21. Burden

"I was not fighting! How was that a fight, she was acting!" I raised my voice at the stupid principle telling my dad I hit a girl to the ground.

My dad made me sit back down and told me to lower my voice, "Calliope, I get fights might be normal from where you used to live, but here at this school, its unacceptable." My principal continued.

Once I see that Sam girl shes going to wake up in a fucking hospital bed.

"Look, I'm sure Calliope has an explanation and I'm not being bias to her, however I'm sure she wouldn't have pushed the girl for no reason." My dad spoke to his boss formally.

"I get you work here Mr Holloway, but your daughter doing get special treatment!" She pushed further.

"I'm not a charity case Miss, I don't want special treatment, just check the cameras! I didn't touch the girl!" I moved my hands around in exaggerated gestures.

"Look Callie, you will get in less trouble if you tell the truth." My dad turned to me, the traitor.

And I thought he really cared, like he wanted to find some non-existent light in me, and when he wanted to believe I was beyond help he chose me to be the fucking bad guy.

"If I did get in a fight, that girl wouldn't have been able to stand back up, i didn't do shit." I huffed slouching my shoulders.

"Language Cal! Come on I'm taking you home," he stood up making me follow, as he turned back to the principal, "I'll talk to her, I'll tell you my plan to prevent this, just don't suspend her." He then proceeded to usher me out the room as he followed.

We walked in silence which was almost worse than him yelling, I'd rather anyone yell at me than ignore my presence.

I wasn't that much of a burden, was I?

As we got to his black truck I hopped into the passenger seat, still silence. My dad got into the driver's side, still silence. He began to drive.

Silence.

As my da- Chris began to drive past the rink I rushed to speak, forgetting we wasn't talking to each other.

"You're about to drive past the rink, you teach practice today." I huffed out, trying to sound as unbothered as possible.

My dad didn't say anything but nodded and took a sharp left to make the turn in to the rink.

Guess I'm coming too, great.

Practice had started early—our decision, not Coach's—and we were already deep into drills when he came storming in, looking more pissed than usual.

Right behind him, Calliope followed, her arms crossed and her face twisted into that trademark scowl that told me she was about two seconds away from snapping at someone.

She looked tiny compared to Coach, but the way she carried herself made it clear she wasn't about to back down from whatever argument they'd been having.

"Stands. Now," Coach ordered her, pointing to the bleachers without even looking at her.

Callie rolled her eyes so hard I could practically feel it from across the rink. She muttered something under her breath, but she obeyed, flopping onto the bench with all the attitude of someone who'd rather be anywhere else.

I didn't know what the hell had her in a mood, but I wanted to.

Meanwhile, Luke sat on the bench near the boards, his broken foot propped up on the seat beside him. Even injured, he still showed up to every practice, watching us like he'd be ready to jump in any second.

I skated past him and smirked. "You know, people call blondes dumb, but you're proving that brunettes can be thick as hell too."

Luke scoffed, shoving me with his good leg. "Shut up, Mav. At least I have an excuse for sitting out."

I grinned. "Yeah, yeah. Just don't get too comfortable over there."

Coach's sharp voice cut through the rink. "Maverick! You watching your players or just daydreaming?"

I rolled my eyes and snapped back to attention, barking orders at the guys before skating toward the bench where Coach stood, arms crossed, eyes locked onto the ice.

"What's got you all pissy today?" I asked, not bothering to sugarcoat it.

Coach barely glanced at me. "None of your business, Mav."

I leaned against the barrier, following his gaze toward the players. "Well, whatever it is, your daughter has the exact same pissed-off face as you, so I'm guessing it's about her."

Coach exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "She got in trouble at school. I took the principal's side."

I raised an eyebrow. "Damn. What'd she do?"

"She was caught fighting."

I snorted. "What?"

"She was supposed to get suspended," Coach continued. "I talked the principal out of it, but now I don't know how to give her consequences without making it look like I let her off the hook."

I grinned as an idea hit me. "Make her join the team."

Coach blinked. "What?"

"She acts like she hates hockey, right? Tell your boss that playing for the Sirens is her consequence. You need a new goalie anyway." I chuckled, already picturing her reaction.

Coach thought about it for half a second before nodding. "That might actually work."

Then, without hesitation, he turned and shouted across the rink, "Callie! Be on the ice in five!"

Her head snapped up, pure confusion written all over her face. "What?"

"You heard me!"

For a moment, she just sat there, probably debating whether she wanted to argue or not. But then she stood, muttering something under her breath as she stalked off toward the locker rooms.

Luke stared at me. "She's gonna kill you when she finds out this was your idea."

I smirked. "Oh, I know. But it's gonna be fun to watch."

I should've known something was up the second my dad stormed into practice, dragging me behind him like a damn prisoner. The guys had started early—something they decided on, not him—so when he finally showed up, late and pissed off, I figured he was about to tear into them for wasting his time.

Instead, he turned to me.

"Callie! Be on the ice in five!"

I blinked. "What?"

"You heard me," he said, arms crossed like this was just a normal practice and not a complete violation of my free will.

I stayed planted on the bench, waiting for him to take it back. He didn't. The guys had all slowed down, watching with barely contained smirks. Even Luke, still stuck on the bench with his broken foot, looked way too entertained.

Then I caught movement out of the corner of my eye.

Grayson.

Leaning against the boards. Smirking.

That bastard.

My jaw clenched. "I don't have my skates."

"Locker room. Now," Dad said, completely unfazed.

I knew arguing wouldn't get me anywhere. Once my dad made up his mind, that was it. But it wasn't him I was mad at—it was Grayson. Because that smug look on his face told me everything.

This was his fault.

I shot him a glare before stomping toward the locker room.

The second I stepped inside, I froze.

Sitting in front of me was a pile of goalie gear.

Big, bulky pads. A chest protector. A blocker, a glove, a stick—everything I needed to actually play hockey.

Which was a problem.

Because I'd never put any of it on myself before.

That one time I filled in for Luke? Gray helped, and I hoped for the best. Now, I was supposed to suit up like a real goalie. And I had no idea how the hell to do it.

I stared at the mess in front of me, frustration simmering under my skin. I could lace up figure skates with my eyes closed. I could tie them so perfectly that I barely needed to re-tighten them. But this? This was completely out of my depth.

Then, because the universe hated me, the door swung open.

Fucking blonde prick.

Still smirking.

He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, looking entirely too pleased with himself. "Need help, Angel?"

I turned slowly, narrowing my eyes at him. "This was your idea, wasn't it?"

His smirk deepened. "Not entirely."

I folded my arms. "Don't lie to me, Blondie."

He let out a low chuckle. "Alright, fine. Your dad wanted to make sure you faced some kind of consequence. I may have pointed out that we needed a goalie."

I scoffed. "Oh, you may have?"

He shrugged. "Worked out, didn't it?"

I took a deep breath, forcing myself to stay calm. "I hate you."

"You're welcome."

I turned back to the gear, still unsure where to even start. There were so many straps, so many pieces, and I knew if I put one thing on wrong, I'd be completely useless out there.

Behind me, Grayson let out a low chuckle. "You don't know how to put it on, do you?"

I stiffened. "Shut up."

His grin widened. "Want some help, or are you just gonna stare at it all night?"

—————

A/N: Can't believe Chris didn't believe Callie!

Low-key mad at him right now.

Words: 1527