THE LAST THREE weeks have been some of the most stressful of my life.
Aaron Carlisle—God, even his name sounds dick-ish—ran his mouth off to anyone who would listen. Including his coach, who told our coach, who then threatened to start tearing off limbs if someone didn’t explain to him what the hell was going on.
I’ve spent more time getting screamed at with the team than I have playing hockey with them recently. The guys who trashed the rink were on the UCLA hockey team, our closest rival college. Aaron wasn’t fully lying; the girl is pregnant, but it has nothing to do with Russ.
The poor kid didn’t know anything about it; he thought he’d been hooking up with someone’s girlfriend. She blamed him when her older brother found out, and she panicked. I suppose it was easier to blame a stranger, and I doubt she expected him to drive over here and fuck up our arena.
Russ has aged about ten years since this started. The relief on his face when we told him the real story was unbelievable. Faulkner and I had a meeting with the UCLA coach and captain, and they were able to tell us the full story. I’ve known Cory, the captain, for years and he was as pissed about this as I am.
I felt like Dr. Phil giving the results of a paternity test, well, Jerry Springer is more accurate for this bunch. Safe to say, we’re all on thin ice with Faulkner. He said the next person to do something irresponsible will get benched for the rest of the season. He said he didn’t care about our post-college prospects; he’d forfeit every game until we learned how to behave.
I’m on my best behavior for the rest of the year because I’m not sure Vancouver will still want me if I get expelled or delimbed, and there is no fucking way I’m going back to Colorado after I leave this place.
Is it a cliché being a guy who grew up with immense privilege and also having daddy issues? Yes. But in my defense, my dad is a massive jackass. I’m pretty sure he didn’t get hugged enough as a child and now he’s making it my and my sister’s problem.
Luckily, I managed to move a thousand miles away, but poor Sasha is still stuck with him since she’s only sixteen. Even when she turns eighteen, I doubt he’ll let her leave. She’ll be stuck being an underappreciated, overworked skiing prodigy.
Dad is prepared to throw money at every coach in the northern hemisphere, if it means Sash gets to be the next Lindsey Vonn. Ideally without the injuries, but I’m not sure he’s concerned about her safety anyway; he just wants her to win.
Thankfully, he hates hockey. Careless, violent sport for people who lack discipline and crave chaos, he says. It was Mom who signed me up for Mr. H’s team all those years ago. She was pregnant with Sasha at the time and needed something that would tire out her energetic five-year-old.
I didn’t take to skiing like my dad had hoped, and I can proudly say I’ve been disappointing him every day since. He wouldn’t even be surprised if I told him what has been going on recently, but it would involve answering his calls, and that isn’t something I tend to do.
Plus, he’d only find a way for it to be my fault.
The intensity of Robbie’s stare feels like it’s burning into my skin, which jolts me from my thoughts.
Annoying him is my favorite thing to do, and it makes me realize why JJ likes being an asshole so much. Rob keeps dropping things on the floor, banging his phone against the TV remote to make a clanging noise, and after about ten minutes of getting no response, he’s started coughing loudly.
I keep my eyes on the TV and smother the urge to smirk. Mike Ross is about to nail another case when Henry elbows me in the side. “Robbie is trying to get your attention. Are you ignoring him on purpose?”
“Great question, Henry, thank you,” Robbie shouts dramatically. “Are you ignoring me on purpose, Nathan?”
When I finally look at him, he’s staring at me like an unimpressed mother. “Sorry, buddy. Did you want something?”
Robbie mutters something under his breath, followed by a loud huff. “Have you organized my birthday party?”
“You mean the surprise birthday party? The one you specifically said you didn’t want to know anything about? So it was, y’know, an actual surprise?”
Six weeks ago, Robbie told me he wanted a surprise party for his birthday, claiming hosting parties is very stressful and time-consuming. He didn’t want to deal with the problems of his own birthday, so I needed to do it. I told him if it was such a hassle, he didn’t need to organize our parties anymore.
He called me a dipshit and told me to grow up.
