“Ready?” I ask Mads, glancing over to see her dressed and standing by the door with her water bottle. She’s holding a different hoodie for me. This girl is the best. How did I ever live without her?
“Yup. You need me to call anyone else on the way there?”
“Not yet. Let’s see what Reedsy and Walks think first.”
We pull up to the front of my building five minutes later. I can see three people. The more, the merrier tonight. Right away I recognize Mason “Irish” Scott, one of our defensemen. Not sad about that addition, but now I’m wondering why he’s here. No time for speculation. I’m grateful for another body. Irish is ajunkyard dog in a fight. I’ve seen him take down guys bigger and taller. He’s that scrappy. He’s the guy you want at your back in a situation like this. I hate that I’m already thinking it will end in a brawl, but deep down, I’ve always known it would.
“Boys, thanks for joining us.” I say as they all pile into the back seat of my SUV. It’s a tight fit with three large hockey players, but no one’s complaining.
“Like we had a choice.” Walker mumbles under his breath.
“Quit whining” Madison says sternly.
“Maddie, what the fuck? You are not coming with us. Why is she coming with us Liam?” He’s suddenly all up in my grill like this is my fault. Has he even met his sister? There is no telling my Maddie no.
“Excuse me! I am right here,littlebrother.“ She glares at him. I say nothing because she doesn’t need my help to put Walker in his place. I throw him a sympathetic look, though, because I have firsthand knowledge that my girl doesn’t pull her punches.
“You can’t go.” He sounds a little less sure of himself now, because, like me, he knows what’s coming.
“So, I need your permission to go places now?” She gives him the “look.” I hate the “look”, and Walker does, too.
“Yes, um, no. Uh... Maybe?” And it goes downhill from there. Reedsy is just watching the whole thing with one side of his mouth quirked in a half-smile, while Irish would get out the popcorn if he could. He’s enjoying himself far too much.
“Give it up, kid. I got sistahs. You ain’t gonna win this, no fuckin’ way.” Irish says in his heavy Southie accent. The guy grew up in South Boston, and you can tell. He’s never been much of a talker, even though he’s been with the team a few years. He’s been more vocal that I’ve ever seen this year, and he’s got a hell of a sense of humor. I wish I’d spent more time gettingto know my teammates before now. It’s been eye-opening to see the differences this year.
I’m already getting on the highway, so I’m unsure why Walker thinks I would turn around and take Mads back home. I won’t. He looks around the car and throws up his hands in defeat. Could have called that one. I’m hoping I can talk Maddie into staying with Colly out front. Hopefully, we’ll get a handle on the situation quickly and get the rookies out of there. I don’t want her to get hurt either, but I’m also sure she can hold her own, especially if we’re all there to keep her safe.
“What do you need from me, Liam?” Maddie asks quietly as arrive at the correct address. I hand her the keys as we get out. Colly is standing in the driveway, but heads toward us once I park the car. I don’t care that I’m blocking the neighbor’s driveway. It’s nearly one a.m., and I don’t plan to be here long.
“Can you stay here out here with Colly. I’ll send the rookies out as I find them. Let’s get them an Uber or a car service and get them the hell out of here. PR will kill us if this gets out. That’s the last thing we need.”
She nods. I hug her close and whisper.
“Thanks for doing this.”
She squeezes me back.
“Go get your boys,” she says.
Colly points us to the backyard, so we make our way through the house. Trendy pop music is blasting, and you can feel the bass. It’s that loud. How has no one called the police yet? There are people everywhere. The pervasive reek of stale beer and sweat has me holding my breath, and the soles of our shoes stick to the floor as we trek through the kitchen. Liquor bottles litter the counter, most of them empty. I breathe through my nose and avoid looking at the kitchen sink, as the sour stench of vomit wafts our way. My stomach twists, but I ignore it and pick up the pace.
A group of people gather around the kitchen table. I can’t see what they’re doing, but I can guess. We have to physically move them out of the way, and as we do, I glimpse white lines atop a mirror, confirming my suspicions. Finally, we make it out the back door and into the yard.
How can there be so many people here? No way Bells has all these friends. He’s not that likable. When I see Joel Cooper and Jordan Kiminsky off to the side of the yard, and I suddenly grasp where Bell’s been getting his initiative. There’s a circle of people in the center of the yard, past the pool. A bunch of them are laughing and pointing. Some even have their phones out. My stomach drops because I’m sure that’s where I’m going to find my rookies. Memories flash through my head, but I ignore them. This cannot happen again. I point to the crowd, and the boys follow closely behind me as we all head that way.
“Of course it’s fucking Bells.” Walker says after one glance at the gathered crowd.
“This is wicked bad, Cap. No lie.” Irish says, his voice heavy with concern.
“I know, Irish. Rookies are the priority.” I say with grim determination. I have a feeling this is all going sideways and there isn’t a damn thing I can do about it.
“Phones.” Reedsy points out.
“Reedsy. Go for the phones first. Shout if you need help. Walker, Irish and I will try to grab the rookies.” We’ll be completely screwed if this gets posted on social media. It would be a PR nightmare.
A couple of guys are holding back our new Russian winger, Dory, and he is fucking pissed. He’s sporting a black eye and a bloody lip, fighting hard against his captors. I don’t recognize either of them. I nod to Walker, and he makes a run toward Dory.
Irish and I push through the crowd, not sure what we’ll find, but knowing it probably won’t be good. The scene in front of us stops us in our tracks. They’ve stripped Camps naked, and his hands are bound behind him with duct tape. He’s clearly passed out, probably from all the alcohol. The kid is not a drinker. The other two rookies, Sandman, and Greggo, still have all their clothes on. Thank God, but those assholes have bound their hands and mouth with duct tape. Damn it, duct tape is a bitch to get off skin, and it hurts like hell. Don’t ask how I know. This goes beyond hazing, right into cruelty.
