Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 89535 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 298(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89535 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 298(@300wpm)
He gets another punch in, but it lands on my pads, and then he’s hauled off me.
Beck helps me up, and I smirk at Simms.
“You hit like my eleven-year-old sister.”
It sounds like an insult, but it’s really not. Don’t piss off Hazel. She’s fucking fierce.
Either way, the taunt works. Simms launches for me again, and I’m disappointed when he’s held back.
Coach Hogan’s face is beet red as he yells at both of us to get off his ice.
Gladly.
“Kole,” Coach Hogan calls. Kole gets up from where he’s sitting in the stands. I didn’t even know he was watching. “Make sure they don’t kill each other in the locker room.”
Kole mock salutes his dad.
“Everyone else, get back to work. We have first line spots to fill.”
Okay, now that hurts. A tip for anyone wanting to piss me off: you can say shit about my parents dying, you can say shit about me being a dumb jock with shitty grades, you can even dissect my sexuality and call me any slur under the sun because screw your opinions of who I sleep with. What you can’t do is take hockey away from me.
We trudge down the chute and into the locker room, both Simms and I still full of adrenaline and the urge to fight.
Simms throws his helmet across the room and glares at me, while I cock my brow, just daring him to come at me again.
But then Kole steps between us, and I deflate. I deflate so fast I have to wonder if he’s an antidote to adrenaline.
His hazel eyes bore into me, his lips pulled into a thin line, and I suddenly feel about two feet tall.
Simms undresses quickly and heads for the showers, leaving us alone.
“Have fun out there?”
Yes. “Being punched isn’t supposed to be fun.”
“That didn’t answer my question.”
“You heard Simms. I’m barely keeping my grades up to stay on the team. I’m not very smart. Why would picking a fight be fun?” Yes, Asher, why would it be?
“Do you feel any better?” Kole taunts.
I don’t like his tone. “Better than what?”
“I get it. You play the dumb card or the asshole card to get out of expressing any kind of emotion.”
Bam. Direct hit.
Apparently, calling me on my shit is also on the list of things that can hurt me. I just didn’t know until this very minute because no one ever fucking does it. They call me out for my bad behavior. Not the cause of it.
I swallow hard. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“So, instead of being thrown off the team for not keeping your grades up, you’d rather be kicked off the team for fighting. Got it.”
“They won’t kick me off the team. This school needs me.”
“Funny. They won the Frozen Four without you two seasons ago. What did you guys place last year again? Oh, wait … you were knocked out at regionals.”
“I had food poisoning and couldn’t play.”
“All I’m saying is, if you want my dad to keep you on this team, you might want to think about becoming a team player. No one is irreplaceable. I’ve seen him cut more talented guys with less shitty attitudes.”
Here comes the guilt again. The high I get from hurting never lasts long. It’s always replaced quickly with Why the hell did I think that was a good idea?
Kole sighs. “I’ll go get ice for your face. Your eye is starting to swell.”
Ooh, fun.
6
Kole
When I get back with an ice pack, Asher’s exactly where I left him, except now he’s stripped right down to his jock.
Because of course.
I guess I should thank my lucky gay gods that he’s still wearing that because Asher’s body is … well, you don’t train every day and wind up looking like me.
It’s a damn tragedy that athletes have to look so good.
I throw the ice pack his way and sit down on the bench opposite him. “So what was the fight about?”
“What do you mean? You saw it.”
“I saw him cut you off, sure, but it’s not like it’s the first time it’s happened today. Or all week. And he’s not the only one who’s done it out there.”
“Why do you care?”
“I don’t.” I lean forward. “Dad sent me, remember?”
“Always do what daddy says?”
“When I’m working and he’s the boss, sure.”
Asher doesn’t have a comeback for that. It’s sort of fun, watching him struggle to hang on to his scowl when he’s clearly not feeling it anymore. “Some of the guys think you’re here this year to spy for him.”
“Do they?”
“Yeah, so it probably won’t work.”
“Noted.” I don’t point out that his brother is the one who asked me to spy because I get the feeling that will set Asher off. “Did you have a plan out there at least?”
“For?”
“Oh, are we pretending you’re dumb again? Fine. A plan for after you got your lights punched out and Dad screams himself hoarse. What happens then?”