Page 103 of Stick It
I speed up, skipping the last few steps altogether.
“You should pack up and leave BSU while you still can,” I hear Kyle say before I make my presence known.
I step into the room, gaze narrowed on Reed as I place myself between him and Dylan. “Walk away, Kyle.”
He smirks, that arrogant one he’s always worn that saysyou can’t touch me. Unlike me, Kyle comes from money. It bought him his spot at BSU, although thankfully not his position on the team. Coach would never sell out like that. However, it did afford him the best hockey coaches and trainers money can buy. Enoughto make him a solid hockey player. He’s not exceptional. Not like Finn, Jax, Griffin, or Dylan. He doesn’t have the raw talent or drive that they do—likewedo. He’s used to money buying him whatever he wants, and for the first time in his life, he’s discovering that money can’t buy everything. It can’t buy Coach, and it won’t buy him his way back onto the starting lineup. Not at BSU, anyway.
“Relax, Cap. We’re just having a friendly chat.”
“Isaidwalk away. Now, Reed.”
For a second, he holds my gaze, like he’s debating pushing his luck. Then, with a scoff, he grabs his coffee and saunters out, leaving me standing there, vibrating with barely restrained fury.
I’m wound so tight that when someone shoves my shoulder, I whirl on them, ready to put them in their place. That is, until I’m met with all five-foot-eight of lean, brown-haired fierceness.
“What the hell was that?” Dylan demands with a wicked glower. “I had that perfectly under control before you came barging in here all caveman-like.”
“I was not?—”
“I don’t need you stepping in every time he opens his goddamn mouth.”
“I’m not letting him get in your head.”
She lets out a bitter laugh. “He’s been in my head for weeks, Ethan. It’s not something you can fix by playing bodyguard.”
Crowding her, I growl, “I can make sure he doesn’t get another chance to hurt you.”
“I can take care of myself,” she insists, infuriating me further.
“Yeah? And look how that turned out.” The second the words leave my mouth, I know they’re the wrong thing to say. Dylan goes still, her jaw tightening as hurt flashes in her eyes before she locks it down.
“Screw you,” she mutters before stalking out of the kitchen.
“Shit.” I slap my hand against the countertop, shoulders hunched as I bow my head. I shouldn’t have said that. I let my own fears, my own insecurities, get the better of me. It probably doesn’t help that I haven’t had a decent sleep for three consecutive nights.
Raking a hand through my hair, I check the time before breathing out hard.Great. I don’t even have time to apologize right now because we need to leave for class. I’ll just have to find time later to pull her aside and make up for my idiocy.
Several minutes after I told them to arrive, Fletcher and Monroe walk into the meeting room. “Where is everyone?” Monroe muses. Like clueless chickens, they both look around the empty room.
I make my presence known. Not giving them time to process, I shove Fletcher against the wall, forearm pressing hard against his throat. He lets out a grunt, eyes flashing with shock before it turns to anger. Monroe takes a step forward, but I cut him a look that stops him cold.
“Don’t even think about it.”
The air in the room shifts, the weight of my authority settling over them like a threat. Pinning each of them with my stare, I keep my voice even, but there’s no mistaking the edge in it, as I demand, “Where were you the night Dylan was attacked?”
Fletcher’s brow furrows. “What?”
I press harder against his windpipe. “Don’t play dumb with me,” I hiss, spittle hitting his cheek. “Where the hell were you?” Glancing Monroe’s way, I add, “Both of you.”
“Dude,” Monroe protests. “We don’t even know what night you’re talking about.”
I’m two fucking seconds away from punching one of them in the fucking face. Shoving my arm into Fletcher’s throat until he chokes, I step back, worried I will do exactly that and cause an even greater mess. In-fighting is not something I tolerate. It’s not something Coach will tolerate, and there’s already enough fucking hostility without adding to it.
Fletcher’s eyes flick to the side, the two of them sharing a fleeting look. Then Monroe shrugs. “We were at The Stanley.”
My jaw tics. It’s the answer I expected. The party line Reed has been touting. Doesn’t mean it doesn’t piss me off. Not when I highly suspect Dylan is right that these two were involved in her attack. Nothing else makes sense and they are the type of pathetic pissants to be pissed at a girl joining the team and immediately being better than them.
“You’ve been hassling Dylan all season,” I spit. “On and off the ice.”
