Page 166 of Stick It
Finn ismyfriend. He should be sitting withme,the way it normally is if we have a gap between classes. Talking shit and tearing into rookies. Not giggling and flirting over goddamn turkey sandwiches. Seriously, where the fuck are his balls? And his common sense, for that matter.
He’s not the only one that slut has wrapped around her finger. It’s all of them. Ethan has refused to hear a bad word said against her since the beginning. He didn’t give a shit that she was targeting me on the ice, going after me so she could take my spot. Then he had the fucking nerve to tell me towork harderwhen she finally did. Work harder? Like I wasn’t already working hard enough. That bitch thinks just because she’s got tits and a vagina that she can waltz in here, flutter her lashes, and get what she wants. And every fucking dumbass on this teamincluding Coachare proving her right.
The only other one who sees her for what she is, is Lucas.
If only he’d succeeded in permanently squashing her instead of simply sending her running tomyteam. He’d been willing to help with the jumbotron showdown, giving me the video footage he had. He’d been convinced it would be enough to send her running, to get her to give up indefinitely.
But he’d been wrong.
She’s way more fucking stubborn than either of us had given her credit for.
And it doesn’t help that she’s got Ethan, Jax, Griffin, and Finn in her corner. What should have divided them only seemed to make them fucking stronger.
The fork in my hand begins to bend, and I force myself to relax my grip, looking away from the sickening couple. I’ve officially lost my appetite, and I push my tray away, disgusted.
No fucking way am I going to sit back and watch this shit play out. Like this is normal. Like this is fine.
It’snotfine.
Finn was my best fucking friend, and she’s the reason he’s gone.
I can’t let her get away with that.
“Reed! Back the hell off! This isn’t the NHL,” Coach roars after I send another player—I don’t even know who, they’re all faceless enemies to me in this state—sprawling against the boards.
I skate off like I don’t hear him, blood pumping too loud in my ears. Everything is too loud, too bright. I want to hurt something. Break something.Someone.
Except she’s not a fucking part of this scrimmage so I have to settle for letting my anger out on everyone else. On anyone who gets in my way.
There’s a blur of motion in front of me, and I go for a hip check that sends the guy flying. Clean? Maybe. Probably not.
Coach blows his whistle, barking out the end of practice. Except, before I can escape to the locker room with everyone else, he calls me aside.
“What the hell are you playing at?” he demands, Eyes sharp and jaw tight. It’s clear he’s not in the mood for bullshit. Well, neither am I, which is precisely what this conversation will be.
I shrug. “I’m playing hard.”
“You’re playing recklessly,” he snaps. “That cheap shot on Chen? You could have dislocated his goddamn shoulder.”
I don’t respond. Just shift my weight from one skate to the other and glance past him, already done with this conversation.
“You keep this shit up and you won’t be dressing Friday night. You hear me?”
“Got it,” I mutter, flat as anything, and move to push past him.
He grabs my arm. Not hard, but enough to stop me. “You want to be benched?” His eyes narrow on me. “Because that’s the road you’re on.”
I jerk my arm free. “I’m not on any road.”
He sighs. “Christ, kid. What’s gotten into you this season? You’ve been late. Skipping lifts. Half-assing drills. And now this—cheap hits, mouthing off, acting like the rules don’t apply to you.”
“I’m here, aren’t I?” I snap. “I show up.”
“Showing up isn’t enough,” he fires back. “Especially when you’re doing everything you can to prove youdon’tgive a shit.”
I fall silent, grinding my teeth. He isn’t going to let me leave until he says whatever he needs to say.
He blows out a breath, runs a hand over his cap. “Look…I get it. Losing your spot on the first line? That stings. I don’t blame you for being pissed.”
