Page 38 of Off-Ice Misconduct
The hangover didn’t kick in till much later, and when it did, it was a fucking doozy. It’s day two, and I still can’t move without the need to puke. Tiny little hockey players slap pucks against the inside of my skull. Maybe I went a bit overboard on Saturday, but no regrets.
Fucking Shep and Bender didn’t help either. Them and their fucking bickering early this morning. Bender couldn’t find his jacket before practice. He was tearing the house apart.
“Where did you last leave it, dipshit?” Shep said, like the unhelpful bastard he is, one arm around Huddy, hand resting on his shoulder while they lounged on the couch, coffee in the other.
“In. My. Room. Like I fucking told you.” He glares. “It was you, wasn’t it? Bet it’s in your room.”
“It wasn’t.” Bender stormed in that direction anyway. “Where do you think you’re going? Better not be going to my room.”
But Bender was already halfway up the stairs. Shep catapulted off the couch, coffee spilling everywhere, before he slammed the mug down on the table and bolted after him. He sounded like an elephant, loud feet thudding on every step, nearly splitting my head in half.
“Ah ha! I knew it,” Bend shouted from the top of the stairs. “Found it.”
“Fucking Christ, you two,” I said.
“It wasn’t me,” Shep said, coming back into the living room. “His drunk-ass probably left it in there the night of the party.”
God, just the memory of all that chaos as I try to keep my head up, pains me.
I rub my temples, peering down at the man at the front of the class. Is it just me, or have the lights gotten brighter? Luke’s fuzzy, just like the puck was at practice this morning. Practicesuuuuukedby the way. All those loud sounds.
No way Luke doesn’t know my body’s trying and failing to reboot. We swaggered into class just in the nick of time, and some of us actually stumbled up the stairs to our seats. He didn’t say a word. If he thinks I didn’t notice his jaw twitching, he’s wrong.
Miraculously, I don’t get held after class, but I think I wanted to be. Walking away from Luke feels like leaving the house with that nagging feeling that you forgot something.
“You’re in a good mood,” Shep says.
I shrug. “It’s a nice day.” He knows something’s up with me, and it’s only a matter of time before he makes me spill.
“C’mon, let’s goooo,” Shep says to Bender. We’re walking across campus, headed for the house, but Bend’s lagging behind. He’s been a few steps behind since we cut across the quad. I glance behind, catching him fiddling with the zipper of his jacket, eyes focused just ahead of us.
There, several feet in front, out of hearing range, is Benjamin, the lead singer in one of the bands on campus.
“Stop rushing me. Are you like this with Huddy, too?” Bender snaps.
“Shut the fuck up about Hudson,” Shep says, getting louder. “Walking ten feet behind the guy isn’t gonna get you laid.”
“Not all of us care about fucking and fighting. Benjamin’s a romantic. You’ve heard his songs.”
“Singing about getting kicked outta hell ain’t romantic, dumbass.”
“He’s gonna hear you two if you both don’t shut the fuck up, geniuses.” We’re not actually ten feet behind him, Shep’s being a dick.
All that does is start a bickering match about being quiet.
“Sssh, I heard something,” Bend says. “Oh, no, sorry, that was just the sound of your over-inflated ego hissing out.”
He laughs. Shep’s restraining himself, wanting to lunge. I step between them.
“You guys,” I snap. “Wait, I actually do hear something.”
A sharppop-pop-popbreaks the air. Splashes of color explode against the trees, the sidewalk. One lands by my foot.
“Run!”
We gun it for the house. As we crest the hill, the large porch within our sights, chaos erupts. Guys who were out soaking up the last of the summer sun before it’s officially fall, shout and dive for cover, turning lawn chairs over to use as shields.
Shep’s arms flail, back arching as a blotch of purple explodes against his back. “Mother fucker that’s gonna bruise,” he curses.