“If the surprise is you haven’t sorted anything, I don’t fucking want it.” Henry immediately stands, his eyes darting between me and Robbie,
and rushes toward the stairs. Robbie follows his fleeting frame with narrowed eyes before flicking back to me. I shrug it off, acting like I don’t know Henry has been worried about spoiling the surprise for weeks. The kid doesn’t have a poker face, and he’s convinced himself with only a few more days to go, he’s going to fail at the last hurdle.
“You need to relax, Robert,” I say, knowing using his full name will rile him up a little bit more. “Stress isn’t good in your old age.”
I think that’s the end of it, but instead, he scratches at his jaw and makes an uhm sound. It’s not like Mr. Confident to struggle with his words, so now he has captured my attention like he wanted to. “Did you…Did you invite Sabrina?”
Oh, this is fun. “Who?”
I narrowly avoid the cushion he launches in my direction. “Don’t be a dick, Nathaniel. You know who she is.”
Three weeks ago, when I was royally fucking up with Stassie, Robbie was getting better acquainted with her best friend. He won’t tell me what happened, claiming he’s a gentleman, but it’s hard not to draw your own conclusions when she only left on Saturday afternoon, wearing one of his T-shirts.
I haven’t seen her since, so I thought it was a one-night thing but judging by the nervous look on his face, maybe not. “Would you want her there? In the hypothetical situation where there is a party?”
“We’ve been talking, so yeah. Hypothetically.”
Robbie has no problems with women, but I can’t pretend he doesn’t rotate them when he gets bored. The fact he’s talking to her and not only hooking up with her is a good sign.
“Noted. Ready for practice?” I ask him, carefully changing the subject before I give away party secrets.
“Yeah, let me get my sweatshirt first.”
Shit. Now I have to find a way to get Sabrina here.
 |
JJ IS sprinting down our street as I’m putting Robbie’s chair into the trunk of my car. Pressing the button to lower the falcon-wing doors, I climb into the driver’s seat and put the car into reverse, automatically locking all the doors.
He bangs on the window, panting and mumbling something inaudible. I lower the window a little so I can hear him. “Don’t leave without me, you douchebag.”
“Hurry up!” I bark back, watching him frantically run toward the front door to get his stuff. I’d feel sorry for him if I didn’t know he’s been tucked up with one of the football cheerleaders since last night.
This whole situation with sharing a rink means we’re training at different times each day. Since it’s technically their arena, Coach Brady demanded we work around the skaters’ scheduled training. A lot of them have competitions coming up and she argued anything less than our total agreement wasn’t going to work for her.
Aubrey Brady is a fucking terrifying woman, and she has Faulkner’s balls in an iron vice. As soon as she found out why our rink was trashed, she used it to bully Skinner into bowing to her every demand, and now she owns us.
I can’t blame her, she’s looking out for her athletes, but awkwardly brushing past Stassie every day got old quickly. Seeing how hot she is in her skating stuff got old quickly. Watching her joke around with her dickhead skating partner, you guessed it, old.
Quickly.
She looks at me like she wants to set me on fire most of the time, or alternatively, she doesn’t look at me at all. The girl knows how to hold a
grudge, with everyone except Henry apparently.
Last week, Henry saw Anastasia studying in the library alone. He bought her a coffee, explained about the Russ situation, apologized profusely, saying he totally understood why she was so upset, and now he’s the only one of us in her good graces.
“Why do you always want girls who don’t like you?” Henry asked me as she stomped past us one afternoon, still managing to flash him a sweet smile. “Summer, Kitty, Anastasia…Why?”
“Fucking hell, Hen,” JJ spluttered out, choking on his water. “Kick the guy while he’s down, why don’t you.”
“I don’t know, kiddo,” I confessed, wrapping my arm around his shoulders as his cheeks flushed at the guys laughing. “You find me a nice girl who likes me back and I’ll give it a shot.”
JJ snorted. “He’s not a fucking miracle worker, Hawkins.”
Robbie claims he could be in her good graces if he wanted to be, and Jaiden said he prefers being the mysterious bad boy anyway. As for me, I could bow down at her feet and apologize, but I think she’d use it as an excuse to kick me in the head.
Parking up outside the rink, I let the guys know I’ll see them in there, quickly climbing out to jog toward the door. She’s throwing her skates into her bag when I push through the doors, her eyes flick up in response to the noise, but she grimaces when she realizes it’s me.
