Page 73 of Jaded

“Yo, James!” The voice accompanies the smack of the door hitting the wall, and I flip over from my handstand as a small barrage of hockey players enters the room.

Shoot. Here we go. If the Ice Out’s already reached Syd and social media, surely—

“What’s this noise?” Andy Everton follows Charlie in, locs swinging free around his shoulders. “This isn’t Dispatch—”

“Dude, we do not listen to Dispatch before hockey games.” Charlie slides into his cubby. “It’sNickelback.”

I scurry to stand in front of the radio before anybody gets any fresh ideas. “Captain’s Law, boys. Children of Bodom is the obvious pre-game choice.”

But really, I’m exhaling a slow sigh of relief. Seems like skating with a team of transplants and out-of-towners is actually working in my favor right now. None of them is apparently up to date on the latest Ice Out drama.

God, do they even know about the Ice Out?

Well, the way Charlie’s staring at me, I figure he knows. And everybody else is gonna hear about it sooner or later, right, but I would kind of like to get through the gamebeforeI get crucified. I ain’t ready to fess up just yet.

“This isn’t even singing!” Everton throws his hands into the air.

“I support it.” Paul Devereaux plops into his cubby beside Charlie. “Let the men scream.”

“Fans’ll be doing it soon enough,” I say, easing back from the radio a few inches. I tilt my hips against the table that holds it.

Everton’s mouth turns down in a scowl, uncharacteristic for his normally cheery face. “I mean, if anybody shows.”

Please, let them—

The door bangs open again, and Coach Douglas marches in, murder written across his face.

Well, crap.

I plop down in my cubby so hard my tailbone sings. It's about to godown, and I’m not gonna like it.

“So.” Coach paces into the room, stops in the middle. Turns a slow, dramatic circle to look each of us in the eye. “How many of you know what the Ice Out is?”

Nobody speaks. Couple of guys shuffle their feet, or look at each other or the ceiling. Everton rocks back and forth, and Skyler picks at his fingernails.

So, they do know what the Ice Out is. Do they know about what happened there—about what I did?

“The Ice Out is bullshit,” Coach says, his voice taking on a dangerously low tone. “Just going there is fucking career suicide. Butskatingin it? Telling peoplewho you fucking are?”

He’s glaring around the room again, and more eyes drop, unable to meet his burning stare.

His gaze falls on me. And I know. I know he knows. And it's about to getugly.

We’re better than that cheap hack shit, James.

My teeth clench together, and I stand. “You know it was me, Coach.”

His jaw clenches, over and over, and I can almost hear him asking,How could you? I trusted you . . . You’re supposed to be the role model, the ringer I brought in to save the team, not drag it through the mud . . .

The door clicks open a third time, and Nat Taylor strides in.

He looks the same as he ever does—faded jeans with the beginnings of a hole in one knee, black T-shirt hidden by a leather jacket, backwards cap with his dark hair peeking out the bottom.

His eyes, of course, go right to me, standing in the middle of the locker room, having just confessed my deadliest of sins.

There’s something off about his expression, though. Takes me a minute before it hits me: his mouth isn’t quite so downturned and scowly as usual.

His eyes slide towards Coach, and when he speaks, his words are soft. “There’s already people in the stands.”

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