Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 84114 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 421(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84114 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 421(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
“What is he …” Seth laughs. “Oh no.”
“Oh no, what?”
The UVM player gets to his feet, shouting something I can’t hear. His helmet comes off, and Foster’s joins the ice a second later. Foster’s hair is plastered to his face with sweat, and he’s never looked so … angry.
Then I realize who he’s yelling at. “Is that Morris?”
“I might have fucked up,” Seth says as one of Foster’s teammates grabs his chest to hold him back.
“You? What’s he doing out there? Please tell me this isn’t typical?” My pulse has kicked up a notch, probably from adrenaline as more players start to get involved in the scuffle.
“Not completely typical,” Seth says. “I might have told him about Morris. And you. And clearly that was a dumb thing to do right before this game.”
“What do you—”
Foster’s gloves come off and he lunges at Morris, tackling him to the ice. The crowd explodes. I can’t see much around the pads except swinging arms and then the teams converge, and they’re swallowed from sight.
Somehow the team breaks it up, but now there’s men yelling and Foster’s laughing in a way that is not at all humorous. I’m right on the edge of my seat, trying to figure out what in the damn hell is happening.
“Fucking dumb shit.” Seth kicks the seat in front of us.
Foster is bleeding.
“What is happening?” I ask weakly, as Morris staggers back up onto his skates.
Seth doesn’t answer. He doesn’t need to. Was this a completely random coincidence, or was that … because of me?
I watch as Foster is sent off the ice. He skates over to retrieve his helmet then disappears out of the rink to god knows where.
“Where’s he going?”
“Locker room. He got kicked out of the game.”
“One more question.”
“Yeah?”
I turn to Seth. “How do I get there?”
13
Foster
I throw my helmet against the wall, and it crashes to the ground with a loud thunk.
The anger, adrenaline, and urge to fight still boil under my skin. I didn’t get a long enough shot at Morris.
I should be pissed I’m out of the game, but I’m not. I don’t regret doing what I did one bit. I only regret letting him get a punch in.
What are his knuckles made of? Diamonds?
I run my finger along my eyebrow, and it comes away sticky with blood. Not a lot, but it stings like a bitch.
I need to get my skates off. I need to jump around and pace the room and try to get all this extra energy out.
All I was picturing while I was out there was the Zach I spent the entire day with last week—the one who smiles and jokes and isn’t so tense—being bullied by that dickhead, and I lost it.
As I sit on the bench to undo my laces, the door opens, and I prepare for one of the coaches to yell obscenities at me for the next five minutes while the rest of the period plays out.
I don’t even acknowledge whoever it is. I keep my head down and continue to unlace my skates.
“F-foster?”
My head darts up at the unsure voice.
There stands Zach, looking sexy as fuck in my jersey. His hair is messy like he’s been running his hand through it, and his nerdy glasses frame his green eyes in a way that drives me crazy.
“How … how did you get in here?”
“Seth. He said we’re your brothers and wanted to check on you.”
Thinking of Zach as my brother makes me feel skeevy and gross, but I ignore it because I don’t really care how he got into the locker room. It means a lot that he’s here. “Is that what you’re doing? Checking on me?”
He takes two tentative steps closer, and then, as if all at once, he decides to go for it.
Zach approaches and drops to his knees in front of me.
My breath catches at the sight.
Long, thin fingers run along the top of my brow and down my cheek. “You’re hurt.”
I huff. “I’ll live.” I might not live if he doesn’t keep touching me; it feels so good.
I want to lean into his hand, but I hold strong. I don’t want to scare him off.
“W-why did you do that?” he asks.
I could lie. I could tell him it’s the sport and fights happen. But everyone out there knows that wasn’t a typical fight. I targeted Morris from the start, and even though we were hardly on the ice at the same time, the second I got my chance to go for him, I did.
“Morris is a dick.”
Zach tries to pull his hand from my face, but I don’t let him. My hand covers his, holding it to my cheek.
He averts his gaze. “Seth told me you know … about him. And me.”
“You and him. Wait, there was a you and him? Like, together?”