"We should head back," Dwayne whispers, eyes still focused on the lights. I nod slowly, wanting to savor this moment for as long as possible. Dwayne turns around and begins walking away, and I follow, my hand still engulfed in his.

We don't go quickly, but somewhat slow, trying to make this last longer. We stand at the edge of the sidewalk, waiting for cars to stop so we can cross. When one car rolls to a stop, we hurry across the road to the dorm house which is right in front of us.

We climb the staircase to our floor, fingers intertwined. We begin down the hallway, until we stop in out tracks. My eyes go wide as I drop Dwayne's hand quickly, and he obliges, understanding the circumstances. Dean. He had just walked out of his room.

I silently pray that he turns the other way, but my luck's a bitch, and his head twists, his eyes connecting with mine. "Meg!" he calls, running over to us. "Where have you been?" he asks sternly.

"I was at the game room," I lie, hoping he'll believe me.

He raises an eyebrow. "Really? Because Connie and Julie said you were at the cafeteria," he crosses his arms, muscles flexing as I see Dwayne visibly gulp from the corner of my eye.

"I was at the cafeteria, but then I went to the game room," I explain, faking a smile. "You must have missed me," I shrug.

His eyes fall down my body, before glaring back into my own. "That's a pretty fancy outfit for the game room," he says, his voice getting lower. "And when I went to the game room and asked if anyone had seen you, they said they hadn't since the game," he pinches his lips together in a thin line. "What's going on?"

"Nothing! God, Dean! Nothing's going on," I cry, throwing my arms into the air. I feel bad for Dwayne, who's just standing there awkwardly.

Dean squints his eyes at me, tilting his head. "Are, are you wearing, makeup?" he asks, spiting the words out like venom. "What the hell is going on, Meg?" I open my mouth, but he cuts me off. "And don't give me some bullshit lie!"

I flinch at his harshness, which reminds me of my parents before they got divorced. "She was with me," Dwayne interjects before I can answer. "I asked her to come with me."

Dean's eyes narrow, not at Dwayne, but at me. "You said you didn't have anything going on with these boys! You said they were just friends!"

"You can't control my life, Dean! And maybe I did say that, but that was the first day we were in California!" I exclaim.

"Watch me," Dean grabs my arm, pulling me away. "You're staying with me until we go home." He tugs me, dragging me towards his dorm.

I yank my arm away from him, standing next to Dwayne who ran up after us. "No, Dean, I'm not," I spit. "I thought you trusted me," I whisper quietly, tears threatening to spill from my eyes while I rub my arm.

Dean's face doesn't soften by my words, it only grows colder as he shoves me further away from him and Dwayne. "I do, Meg. But, I don't trust my little sister with boys, especially the boys on this team," Dean now grabs Dwayne by the collar of his shirt, lifting him a few inches off the ground. "I told you that I wasn't going to let anything, or anyone, hurt you again. I told you I was going to protect you."

I lift my head and glare at him. "How can you protect me and not let anything harm me, when you're the one hurting me?"

Dean's eyes go wide as he drops Dwayne, who scurries away from him, coming closer to me. "Meg, I, I'm-," Dean stammers.

"No, Dean," I stick my hand out, stopping him. "Sorry isn't going to fix it this time," I stutter, tears slipping down my cheeks. Dean says nothing, but turns around, stomping into his dorm room.

Dwayne steps forward, placing a hand on my shoulder. "Meg?" I look at him with red and puffy eyes and tear-stained cheeks. His eyes are glazed with sadness as he looks at me. He's going to leave me like everyone else. He's going to break my heart like everyone else.

I hand my head, waiting to hear his footsteps walk away from me. But, instead, he wraps his arms around me, pulling me into a warm embrace. One of his hands loops around my waist as the other hold my head against his shoulder. I wrap my arms around his torso, closing my eyes. I take deep breaths before pulling away from the comfortable hug.

I wipe my eyes, rubbing the wet tears off my cheeks. I give Dwayne a sad smile, which he returns. "Thanks, Dwayne," I say.

He nods, his arms falling to his sides. "You're welcome, Meg," he responds. We walk back towards my dorm, which Dean had pulled me past. We stand outside for a minute, before he breaks the silence. "Goodnight, Meg."

I look up into his brown eyes. "Goodnight, Dwayne," I reply. Before I can turn around to open the door, Dwayne leans in and kisses my cheek.

I feel my face heat up as he pulls back, and he smiles. "See ya tomorrow," and with that, he spins on heel, walking away, leaving me flustered and blushing.

*****************************************************************

Coach called us outside at ten, and told us that he had something important to share. So, that's where we are. Sitting on benches outside of the stadium with Miss McKay and Coach's friend, Jan, who knows all of the Ducks.

I sit next to Adam and Averman, and as much as I want to sit next to Dwayne, who looks very attractive in his tank top, I want to be as far away from Dean as possible. I feel bad for Dwayne, however, since Dean positions himself right behind him.

