In the end I wasn't allowed to skip practice. Dean left me alone for the rest of the day and the hours counting until practice were even more terrifying than the morning had been.

I was under attack. What kind of war was this if I secretly wanted him to win?

I knew he was not going to try anything while we were in the middle of drills, not exactly because of who was watching but more for the fact that he was always 100% focused on practice. He skated the hardest, his passes were the most accurate, and he also had a hawk of an eye on everybody who was not giving it their all. I was not in any risk of seduction while he berated me for taking breaks that were too long. He was also not in any risk that I'd jump him in the middle of the ice when all he made me feel was like flipping him the bird.

And I did. Twice. Things had got a little heated since this was the last week of practice leading to the make or break game of the season.

"Bernal," Coach called out from the side.

I skated a nice turn that I wouldn't have been able to achieve in my dreams four months ago. The pride for that was dimmed by the constant fear that every time someone called my name, it was for the nefarious purpose of revealing my lies to everybody. I forced my heart rate to slow down as I skated over to where he and Gauthier were standing.

"What's up, Coach?" I asked, panting. I hoped it came across as a result of the exertion, and not on the fact that I grew more and more nervous with each passing day.

Coach Martel said, "Get your stuff. You're done with practice for the day."

I froze and opened my mouth. He did a double take and chuckled.

"Nothing bad, kid. I just thought you should spend the last half hour of practice on something different."

"Oh." I dialed it back down to zero, looking from one man to the other. "Alright, Coach. What do you have in mind?"

"In light of the conversation with your dad, I was thinking that from today on we could try a little counseling," Coach said, jerking a thumb towards Gauthier. The meaning was very clear. The counseling was to be given by the Assistant Coach, and I was the one to be counseled.

I felt my brow plunge and my face scrunch up. "Do I have a choice in the matter?"

"Not if you want to remain in the team," Coach Martel said with far too much of a chirp in his voice.

"Fine," I said as I yanked my gloves off. "Lead the way."

Gauthier made no reaction other than to turn and motion after me with his hand. I skated out of the ice and followed him to the locker room, except at the last second he made a turn and headed farther into the hall. I cleared my throat.

"Um, sorry sir. But the floor is too slippery in that area to go with my skates," I said.

He seemed to just realize that he was wearing shoes and I wasn't, so he agreed to wait for a few minutes until I changed out of the skates. As I unlaced them I wondered what the whole deal was about. Had the school forced them to do this, to deal with my violent tendencies? That was probably the case. I could see how they thought I was a liability to the team, more than an asset, now that they had discovered just what was the fuel behind my explosive punches.

But on the other hand I would have much preferred it if it'd been Coach Martel doing the counseling.

Gauthier waited for me outside when I came out, and I followed him down hallways dimly lit up with halogen lights. It tinted everything with surreal shadows, given that little light was coming in from the windows at this time of the evening. He veered left on the next hallway toward the infirmary, a place I'd met soon after tryouts when Dean and the coach forced me to get my hand checked for breaking Kyle Bouchard's nose. I hesitated outside, but Gauthier was starting to grow visibly impatient.

"I don't have all day, Bernal," he said.

I sighed and walked in, plopping on the chair across from his desk. 

He closed the door behind me and I jumped. As he walked around to his desk I told myself that I was closer to the door than he was, that I had no reason at all to feel trapped. That the Coach and my friends were a short thirty seconds walk away from me. I couldn't help my body's visceral reaction to this man, but I could control my whereabouts. And everything pointed at the fact that I was safe.

Why did I not feel like it?

"So..." I dragged the word for an extraordinary amount of time.

Gauthier leaned back and looked at me down his long nose. He rested his hands on the desk. "How are you feeling these days, Charlie?"

Oh, so I was Charlie now, I saw. It was the usual tactic that therapists used to try to make the client feel at ease, familiar.

It wasn't working.

I shrugged. "Same old."

"I see that you've made friends with the guys in the team quite easily." Since this was not a question I decided to stay mum. Besides, I didn't want to debate with him on the meaning of easily. He leaned forward and continued, "That's more of an achievement than you may realize. The Bears have always been notoriously cliquey."

"Really?" I asked as I scratched my head. I was under no delusions that I was special in a way that would gain me entry to an exclusive group. I was special in other ways; being angry, contrarian, smart-assy and whiny. If the Bears were so closed off they should have ignored me. I didn't know if he saw the team in the same light I did.

"Notoriously so," he responded. "This town is all about the Bears, the heroes and prodigies among them. Everybody else is just an afterthought."

"Huh," I said. "Well, it's true that the town is a little too enthusiastic in their support for the team. That's probably because the nearest other team happens to be our biggest rival."

I didn't think this was the topic I was here for, but I could tell that it set alight a fire in him. Gauthier leaned forward even more until his entire arms were resting on the desk.

"What else is a hero without a rival, but another villain?" he said. I tried to wrap my head around that, but he kept talking. "The Bears are not as good as they pretend to be. There have been plenty of big bullies in the team."

