Page 13 of The Captain

“Yeah, man. I haven’t seen her in a while.” I ground my teeth at the voice. It was Crew.

“Pussy whipped,” came Connor’s reply, which made me practically crack a molar when I heard Crew chuckle as if it were true.

Fuck me. They were sleeping together?

“Nah, man, she’s just super chill. I’ve been asking her about—” I cut him off by slamming my hoodie over my head and pressing it over my ears, so I didn’t have to listen to another word.

I didn’t give a shit about who Crew dated, but why the fuck did he have to choose my sister’s best friend?

It had nothing to do with me, yet I couldn’t stop hating the situation. It was only because I didn’t want her to get hurt, making Mickey mad, and therefore making me the bad guy because my best friend—or old best friend—was the one who hurt her.

I ripped my phone out of my pocket and pulled up Cassie’s contact info for the first time, quickly typing out a text.

It was stupid and impulsive and a lie, but I did it anyway.

Hey, almost home. Study tonight?

Fuck me. I hit send before I could talk some actual sense into my brain. I only did it to slow down the momentum of her relationship with Crew, not because I actually wanted to see her or study.

Sure, tell yourself that.

My phone buzzed, and I opened my texts faster than I’d like to admit.

Sorry. Can’t. How’s tomorrow?

Fuck. He’d already gotten to her.

Which begged the question: have they been talking this entire time? Had they texted throughout our road trip and our time away? When we stayed in our hotel rooms, was he chatting with her on the phone while I’d scrolled social media, keeping myself busy?

Also, why the fuck did I care this much? If she wanted to date the prick, if she wanted to get hurt by another player, then why did I care?

The thought of mentioning how much Crew moved around briefly crossed my mind, but what responsibility of that was mine?

Fuck it. I didn’t care, couldn’t care, and would only focus on hockey and school from here on out. I only had a couple months of games left, and then I would be done with my third year of college hockey and could move on to summer, getting away from both of them.

From that moment on, I wouldn’t give a flying fuck about Cassie or Crew.

Sounds good.

SIX

Cassie

Five Months Ago

“Thanks, Marie,” Lincoln said to her, grabbing his new normal from her and immediately wolfing it down.

It had been a few weeks of these tutoring sessions; each one, our tension had eased somewhat, and we could actually get some work done.

“Did you go over the notecards?” That was my preferred way of studying. Writing every key point in a lecture by the professor and memorizing it. It was the key to acing tests.

“I mean, I read them. Not sure how much I retained,” he answered, only briefly coming up for air from his food.

Another thing I’ve learned in the time we’ve been studying together was Lincoln could eat. A lot. Especially if it was after a game—which we’d had two sessions after games, much to my surprise—and after practices.

“Let’s go over them,” I stated, holding out my hand for him to hand them over. He wiped his hands on a napkin and reached over to grab them.

“Honey!” I flinched, nearly knocking over my hot tea cup, and turned my head.

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