The Gray Effect - Chapter 16: Chapter 16

T H E O G R A Y
COACH IS TRYING TO KILL US.
The relentless sound of the puck hitting the net over and over feels like a hammer pounding inside my skull. It's like an irritating rhythm that refuses to fade, drilling deeper into my brain. And that's not even the worst sound crawling under my skin right now.
"Sam, get your ass close to Jaxon! Are you trying to make us lose? Huh?" Coach's voice ricochets across the rink, sharp and cutting, forcing everyone to wince or curse under their breath. He doesn't care though. Atleast not right now. He's on a mission, and we're the unfortunate pawns.
"No, Coach!" Sam shouts back, his tone strained. Beneath his face mask, I can see the way his jaw clenches, his irritation practically radiating off him. He skates toward Jaxon, who, despite trying to hold it together, is barely keeping his grin in check.
"I hope you're not laughing, Jaxon!" Coach snaps, his eyes narrowing. "You can't take anything seriously, can you?-even now, when we're just days away from the second round!" That wipes the grin off Jaxon's face, his expression turning dead neutral, but not before I catch the faint twitch of annoyance in his eyes.
Coach has been like this for days-dragging us to the rink before the sun even rises and pushing us to the brink of collapse. Early mornings, late evenings, and drills that make your legs feel like they're going to give out. He's relentless, calling us out for every missed pass, every weak shot, and every mistake, no matter how small.
It's been hell to say the least.
As if that wasn't enough, he even brought a damn scale to practice two days ago, making us line up like a bunch of rookies so he could weigh us one by one. I still can't believe it. "You need to be at your peak," he barked, as if we didn't already know that.
Lucky for me, I've managed to keep my weight back on track. Logan's been sending diet food to my apartment like some overzealous nutritionist, and Mum calls me out for dinner once in a while, insisting we eat together. I take full advantage of those meals, eating until I'm stuffed, even if it leaves me on the verge of puking later. At least it keeps Coach off my back.
I've gained a little weight, enough to look better on the ice, and I've been keeping up with late-night workouts in my apartment. Heading to the gym isn't always appealing after a day like this. It's easier to throw on some music and grind through it at home, even if it means running into Sophie.
She always startles when she finds me in the living room, usually mid-push-up or halfway through some crunches. Her sharp intake of breath is impossible to miss, and even in the dim light, I feel her eyes tracing my every move.
I should tell her to go to bed. I should probably feel violated by the way her gaze lingers, but I don't. Instead, there's this strange heat that builds under my skin, tightening my focus. I keep pretending she's not there, though. What else am I supposed to do? Acknowledge it? No chance.
It seems I haven't moved an inch as Coach shouts my name and I can already tell what comes next.
"Theo! Why the hell are you just standing there like a damn spectator? This isn't a free show! Get moving or do you need me to draw you a picture?" he says and for a second, I consider saying something to lighten his mood. But what's the point? He's not exactly in the mood for jokes.
Instead, I skate toward the goal nest, pretending I didn't hear him as I fetch a stray puck. My legs feel heavy, but I keep my movements smooth, trying to look like I'm too focused to notice his glare burning holes into my back.
"I was waiting for him to find you," Logan mutters under his breath as I pass him. There's a quiet laugh in his voice, but his sigh that follows is louder.
"Don't worry, you'll be next," I shoot back, low enough that Coach can't hear me. "By the time he sees us chatting, you're done for."
I glance over my shoulder, and sure enough, Coach is already eyeing the two of us like we're a couple of kids goofing off during detention. His arms are crossed, his face a mask of pure tension.
"Fuck," Logan mutters, shaking his head. "He's so on edge right now. Can't blame him, though."
I arch a curious brow.
He pushes out a breath, running a hand through his sweat-damp hair before leaning in slightly. "The school authority's been breathing down his neck, talking about shutting the rink down if we don't actually make it to the finals-and win. Can you imagine? No hockey, no team, nothing."
Fuck.
I had a feeling this was coming, but I didn't realize the school authorities were actually serious about cutting our funding. Hockey was my life-what the hell was I supposed to do without it?
Without hockey... what was I even living for?
"Then we just keep going, right?" I grab the puck from the net and flash a determined smile at Logan. "We can't quit."
He snorts, shaking his head. "Even if we wanted to, you think Coach would let us? He'd probably cut our dicks off first."
He's not wrong.
"Talk later," Logan says, his gaze darting toward Coach. "Looks like he's ready to throw a stick at someone."
