Page 63 of Stick It
I glance at him, but his face gives nothing away as he strolls casually beside me, his long legs easily keeping up with my fastpace. Frustrated and shaken, I turn my gaze forward, deciding to ignore him as I keep walking.
19
DYLAN
It’s been a relentless week.Coach has been pushing us hard after our exhibition loss, and I’ve been pushing myself harder still. Mostly because I want to be the best. I want to play to the best of my abilities.
But I’ve also been pushing myself harder, practicing more, to avoid being at the house. To avoid having to face Jax after I nearly went up in flames beneath his touch the other night. Evading Ethan after he kept his word and put a lock on my bedroom door. I’ve even been going to the gym and using the rink at different times to avoid Griffin and whatever is going on there.
I came here for a fresh start, and instead, I’ve found myself tangled up with three different guys—four if you include Finn, who has been avoiding me as much as I’ve been avoiding everyone else since that out-of-the-blue kiss in the back hallway of The Stanley.
“Ready to give me back my position?” Kyle sneers as he skates past me, slow and deliberate. He speaks from the corner of his mouth, careful to make sure he doesn’t get caught talking to me by Ethan.
My grip on my stick tightens, the only outward sign that I heard him at all, but in my head, I’m imagining slamming him into the boards hard enough to break his nose. I force myself to focus on the puck, on the drill we’resupposedto be doing, instead of the urge to rearrange his face.
With Ethan riding his ass, Kyle has been forced to rally a couple of the third-liners and extras to his side, and they’ve been going after me all week. It’s not obvious, not to anyone else, but I’m attuned to these things. I’ve taught myself to look out for them. To notice when I’m shoved into the boards harder than necessary during practice or slashed at with a stick.
They’re trying to mess with me. To trip me into making a mistake.
As we break into teams for a scrimmage, I’m on my guard as I streak down the ice toward the net. A wiry third-liner named Thomas hooks his stick around my ankle. I don’t even have the puck. It’s a blatant trip, one that could have sent me flying face-first into the boards if I hadn’t caught my balance at the last second.
I whirl around, my blood boiling, but before I can say anything, Jax is there. He body-slams the third-liner so hard I swear I hear something pop. “The fuck is your problem?” Jax growls, sounding feral as he pins Thomas in place against the boards.
“What the hell, man? It was an accident!” Thomas stammers, holding up his hands.
“Bullshit.” Jax shoves him again.
Ethan arrives a second later, and I curse under my breath at how rapidly this entire situation is growing out of control. Yeah, he pulled a dirty move, but Jesus. It’s hockey. This shit happens all the time.
He steps between Jax and Thomas. “Jax, back off. Thomas, save moves like that for our opponents, not our teammates.”
Coach’s whistle cuts through the air. “Is this a tea party or are we playing hockey?” he barks.
I barely smother my groan as he skates this way.
“I don’t care what happened or who started it. Unless you want to skate suicides after practice, get back out there and show me you can actually function as a team.”
“Yes, Coach,” we all mutter, though Jax’s jaw is still tight.
Thankfully there are no issues for the rest of the scrimmage, and when it ends, Coach calls us to the bench for a quick debrief. I’m still fuming as we gather around, barely managing to keep myself from fidgeting as Coach talks.
The moment he dismisses us, I’m up and storming over to Jax. “What the hell was that?” I demand.
“What?” he says, like he doesn’t already know.
“You can’t do that,” I snap, gesturing toward the ice. “You can’t fight my battles for me.”
“Dylan—”
“No,” I cut him off, jabbing a finger at him. “You doing that? It only makesmelook weak. You mightthinkyou were helping, but you did that foryou. You didn’t stop to think how your actions might affectme.”
I shake my head, teeth grinding. “I’ve dealt with far worse than someone hooking my skates. I sure as hell don’t need you stepping in and making me look like I can’t handle myself.”
His face hardens, but I don’t stick around to hear whatever comeback he’s working on. I spin on my skates and march toward the locker room, my anger simmering just beneath the surface.
A cacophony of noise hits me as I step into the sweaty, male-dominated room. Lockers slam. Music is playing from someone’s phone. Guys yell over one another about a botched play during practice. I weave through the chaos, heading to my corner, already peeling off my gear. As I pull my jersey overmy head, there’s an almighty pop that reverberates through the locker room, drowning out all other noises.
My gaze snaps to Kyle, along with everyone else’s, as a spray of glitter detonates out of his locker, bursting in waves of pink and gold goo that cover him from head to toe. As it sticks to him in globules, I realize it’s notjustglitter. Thick, sparkly glue drips down his face, streaks through his hair, and coats every inch of his practice jersey. Not to mention absolutely everything he had stashed in his locker, including the clothes he was wearing this morning.
