Page 29 of A Stealthy Situation

“Trash,” he says. “Off you go.”

“What’d you call me?”

“I’ll call you a lot worse if we’re stuck doing this all bloody day.”

So, I might not have planned to help for a while yet, but here we are, so I might as well just get on with it. Besides, I get to do it hanging out with Harrison, so that makes it less bad, even if the urge to give myself a minor injury just to get out of it has only decreased by a smidge.

“You guys know how to throw a party,” Harrison says, wiping spilled drink off the wall. “It was a lot of fun, but I think I’ve officially hit the age of hangovers making me question if it’s worth it.”

“Wait. You’re here and you’re hungover?”

“I thought my jog and tea would help, but I ended up puking behind some bushes off campus.”

“Wow. Someone is going to get a nice, early morning surprise.”

“I didn’t leave it there.” Of course not. Harrison is Mr. Responsible. “I snuck the people’s hose and used it to wash the mess away.”

“I don’t know of a single person who would have done that.”

“Maybe you need new friends. Besides, their geraniums needed watering, so … two birds.”

I laugh. “Geraniums. You’re such a nerd.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing, frat boy.”

“Tell me something cool about plants.”

“Ohhh, okay!” He thinks for a second. “Did you know there are more microorganisms in one teaspoon of soil than there are people on Earth?”

I think my brain short-circuits. “Wait … that’s like …” I try to picture a teaspoon and make my fingers in the rough size of the spoon I had breakfast with this morning. “No way.”

“Seriously.”

“I don’t fucking believe you.”

Harrison tips his head to the side. “Want to make a bet of that?”

I’m not stupid enough to fall for it. “Nope. I’ll accept your word.”

“Smart boy.” He keeps scrubbing. “Tell me something cool about hockey.”

I get that one-second tension that always hits when someone mentions the H-word to me. Then I remember that Harrison isn’t a sports guy, and while I might tease him about being a nerd, I way prefer that and his plant facts over him catching on to who I am.

“Umm …” I try to remember all the things I actually liked about the sport before everything went to shit. Before the pressure and politics outweighed the fun of skating. I can’t tell him that Em and I were a force to be reckoned with. That once we hit the ice together, we were so tuned in to each other that it almost didn’t seem fair to the other team. That’s the part I miss. The part I used to thrive on. I might have had a reputation for not following the coach’s directions, but none of that was intentional. I’d even argue it was on him. Calling out left and right when I’m skating at those speeds is ridiculous.

Too bad the flip side of being that good and being a legacy meant that whenever we fucked up, people got nasty. Catty. Cranky coaches and people online saying we wouldn’t make it through a game without each other was common after a loss. It hurt every time. Then there was the ever-present threat of us being drafted to different teams on opposite sides of the country. Em’s fear of never being able to live up to the Dalton name that our brothers set for us, when he was easily the better out of us two.

Fuck hockey. Fuck those assholes who thought writing about goddamn kids in high school was the place to be a condescending asshole.

Always thought the Daltons were overrated players, anyway.

Westly never even won a Stanley Cup.

Asher Dalton is trying to live up to big brother’s skates and embarrassing him in the process. His entitled attitude is everything wrong with the NHL.

Bennett Dalton is going the exact way of big brother Asher—and I don’t mean that as a compliment.

Emmett was the golden child of the Dalton duo, but even that didn’t save him from scrutiny. So, Harrison asking for something “cool” when it comes to hockey? I can’t separate anymore.

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