I smirk but keep my mouth shut, giving him a quick nod before skating back to my station. Coach's eyes follow me like a hawk, then shift to the rest of the team. His voice booms across the rink.
"Let's go, guys!"
No one dares to slack. We nod and dive right back into practice, running the same drills for what feels like the hundredth time today.
We can't afford to mess this up-not now. Not ever. If we're going to pull this off, we'll need more than just good luck-we'll need to be perfect. And perfection doesn't leave room for distractions.
As if on cue, with the words I planned to mutter still fresh in my head, my eyes drift toward the entrance. The heavy doors of the rink swing wide open, and a group of people steps inside, hauling an assortment of camera equipment.
They drop the equipments closeby and head out but I have a feeling there's more to come.
"What's going on?" Jaxon skates up beside me, his stick loosely gripped in his hand. His brows knit together as his gaze sweeps over the group.
I recognize one of them instantly-Tory. The head of the student media outlets and, once upon a time, a fling from my freshman year. She hasn't changed much, still carrying herself with that confident stride, her ponytail swishing behind her. Her eyes flick toward the team for a second, and I think I see a smirk tug at the corner of her lips before she walks straight to Coach.
Coach doesn't look surprised. Not even a little. He nods at her as she speaks, her voice too low for us to hear from this distance. His expression doesn't soften; if anything, the tension in his shoulders seems to deepen. He finally turns toward us, his eyes scanning the group with that familiar, no-nonsense intensity.
"Okay, guys! I need you all here," he calls out, motioning for us to gather. "There's a bit of an announcement to make."
I exchange a glance with Jaxon, whose curiosity is now laced with mild irritation. Tory stands off to the side, her arms crossed, waiting as the team slowly skates toward Coach. Whatever this is, it's big enough to bring the media in-and Coach, for once, doesn't seem eager to yell. That alone is enough to put me on edge.
We circle around Coach, our skates scraping against the ice as we close in.
Tory stands off to the side, her camera crew setting up, and I catch her stealing a quick glance my way. If she recognizes me, she doesn't show it.
Coach waits until everyone is gathered, his arms crossed, his stern gaze sweeping across us like he's making sure we'rea all here then speaks.
"Listen up," he begins, his voice firm but less biting than usual. "The university's media team is here to do a feature on the team-photos, interviews, and some footage. They're going to be shadowing you for the next few days leading up to the second round."
Jaxon groans under his breath, and I catch Logan muttering, "Great, just what we need-more pressure."
Coach's glare snaps to Logan, silencing him with a single look. "This is an opportunity," he continues, his tone sharp. "Not just for the team but for the rink. You all know what's at stake here. If we don't make it to the finals, we're not just losing a game-we're losing this place. So, suck it up and give them something to work with."
My head's already starting to ache, thinking about the kinds of photos Tory and her crew might want. Maybe they'll want us smiling our hardest, Coach acting like some kind of saint.
That would definitely be something worth watching.
The guys around me start talking, but my attention drifts to the people hauling the equipment across the rink. My eyes lock on two girls, and something about them feels familiar.
"Alex's here?" Jaxon whispers beside me, but it sounds more like he's talking to himself than actually asking me. His expression shifts, almost looking pleased and I follow his gaze, The girl he's looking at-it's Alex. My eyes shift to the blonde beside her, and recognition clicks instantly.
If that's Alex, then the blonde has to be Blair, right?
Sophia's friends. The same ones from last week's party.
What are they doing here? Are they helping out with this media stuff too? And if they are... is Sophia going to be here as well?
I highly doubt. No way would Sophia come here-not to the rink, not where she knows I'll be. She'd probably rather be caught dead than willingly step foot into my territory-
My thoughts grind to a halt as I see her.
"Oh look, Sophia's here too," Jaxon says, and I can tell from his voice that he's smirking, probably waiting for me to punch him in the gut. But instead, my attention is on her and the boy from last week-the one who left her for some girl, holding hands.
Well... maybe not holding hands. He's helping her carry the heavy tripod, his hand hovering just inches from hers, and I watch her body stiffen with discomfort. It's almost like she can't get away from him fast enough, but she's too polite to push him away.
I stay calm because she isn't giving him any opportunity to look at her. She's doing her best to avoid any eye contact, and I like that.
Then, suddenly, the guy drops the tripod. It clatters loudly on the ground, causing a few people to jump. Sophia flinches, but the guy just stands there, looking flustered, unsure whether to laugh or apologize.
