Page 35 of No Pucks

“Like we’ve talked about, I have a personal vendetta.” I keep a smile on my face, because I’m not going to let him ruin my night nor my chance of proving myself to my teammates.

“Shit. Alright. I’d love to help you out with that vendetta.” He holds out his hand, and we slap them then pull it back into a fist bump. “Now get your ass warmed up.”

I look at the dark sky and shake my head. “Fine. But those better be fucking paint balls.”

Savage grins. “You have to trust me. We are on the same team!”

“That doesn’t mean I have to trust you. That shit is earned!” I shake my arms and legs out, rolling my neck as I approach where they’ve herded the rest of the freshmen. I don’t take my eyes off the gladiator style obstacle course they’ve set up for us. They hand us beat up paint splattered helmets and safety glasses, and I strap them on and bend over to stretch. The guys on the sidelines cheer and whistle. I hold up a middle finger, jumping up and down a few times to get my muscles limber.I need to run a few laps to really get my blood going, but something tells me they don’t want us that warm or quick on the course.

“Can you believe this shit?” Raven, a promising freshman defenseman, replies in a thick French creole accent that surprises me.

I realize I’ve never spoken to him before. He does come off as the quiet, intense type. “It’s fucking creative, and better than just making us drink until we’re sick and too hung over to play this weekend.”

“It ’tis. I’m not mad. Coach will fucking kill us if he finds out.” Raven pulls off his hat, handing it to his pledge brother. “But it won’t stop me.”

“Me either.” I can only hope if Anthony does find out, he takes it out on my ass later.

“Listen up. You may have been chosen to grace the Gods, but now, you must prove yourself to be a God,” Wolfe says, standing over us on a bit of scaffolding. He’s the goalie and as close to a God on and off the ice as I’ve ever seen.

The team quiets, turning towards the guys standing at least ten feet above us.

“This is your chance to join us. An adoption, if you will,” Archangel adds. He’s a defenseman who fits his name, with blond hair and striking green eyes. “So no one better say the other word.” He grins and winks.

I want to scoff, but he’s so fucking charming. A guy like that playing for a team called the Gods is a fucking karmic joke if anything is.

“Listen closely to the rules,” Archangel goes on. “You have to make it one city block through whichever path you choose, but,” he holds up a hand before he loses our attention, “if you get hit, you have to chug a beer and start over.”

“Fuck,” a couple of guys groan.

“No wonder they wanted us all at the party,” Raven scoffs in his pretentious accent, and I can’t help but like him more because of it. “Always be suspicious of free liquor.”

“They lulled me into a false sense of security. I thought college sports was all about free liquor.”

“You thought wrong. Fraternities are all about free liquor. Sports are about excellence.” Raven puts his finger over his lips. “We should expect every activity to be a competition, no?”

“I think you’re right.”

“I’m Andre Raven,” he says after studying me a moment.

“Logan.”

“Nice to formally meet you.” He nods his head.

“And you as well.”

“Who’s going first?” Wolfe shouts.

The freshmen look at each other.

“By your jersey number, then. Let’s go.” Archangel claps.

We trade numbers, getting ourselves in line. By the virtue of bad luck, I’m second, but at least I’m not first. I get one go to see how the course is. If he fucks it up, I may be going into this blind, so I need to plot a course and a good one.

The first guy stands at the makeshift starting line, and the second he hops up on the first obstacle, he’s hit like the team is filled with sharp shooters.

The upperclassmen argue over who hit him, and then the ones who are “sure” it was them take a shot. So the more shots they hit, the harder it will be for them. I can only hope they hit him a few more times before I’m up.

They hand him a beer, and he chugs then darts back onto the course without waiting for a go ahead. The guys on the platform cheer and hurriedly lift theirpaintball guns taking aim. We cheer from the sidelines.

---