Alex waves me off like it’s nothing. “Relax, Bryden. No cops this time, promise.”
I look at him, deadpan. “You promised that last time.”
“That was different.” He flashes me that disarming grin he thinks works on everyone. “This time I mean it.”
I don’t say anything. Instead, my eyes slide past him, landing on the far corner of the room where Kane sits, partially swallowed by the shadows. He’s perched on the edge of the couch, a drink resting in his hand—untouched, judging by the thin layer of condensation trailing down the plastic.
His shoulders are hunched, his stare fixed on nothing. He’s distant, quiet in a way that’s different from my kind of quiet. Alex follows my gaze, but instead of commenting, he just smirks.
“He’s fine,” he mutters, almost like he’s reassuring himself more than me, before shifting his focus back to his entourage.
I hesitate, then decide I’ve had enough. Leaving Alex to his chaos, I turn and head for the stairs. I move through the living room with a steady stride, my eyes scanning but never lingering on any one person longer that I need to.
A girl sways into me, her drink sloshing dangerously close to my shirt. She grins up at me, oblivious. “Mountain, right? You’re on the hockey team.”
I step around her, barely offering her a clipped nod as I continue on my way. I can feel her eyes follow me, but I don’t turn back. Unlike my friends, getting wrapped up in girls is the last thing on my mind. I don’t need the distraction. My life consists of hockey, getting drafted to the NHL, and making my mother happy.
I steal a glance to my left, where Kane sits.
To anyone else, you’d think he’s just being his usually unapproachable self, but when you’ve known someone as long as we have, you can tell when there’s something more. What exactly? I guess only time will tell. Secrets have a way of spilling over if you keep them bottled up too long.
The thought of going against my better judgment to check on him runs through my mind, but Alex says he’s fine. They’ve always been closer, glued at the hip. So if anyone would know when to intervene on Kane’s doom staring, it’s Alex. Besides, Kane doesn’t talk unless he’s ready, and tonight doesn’t seem like the night he’ll break that rule.
With a fraction of a breath, I turn away and push through the final cluster of bodies toward the upper level. The stairs creak beneath my weight, and I keep my focus on the landing ahead, threading past a couple tangled in each other at the top of the stairs without so much as a glance. They are so wrapped up in each other that they don’t notice me either.
The house quiets marginally as I step onto the second floor. It’s not much of a reprieve, but it’s enough to ease the edge of frustration. I make my way toward the far end, where my room waits—my one corner of this house untouched by chaos, though it feels farther away with each step forward.
A girl stumbles out of one of the rooms, cup in hand and her hair half-falling out of an unsteady ponytail. I recognize her as one of the puck bunnies that hangs around every game. The same girl that’s been all up on my roommates. Vanessa.
A second later, two other girls exit behind her, their voices rising and falling in high-pitched giggles. The first girl makes eye contact with me and brightens immediately, her smile wide.
“Hey, Bryden,” she says, her voice lilting like she’s known me forever. She reaches out to touch me but I subtly sway to keep her from doing so.
Vanessa steps closer, too close, her words syrupy and blurred. “You’re, like… always so serious. So… so… uptight.”
Exactly how many drinks has she had tonight? She attemptsto stand upright, her brows knitted tight and her shoulders back in a weak imitation of me.
“Ever think about loosening up?” she slurs while trying to balance herself with a hand on my shoulder.
I dip my shoulder, sidestepping her as easily as I might dodge a wayward puck. “Not really.”
“Oh, come on… don’t be a pooper party. No, that’s not it. A party pooter.”
Plucking the partially empty drink from her hand, I say, “And you’ve had enough for tonight.”
Vanessa sways and looks me up and down, her eyes lusty and lazy from intoxication. “Did you just come from practice?”
I turn my attention to her friend. “You need to take her home; she’s too wasted.”
“I… I’m fine. You should dance with me tonight.”
“Dancing’s not really my thing.” Neither are girls too messed up to consent to anything.
“Boooo,” they say in unison.
“Take out your phone and call a rideshare. She needs to sleep it off.”
With her drink still in my hand, I turn away. The sound of their voices fades away as I enter my room and let the door close with a soft click.