Charming.
I sit on the bench beside her bag and clear my throat. “Anastasia?”
Her eyes lock with mine, plush lips immediately pouting. “What do you want?”
“I need a favor.” “No”
“You haven’t even heard what it is yet.” “Don’t need to. The answer is no.”
“What if I told you it’s super important to both of our best friend’s happiness?”
She sighs, a noise I’m used to hearing now, putting her hands on her hips. “I’ll bite. Go on.”
“It’s Robbie’s twenty-first birthday on Saturday and I’m throwing him a surprise party. He’d like Sabrina there, could you pass on the message? You’re invited, too, obviously.”
“Fine.”
Success, maybe. “Sweet, thanks. It’s Vegas themed, so black tie. Free bar, poker tables, all the fun stuff. I hope you guys come; it’ll make Robbie very happy.”
“Okay.” She struts off toward the opening doors, the guys coming through at the same time. She pats Henry’s arm and murmurs “Hi” as she passes him, and the kid’s cheeks flush again.
When she’s officially out of earshot, JJ traps me in a headlock, cackling as I fight him off. “You’re losing your touch, Hawkins. The kid has more game than you.”
“I’m not trying to date her,” Henry says quickly, scratching at his jaw nervously. “I’m trying to be nice to her, y’know, so she likes us again. She’s got a boyfriend anyway.”
“He’s her skating partner, not her boyfriend. She doesn’t have a boyfriend, she told me so herself.”
Henry shakes his head. “Not him, Ryan Rothwell. I saw them hugging last week.”
“Hugging someone is hardly the sign of a relationship, Hen. Kris and Mattie would be in a relationship with half the campus, if that were the case,” Robbie says with a snort.
“They were making out and he was grabbing her ass,” Henry adds.
Great.
Aaron is still fucking about on the ice when we’re all ready to start practice. He’s an obnoxious prick and I truly cannot stand the guy. It’s got nothing to do with Stassie, either, he gives me the worst vibes imaginable, and it’s enough for me to hate him. Obviously, it doesn’t help he fucked us all over with his big mouth.
I know I said it wasn’t about her, but one thing I don’t like about him is how he speaks to Anastasia when they’re skating. I gave him the benefit of the doubt at the party because he was clearly wasted, but because of their class schedules, a lot of the time their session is pre or post ours.
When we’re either early or finishing up, I hear him telling her not to be sloppy this session or telling her she’ll get it one of these days in the world’s most patronizing tone.
It’s shitty, but it’s none of my business. She’s not the type of girl who needs defending, and if I were to try, it’d probably land me higher up her hit list.
When he hears us coming, he finally skates to the edge. He’s wearing the smuggest grin when he spots me. He’s already massively testing my patience, and he hasn’t even opened his mouth. I’m sure if I punched him, I’d feel better. But thinking back to what Faulkner said about behaving, I take a deep breath instead. See? I can be an adult.
“She’s not going to fuck you. You’re wasting your time.” “Excuse me?”
Don’t punch him. Don’t punch him. Don’t punch him.
“You heard me.” He sits on the bench and starts to unlace his skate, not bothering to look at my shocked face.
The guys are dragging the goals onto the ice and Robbie is talking to Faulkner, otherwise, I’d be looking for confirmation I was hearing this jackass correctly.
“You might think she’s playing hard to get, but she’s not. The iciest thing about her is her heart. She’ll drag you along like she does Rothwell, so save yourself the trouble.”
This fucking guy.
“You’re a dick, do you know that?” I tell him brazenly.
He throws his skate in his bag and switches to the other one, looking up at me to grin. “Truth hurts, buddy.”
“I’m not your fucking buddy.” I clench my fist, desperately trying to keep my temper at bay. “And if you talk about her like that again, you’re going to be picking your teeth up from that rink.”
He gives me a sickly sweet smile. My fingers crunch, I’m clenching my fist so tightly, but he’s unfazed enough to bump into my shoulder as he passes me. As he reaches the exit, he turns to face me. “I’m going to enjoy watching her turn you into a simpering fool, just to drop you like she does everyone else. Happy skating.”
