks for the goal,
Ference. Remind me to show you just how much I appreciate it after
the game," he snarls, leering at me.
The whole game is the same way; he's always right next to me,
threats whispered, lewd comments muttered as he shoves me into the
boards. Late in the third, we're battling for a puck in the corner,
and he finally mentions the name he's been alluding to all
night. "Give me the puck, you Goddamned pussy, and maybe I'll fuck
you the way Johan did."
Enough.
I push him off of me and to the ice. I want to scream at him,
to tell him I'm better now, to tell him that I don't need Johan or
the pain or the punishment anymore. But I just can't silence the
voice in the back of my head telling me that he's right. I choke back
a sob, turning around and leaving him laying on the ice.
"That's right, Ference," he cackles as he picks himself
up. "Run from it. It'll catch up to you, just wait. He'll make up for
lost time, bitch. Cujo might not be man enough to do it, but Johan
will make sure it gets done."
"Leave Curtis out of this, asshole," I growl, pushing him into
the boards.
"I'll make him my bitch, just as soon as I'm done fucking
you," he whispers and rubs a hand discreetly against the front of my
pants.
Out of nowhere, Kirk appears, and before I know it, Renberg is
back on the ice and his nose is bleeding. "Don't you ever fucking
touch him like that again, you son of a bitch. I swear I'll put you
in the hospital if you even look at him the wrong way."
Kirk ends up getting an instigator call, I get another
penalty, and when all's said and done, Toronto wins by a goal--the
one scored while I was in the box.
"Are you okay?" Curtis whispers once we're in the dressing
room, trying to avoid drawing attention.
I glanced at him, letting the tears in my eyes in my eyes
answer the question. He turns his attention back to his shirt
buttons; when he leaves the room, he brushes a hand lightly over my
lower back, a silent promise that he'll be waiting outside for me.
Before I get there, Kirk stops me. "Sorry I didn't get him
sooner," he says. "I heard him, but I thought that he would stop on
his own if I plastered him to the boards a few times. Are you okay?"
I stare at the wall behind him, trying not to cry. "I lost the
game. I took a stupid penalty and they won. He won."
"Don't say that," he says, pulling me into a tight hug. "It's
not your fault. We all lost, not any one person."
Curtis tells me the same thing ten minutes later, his words
punctuated with a soft kiss. I know they're right; somewhere, on some
level, I know that I'm better off now. But Renberg awakened fears
that I'd almost put to sleep.
He's right, you're overdue for it. You need it. It's your
fault. You lost this game.
The voice is quiet, not the nagging moan that it once was, but
it's there again, louder than its been since I admitted everything to
Curtis and Steve and Kirk.
Go to him, the voice taunts. You fucked up. He owes you. You
deserve the punishment.
But there's another voice now. It's so soft, its almost
impossible to hear, but it's positive. It sounds like some mixture of
Curtis, Kirk and Steve.
You can do this. You're strong enough to get past it. You're
going to get better.
But it isn't enough to drown out the first one.
Let him make you better.
"No," I whisper harshly, blinking away tears. Curtis' eyes
search mine, confused. "He's wrong. Renberg is wrong. I'm getting
better. I'm going to be okay."
I collapse into Curtis' arms, crying softly, hoping that if I
keep telling myself that everything is going to work out, I can drown
out the taunting, evil voice that sounds so much like Johan's.