He stood up and paced to the window. He opened it with a tug and a rush of freezing air entered the room. Gauthier took a deep breath before taking pity on me and closing the window again. I was still in my full hockey regalia, but I was sweaty and the gust had brought a shiver to me.

"At first I worried about you," he said, catching me off guard. "You were completely new to the team, to the game, even. I worried that you'd become the brunt of the jokes and harassment. Had coach admitted Bouchard at the same time, you'd probably be in trouble. The kid tried out every year and never got in. It's a good thing he just has no athletic ability in him."

I squirmed on the chair. "Yeah, lucky."

Gauthier shrugged as he leaned against the window. "You are. Especially since you became friends with the top dog right away."

"Who?" I blurted out, wondering just where this was all going.

"Dean Hyde," he said with a smirk that only reached half of his face. I shivered again, but this time I was sure it wasn't because of the cold. "The son of a legend and a star in his own right. Getting into his inner circle provided you with sanctuary. I don't know if you noticed."

I rubbed my hands together and glanced back at the door.

"Um, not to be rude or anything," I said, being totally rude. "But is this part of the counseling?"

"Of course it is." He acted shocked that I didn't understand the connection between what he was talking about and my issues. "Imagine if he and his friends hadn't accepted you. Would the more hostile environment have flared up your PTSD?"

This time I froze. I didn't even want to consider the picture he was painting. I stood up so fast that the chair clattered onto the floor. I scrambled to pick it up in between apologies, but he wasn't finished.

"Imagine what it is like to not have a single friend," he said, and I swirled around, expecting that he was advancing towards me. But no, he was still standing against the window. He'd just raised his voice and it kept going up ever so slightly as he continued. "Imagine what it is like to be a good athlete, but ostracized by everyone just because one guy, their idol, the one who could do no wrong, felt like you were a bit of a threat to him."

This wasn't about me anymore. I didn't think it had ever been.

I retreated towards the door slowly, trying not to alert him to my move.

Gauthier threw his hands up, exasperated by his own speech, or maybe by the fact that I was not vehemently agreeing with it.

"You've been so lucky, my dear Charlie, that it's his son's class you're in, and not his."

I whispered the word who, until I connected the dots. I was in his son's class, the town's star, son of a legend. I remembered what Dean had told me about his dad over Thanksgiving.

Gauthier was talking about Peter Hyde. The man I'd seen look at his own son with such vitriol that I suspected the reason why his wife split with him was probably due to domestic violence. That night I thought he'd been about to strike Dean, my dad, and anyone who interfered with what he felt was his right to rage.

"Dean is not his father," I said.

That was a mistake.

Gauthier's eyes flashed, and although he didn't move an inch, I flinched as if I'd been struck.

"Don't be fooled, kid. The Hydes are really good at hiding their true selves from everybody, and even better at cloaking themselves in a mantle of heroism." He gave one step forward and I retreated another. My back bumped against the door. "Sooner than you realize, the Hyde kid is going to discard you on his way to stardom, and you'll be lucky if he doesn't trample you in the process."

I felt around behind me until I grasped the door handle. My voice was so many octaves higher that I definitely sounded like a little scared girl as I said, "Look at the time! My dad's going to pick me up soon. I better get going."

Bullshit. My dad was stuck negotiating a new contract for the union. He was not going to be home until midnight, if he was lucky. I just really needed to escape the confines of this creep's office.

He took another step closer. "Mark my words, Charlie."

Yep, that was it for me thankyouverymuch. I turned the door handle and spread open the door with a single yank.

"Um, thanks for the counseling. Have a good night!"

I all but ran out of there. The thirty seconds walk to the locker rooms seemed to take me forever. I had my heart lodged in my throat by the time I ran inside.

I slammed into Pace on his way out. He stabilized me by grabbing my elbows.

"Wow, are you okay, Charlie?" he asked, his forehead creasing. "You look like you just saw a ghost."

"Yeah! Totally fine," I lied through my teeth. "Just in a hurry."

In a hurry to get the hell away from Gauthier, more like.

"Got plans?" he asked. "Dean and I were just talking about grabbing a burger at the diner, if you want to join. I mean, your ex will be there but-"

Speaking of Dean, he appeared just behind his best friend, duffel bag slung over his shoulder. Was practice out already? I'd been a lot longer talking with Gauthier than I would have liked.

The image of the Hydes that the man had described superimposed itself on the boy who walked toward me with a swag on his step and a glint in his eye. He was annoyingly confident in himself, didn't bat an eye about doing things others didn't dare, like kissing another boy or shrugging off the fact that he won medals for his country. He was down to earth, kind enough to give two fucks about a newbie, even when he was in his right to turn away and keep doing his thing. He didn't talk much, but what he said came from his heart.

He was not the bully that Gauthier described, and he was not the copy of his father.

I put on my coat, grabbed my things and followed after the guys. The one thing Gauthier was right was in how fortunate I was to be Dean's friend, and I best remember that the next time I wondered what his lips would feel like against mine.