"I've had a lot of big distractions since I've been here in L.A.," Coach starts, picking up a carboard cutout of himself with Hendrix written on it. "This is a distraction," he explains. He hands the cutout to Jan, then lights a match, throwing it into a garbage can. "This is a fire in a barrel." He grabs the cardboard picture once again, folding it up and sticking it into the fire. "This is a distraction in a fire in a barrel. Any questions?"

We all clap for our coach, smiling that the real him is back, not some fake Hendrix robot that fame created.

********************************************************************

Over the course of a day, Coach has been bringing us back to the basics. We've crawled across the ice, while hit smacks us with a stick lightly, telling us to go faster, and we've gone to the gym and run on treadmills. We shot goals at Goldberg while he blocks them, and I, personally, have been helping Jan with Luis by stacking the cans back up.

After practice finally ended, we all change into normal clothes, walking out of the locker room. Adam is one of the last people to grab his gear as I pull my hair into a messy bun. He has a pained expression on his face when he comes out, looking distressed. "Are you okay?" I ask, making him turn and nod at me.

He sits down, pulling something out of his bag, keeping it hidden from my view. I sneak up behind him, and he's holding his wrist up, moving it slightly. He starts to wrap it, and I realize that it's hurt from the Iceland game. "You're not okay," I say, making his head snap towards me.

"I'm fine, Meg," he tries to tell me, but I raise my eyebrows. "Okay, maybe I'm not, but don't tell Coach. He'll pull me out," Adam begs.

I lift my eyes from Adam to the doorway. "Too late," I whisper, as Coach walks into the room, staring at the two of us.

"Just think how you'd play with two good wrists," Coach says, looking at the wrap in Adam's hand.

"Coach," Adam starts, nervously might I add, "It's just a little sore." I roll my eyes at this bullshit. "I'm okay." Adam tries to reassure him.

Coach sighs, walking towards us. "I should've spotted this sooner. I'm sorry, man, I wasn't doing my job."

Adam stands up, getting annoyed. "Coach, I'm fine. I can play, I swear."

"Okay," Coach says with a nod. Please tell me he's not believing this crap. Coach picks up a nearby hockey stick and hold it out to Adam. "Here. Let's find out." Adam tosses down his jacket, reaching for the stick with his left hand. "The other hand." Adam grabs the stick with the correct hand and holds in front of him. "Now rotate it."

Adam's eyes water as he doesn't move his wrist. It must be really painful for him just to hold it like that. He drops the stick, eyes looking down at the floor. "I have to bench you," Coach tells him.

"No," Adam exclaims. "You can't do that." He seems to think a lot of people can't do a lot of things.

"Adam, you could injure yourself permanently," Coach responds, not getting angry.

Adam's eyes grow red as tears brim his eyes. "You can't bench me. I gotta play," he begs. "All the scouts are here watching me. This is my shot." I place my hand on his shoulder to comfort him.

"You're young. You're gonna have plenty of shots, believe me," coach tries to reason with him, but Adam has none of it.

"But, my dad's counting on me," Adam says. My heart clinches as he mentions his father, who travelled with him. If only my dad cared about me that way.

"I'm sorry," Coach sighs, as Adam sits back down. Coach plops down in front of him on the metal bench. "Hey. My dad worked a lot when I was a kid. So, when he made it to a game, I wanted so bad to score a hundred goals for him. I spent half the game a nervous wreck, my stomach in knots."

Adam glances up at Coach. "That's how I feel."

"Before he died, my dad told me that his happiest times were watching me skate this pond we had behind our house. He didn't need me to score a hundred goals for him," Coach continues. "He was proud of me because I was his son, and I did my best." Tears are running down Adam's face as well as mine as I cover my mouth with hand to stay quiet. "I'm sure that's how your dad feels. I know it is."

Adam nods, wiping the tears off his cheeks. "Thanks, Coach," he says, looking up into his eyes.

Coach stares at the ground for a moment, probably thinking about his dad. "Alright, let's, uh, go get that wrist x-rayed. C'mon." Coach stands, and Adam follows his lead.

They walk out of the locker room, leaving me without a second glance. I slide down on the wall to the ground, shaking violently. I no longer cover my mouth, and choked sobs echo across the empty room.

That story hit me harder that a freight train. The story of Coach and his father is everything I ever want from a family. But, no. I get a broken home, abandonment, an ignoring father, an overprotective asshole brother, and a bitch mother.

I want to tell someone about how I feel, but I can't because they will leave me once I do. They always leave. I take deep breaths, calming myself down before standing up, and balancing my body on the wall. I stumble to the sinks, where I splash my face with water.

I straighten my clothes, a violet turtleneck sweater and jeans, and smooth my hair, hoping to make myself look like I haven't been bawling for ten minutes.

I exit the locker room, only to collide with a body. Hands grip my waist, preventing me from falling as they steady me on my feet. "Woah, sorry Meg," a country voice says. "I was lookin' for ya. I wanted to know if ya-," I don't let Dwayne finish, I just pull away from him and dash down the hall, not letting him see my face.

I take a glance behind me, only to see Dwayne in the same spot where I left him, looking at me. There's a slight confused look on his face, but the expression that's most apparent is, hurt.