A proud smug creeps unto my face as I see him open his mouth, probably to say something to her, but she doesn't even wait for him. She straightens up, brushes past him, and walks away with a stiff, deliberate pace, not even sparing him a second glance.
That's a good girl.
The words slip out of my mind before I even realize what I'm thinking. As soon as they do, my eyes widen in shock. What the hell did I just think?!
I stare at the ground for a moment, trying to convince myself that I didn't just have that thought-didn't just think about her like that. My skin feels too tight, like I've just crossed a line I can't take back. I open my mouth, like I might say something, but nothing comes out.
God, I'm an idiot.
And as if the universe is determined to make me pay for it, my eyes jerk to hers.
Her green eyes lock onto mine with that piercing, knowing look. The world goes silent for a moment. She's not angry or surprised. She just looks at me-like she saw straight through the mess I just made in my head. I swallow, my mouth going dry, and I force myself to look away.
I curse under my breath and try to get myself back in line. I can feel the heat creeping up my neck. Don't look back, don't look back.
But of course, I do. And she's already moving, heading toward her friends.
I breathe a little easier as she walks away, but my mind is still spinning. What the hell is wrong with me?
Coach claps his hands, snapping us out of our thoughts. "Alright, guys, I know you've been working your asses off all day, but we need to get a few quick shots for the media. Just a few pictures, then you can go rest. Remember, they might come at any time, ask for personal shots. Don't act surprised."
I watch the guys shuffle into position, some of them already joking around, others too tired to even care about looking perfect for the camera. Me? I just want to get it over with.
I skate to the crease and start flicking the puck around to any guy who's closest. Just keep moving. Keep doing something that'll make this go faster. My mind is still on that thought-the one I shouldn't have had about Sophia.
But the weird thing is, I can feel her eyes on me. There's no way I can ignore it. The tension in my chest tightens with every second I know she's watching me, and I can't stop the way my body reacts, even if I'm trying not to think about it. If I wasn't so messed up about what I called her earlier, I would've said something. I would've teased her, maybe cracked a joke, gotten us to play-fight.
But I can't do that now. Not when I've already crossed some line in my head.
Instead, I focus on sliding the puck across the rink, faster and harder, just trying to do whatever will get these pictures done so I can get the hell out of here.
The photo shoot finishes quicker than I expected. Everyone's trying to smile, act like they care, but I don't think anyone's really paying attention. The moment it's over, I'm out of there.
I head straight to the locker room, not bothering to wait for the others. I strip off my gear and step into the shower, the hot water blasting over me, washing away the sweat, the tension, and most of the messed-up thoughts I can't get out of my head. It's the only thing that helps, just zoning out, feeling the heat of the water and hoping I can clear my mind long enough to forget what happened.
As soon as I'm done with the shower, I throw on my clothes quickly, not wanting to stay in the locker room longer than I have to. My mind is still all over the place, and the last thing I need is to sit here and think about it. I head toward the door, ready to leave this whole mess behind.
But then Hudson walks in, his head tilted toward Logan, who's trailing behind him. "Yo, Theo," Hudson says, "You wanna come grab a drink at the bar with us?"
Before I can even respond, Logan laughs, calling over his shoulder, "Nah, don't bother. Theo won't go."
I stop in my tracks, a little irritated that he already made the call for me. "No, I'll come," I say, trying to sound casual. The room goes quiet for a second, and I can feel the guys' eyes on me, confused.
"What?" I ask, not sure what's so weird about me going out with them.
"Don't take it personal, but you don't exactly hang out with us," Sam says, shrugging with an apologetic grin.
I scoff, even though it's the truth. I'm not exactly known for being the life of the party. People might assume I'd be out partying all the time, but the reality is, sometimes a guy just needs some downtime in his apartment. Alone time. But that's not really possible right now-not with her being just a few steps away from me. I can't face that.
I need a drink.
"You sure? You're coming?" Jaxon chimes in, stepping out of the shower, a mischievous grin on his face. "Because I could introduce you to some chicks who are big fans of yours."
"No chicks," I say, cutting him off, my tone firm. "I'm not in the mood for that right now."
Jaxon groans, running a hand through his wet hair. "Fine. Seriously, man, I miss the old you. You were a lot more fun."
I smirk, throwing a teasing glance his way. "Yeah, and you carried less STDs in your system, so..."
"Oh, fuck you," he shoots back, flipping me the middle finger. The rest of the guys burst out laughing, and I can't help but chuckle too. It's stupid, but for a moment, it's enough to take my mind off everything else.
At least for now.