Chapter Text
The locker room was quieter than Garrett had ever heard it.
Usually, even after a loss, someone would be chirping Tucker about a missed shot or Logan would be complaining about the refs. Tonight, though, the only sounds were the hiss of the showers and the scrape of skate guards against concrete. Briar had just suffered one of the worst losses of the season, and Garrett knew he'd been at the center of it. Two turnovers, a missed defensive assignment, and a penalty that had led directly to a power-play goal. He hadn't needed to look at the stat sheet to know he'd played terribly.
He sat in front of his locker long after everyone else had started changing, staring at the nameplate above it. His phone vibrated.
Dad: Don't leave. I'm coming to talk to you.
His stomach dropped.
Garrett slipped the phone into his pocket before anyone could notice. His father rarely came to games anymore, but when he did, Garrett never looked forward to seeing him afterward. He forced a smile when Dean asked if he was heading back to the hockey house.
"I'll catch up," Garrett lied. "Dad wants to say hi."
Dean hesitated for a moment, then nodded. "Don't take too long. Movie night."
Garrett smiled weakly. "Yeah."
Nearly forty minutes later, the arena was almost empty. The equipment staff had begun packing away stray pucks while the janitors moved through the concourse. Garrett waited near the players' entrance, hockey bag slung over one shoulder, when he spotted his father walking toward him.
He knew immediately what kind of mood he was in.
His father's jaw was tight, his hands shoved into the pockets of his coat.
"Walk with me."
Garrett followed him into one of the quieter concrete service corridors beneath the arena. The echo of their footsteps bounced off the walls, making the silence feel even heavier.
Neither of them spoke until they were completely alone.
"You embarrassed yourself tonight," his father finally said.
Garrett stared at the floor. "I know."
"No." His father's voice grew sharper. "You embarrassed me."
"I'm sorry."
His father laughed once, humorlessly.
"Sorry doesn't erase six goals."
Garrett swallowed. "I tried—"
"You call that trying?"
Before Garrett could answer, his father shoved him hard enough that his shoulder slammed into the concrete wall. The impact knocked the breath from his lungs.
"I expected better than this," his father hissed.
Garrett instinctively raised his hands, not to fight back, but because he'd learned long ago what usually came next.
"Dad..."
Another shove.
"You think scouts are impressed by that performance?"
"I said I'm sorry."
His father's hand struck across his face, snapping his head to the side. Garrett stumbled backward, catching himself against a stack of equipment cases.
"You always have an excuse."
"I don't."
"Then why do you keep disappointing me?"
Garrett didn't answer.
He never did.
Back in the locker room, Logan frowned as he zipped up his jacket.
"Has anyone seen Garrett?"
"He left with his dad," Tucker answered before throwing his bag over his shoulder. "Im gonna head home and get some food ready for movie night"
With a fist bump from the two players left and a promise to be home soon, Tucker headed out to the exit, leaving the two alone.
Dean looked toward the hallway. "It's been almost an hour."
Something about that didn't sit right.
Garrett never lingered after games, especially bad ones.
Logan pulled out his phone and sent a quick text.
Everything okay?
No response.
A minute later he tried calling.
The call rang once before ending.
Dean looked up immediately.
"He hang up?"
Logan slowly lowered the phone.
"No."
The two of them exchanged uneasy glances before heading toward the players' exit.
They heard the shouting before they saw anyone.
The voices echoed through the concrete corridor.
"You call yourself a hockey player?"
Dean rounded the corner first.
For a split second, none of them moved.
Garrett was backed against the wall, one arm raised instinctively over his face while his father gripped the front of his hoodie, shaking him.
"You cost your team the game!"
Garrett didn't even try to push him away.
His head stayed down.
"I'm sorry."
That was all he said.
Over and over.
"I'm sorry."
Dean didn't think.
"Hey!"
The shout echoed through the hallway.
Garrett's father turned just in time to see Logan rush forward. Logan grabbed the older man's arm and yanked him away from Garrett while Dean stepped directly between them.
"That's enough."
Garrett's father glared at them.
"This is none of your business."
Dean's voice was cold.
"It became our business the second you laid a hand on him."
Garrett slid down the wall until he was sitting on the floor, breathing hard. His cheek was already reddening, and one sleeve of his hoodie was torn where he'd hit the equipment cases.
Logan stood protectively between Garrett and his father.
"If you come near him again," Logan said evenly, "we're calling campus security and the police."
For a tense moment no one spoke.
Then Garrett's father scoffed, muttered something under his breath, and walked away without another glance.
Only after the sound of his footsteps disappeared did Garrett finally let himself shake.
Dean crouched beside him.
"Gar?"
Garrett wouldn't look up.
"I'm okay."
Dean's heart sank.
No one who was okay said those words like that.
"You don't have to pretend."
Garrett wiped quickly at his face with the sleeve of his hoodie.
"He was right."
"The hell he was," Logan snapped.
"I lost us the game."
"You had a bad game," Dean corrected quietly. "That's all."
Garrett looked at him with tired eyes.
"You don't understand."
Dean reached out carefully, resting a hand on his shoulder.
"Then help us understand."
For several seconds Garrett just stared at the floor.
Finally, in a voice so quiet they almost didn't hear him, he admitted, "This isn't the first time."
The hallway fell completely silent.
Logan closed his eyes briefly.
Dean felt something twist painfully in his chest.
Without another word, he helped Garrett to his feet.
"You're coming home with us."
Garrett didn't argue this time.
For the first time in a very long while, he was too exhausted to insist he could handle it alone.