Page 24 of Boots & Scars

"You really going to this frat party next week?"

Her head jerked up, cheeks pink from exertion or embarrassment, maybe both. "How do you know about that?"

I leaned back, stretching my arms over the back of the bench. "Because I was given the wonderful little assignment of keeping an eye on you."

Everly’s eyes widened. "What?"

"For someone who's trying so hard to be tough, you sure do have people trying to protect you from every little decision." I shook my head, enjoying her reaction.

"What are you talking about?" Her voice came out sharper than a freshly honed skate blade.

"Oh, yeah." I nodded slowly, letting it sink in. "You mean, you don't know? Now, look, sugar, I don't want to be stuck babysitting you even more than I'm already doing, but it's clear Dean Walker doesn't think you're enough of a big girl to handle this on your own."

Her hands paused on the laces of her skates. Her jaw tightened, and she pulled the skates off with a yank. She didn’t look at me as she set them aside.

"Now, I've seen how you can be if I just push you enough," I continued, leaning forward again. "But I don't think he does. Maybe you should show him how capable you are, hmm?"

She clenched her jaw tighter and shot me a glare that could melt ice.

"Why do you care?" Her voice was low, controlled.

"I don’t." I shrugged. "Just thought you should know how little faith he has in you. And maybe, I don't know, do something about it."

Her nostrils flared as she stuffed her skates into her bag. She stood up abruptly, slinging the bag over her shoulder.

"You know nothing about me." She spat out the words before turning on her heel and walking away without another glance.

I watched her go, a smirk tugging at my lips. She might be sheltered, but there was fire in her. That was for sure.

The next day,I walked into the rink, a cigarette hanging loosely between my lips. The cold air hit my face, but I didn’t bother zipping up my jacket. The burn in my lungs from the smoke felt comforting in a way.

I glanced around the rink, taking in the mess left behind. Popcorn and crumpled programs littered the stands. Some of the trash had found its way onto the ice, tiny bits reflecting off the glass. My jaw clenched. The Titans had their playoff game last night and won, from the looks of it. The thought made my stomach twist.

I took a long drag from the cigarette and exhaled slowly, letting the smoke curl around my face before it dissipated into the chilly air. A win for them meant more work for me, more noise, more people trying to relive their high school glory days by screaming their heads off at every goal.

I flicked ash onto the ground and walked over to the boards. The ice was chewed up, streaked with black marks from puck strikes and skates cutting sharp turns. It would need a lot of work before it was ready for anyone else to use.

I leaned against the boards, taking another drag, and remembered when I was one of those kids out there on the ice. Hungry for wins, thirsty for recognition. But those days were gone, and they weren't coming back.

One of the rink attendants shuffled past me with a broom and trash bag, barely giving me a nod.

“Rough night?” I called out through a cloud of smoke.

“Yeah,” he muttered without stopping.

Figures. Winning games meant chaos, which meant more messes for people like him to clean up.

I tossed the cigarette butt onto the concrete floor and crushed it under my heel before heading toward the locker rooms. Each step echoed in the empty space as I tried to shake off memories of old games, old faces—both friends and rivals.The Titans’ win shouldn’t matter to me anymore, but somehow it did.

Just as I reached for the locker room door, a voice interrupted my thoughts.

"Sinclaire," a growly voice called.

I ignored it, my mind still tangled in thoughts as I stepped into the locker room. I moved to my locker at the back, the wood a familiar sensation against my fingers. I was just about to sit down when the door swung open again, and in stepped Walker, his face like thunder.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" he demanded.

I looked up from my gear bag, feigning confusion. "What do you mean?" I asked as I tugged on a skate.

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