Page 11 of Stick It
And I’m not the only one who has noticed.
As the week has progressed and we’ve seen more and more of what she’s capable of, some of the other guys have started to grow antsy. They’re nervous—as many of them should be. It’s clear she’s gunning for their spots. It wouldn’t surprise me if Coach put her on the third line. Heck, maybe even the second.
The room is abuzz with chatter, everyone happy to see the end of a long week. More than a few of my teammates are moving stiffly, freshmen still adjusting to the rigorous preseason schedule, and more senior students making it obvious they slacked in their conditioning over the summer—idiots.
Someone who has no issue moving with grace and stealth? Dylan Carter. She has breezed through the entire week asthough two grueling practices a day, plus daily strength training and cardio workouts, are the norm.
“Ready to go?” Ethan claps me on the shoulder. He’s changed out of his gear into a pair of formfitting jeans and a loose T-shirt. I realize I’d been distracted watching Dylan tie up her laces and pack up. Even now, I watch as she throws her bag over her shoulder and strides toward the door. She doesn’t say goodbye to anyone, and no one else notices her slip quietly from the room.
Shaking her from my thoughts, I face Ethan. “Yeah, man. A drink sounds good.”
Half an hour later, the team has commandeered all three booths along the back wall of The Stanley. The bar is steadily filling up—thanks to social media, any students already on campus know we’re here. They flock to us like birds to water. It’ll only get worse when the school year starts, which is why I agreed to come out tonight, when it’s quieter. I can’t deal with the craziness when it’s full throttle.
I’m sitting in the middle of our group, elbows on the table, my beer sweating against my palm as I listen to the guys unwind.
“So there I am, half asleep on the bus,” Finn regales, grinning like he’s already cracking himself up. His voice carries easily over the music and noise around us. He’s got the entire table’s attention, like always, his hands gesticulating wildly as he tells his story. “And Griff decides it’s the perfect time to dump a bottle of water on my head. Not just a splash—no. Full-on arctic shower.”
Griffin, seated a few spots down, leans back against the booth, his smirk unapologetic.
“I wake up choking, thinking I’m drowning, and who’s standing over me? Griffin. Laughing his ass off like a damn psycho.”
Theteam descends into hoots of laughter, a couple of guys slapping the table.
“I don’t know how you didn’t kill him,” Kyle retorts, shaking his head.
“Ha.” He tried.
Griffin grins savagely.
“Fucker knew I was out to get him.” Finn shakes his head, before pointing a finger at Griffin. “Iwillget you—one day, when you least expect it.”
There’s a primal gleam in Griffin’s eye. Nothing that maniac enjoys more than a challenge. “Bring it, O’Rourke.”
“Might wanna sleep with one eye open this season,” Finn taunts. He might be smiling, but there’s a viciousness behind it that lets me know he’s not joking.
Ethan shakes his head at their back-and-forth, but he doesn’t comment. He knows as well as any of us that, as important as it is to focus on the game, it’s vital that we all let off steam. So long as their antics don’t get out of hand, he’ll let it slide.
“We’re gonna crush it this year,” a sophomore whose name I can’t remember says, smirking as he leans in. “All the way, baby.”
“Hell yes!” Kyle raises his glass, the rest of the guys following as they stamp their feet, and a cheering of “Steelhawks! Steelhawks! Steelhawks!” commences until the entire bar joins in the chant.
“No one is touching us this year,” Kyle continues, shouting to be heard. “Not Northern Summit, not Eastwick, not Blackharbor, and not whoever we face in the NCAAs?—”
“Yeah,” a freshman player snorts, “because having a girl on the NSU team worked so well for them. What a joke.” He shakes his head, and murmurs of agreement go up from the guys as the tension shifts.
Kyle leans forward, his grin sharp. “Yeah, well, good thing Coach isn’t that dumb. No way he gives her a starting spot.”
“What if he does?” someone asks him.
He shrugs, his tone light but laced with something darker. “We’ll fix his mistake.”
His words hang in the air, and I use my position as the silent observer to suss out the other players at the table. Some are frowning, not entirely on board with Kyle’s insinuation, but more than a few look as though they agree.
I meet Ethan’s gaze. His eyes are dark with the same tension. For the most part, Kyle is all talk, but there’s been the odd occasion where he’s taken shit too far. In that look, we both silently agree that we need to keep an eye on him. None of us are happy about having Dylan on the team, and I have no idea how it will work if Coach actually gives her a position, but that doesn’t mean we want any harm to come to her. Hell, part of the reason fornotwanting her on the team is because she’s bound to get hurt. It’s only a matter of time before a larger player crashes into her and she breaks a bone. It’s justrecklesson her part. Stupid.
Ethan’s chair creaks as he sits forward, his jaw tight as he surveys the players gathered around us. “You want to win this year?” he asks. His voice is low, calm, but it cuts through the table with sharp precision.
Kyle freezes, his grin faltering, and the freshman straightens in his seat. The whole table goes silent.
