I walked into practice with a level of joy that I hadn’t felt since a sixteen-year-old playing street hockey on an old basketball court—back when I was young and played for the love of the game rather than keeping a scholarship or gaining exposure. Games with the dudes from the neighborhood were always an opportunity to peacock around in a pair of rollerblades with a brashness I rarely exhibited in my everyday life, and I’d long since forgotten that feeling.
Until today.
I strutted into the arena feeling like that sixteen-year-old again. Only better. I was on the starting line for the Westchester Warriors, and Theo was my guy. As I made my way to the locker room, gazing at the ice that shimmered with an extra special glow that day, it felt like the wheel of fortune was finally turning in my favor. After years of shame and sadness, I could finally—
“Watch it, dipshit.”
Someone ran into my left side with a force that made me stumble back. Theo latched onto my right arm, preventing mefrom tumbling to the floor. The blow had caught me off guard, and I was too in my head.
“Hey, what the fuck, man?” Theo called out to the guy who clipped my shoulder.
I turned around to see number fifty-six. I thought his name was Mason, but I couldn’t remember everyone’s name from that first practice.
He glared at Theo and me, a sneer on his face which augmented his sharp features. He had high cheekbones, sandy blond hair, and electric blue eyes with dark circles beneath. His hair was matted to his head, looking like he’d worked out before practice.Or maybe he’s just fucking greasy.
He looked me up and down before saying, “I said,watch it, dipshit.”
“The fuck?” Theo took a step in his direction, but I grabbed his arm, stopping him.
“What’s your problem, man?” I asked.
His jaw clenched as he closed the distance between us. “You. You’re my problem. How much money did you get to play this time? Which donor did you suck off to steal another spot from someone who deserves it?”
My face felt hot as shock and humiliation washed over me. That old voice began whispering in my ear, telling myself that he was right—that I was a poor piece of shit who had no business being there.
But then I told that voice to fuck off. We’d scrimmaged for the starting line. I got it because I was good, not because of a handout.
It was my turn to take a step toward him, clenching my fists as I spat out, “I didn’t have to suck someone’s dick. I got it because I played well.”
“You played just as well as every other center that day. You’re not fucking special.” The heat of his rotten breath made my burning cheeks even hotter as he got right in my face. “I know who you are. You’re that charity case trashbag who used to play with the Vipers. You took my spot because they needed to give dirtbags like you a shot to keep up appearances. You didn’t belong on that team, and you don’t belong on this team.”
I nearly clocked him in the face, but Theo was already on the case. “I will rip your fucking head off,” Theo gritted out, lunging toward the guy. I grabbed Theo by the arm and pushed him behind me, telling him to cool it. I knew assholes like this—dealt with them my whole life. There was always someone to blame for their mediocrity.
I turned around to face him once more. “Mason, is it?”
He raised his head with the haughtiness of a typical rich douchebag and said, “You can call me Hale. Only my friends call me Mason.”
Guys like this triggered me. Their piercing eyes, the hate in their voice, that look of disdain slapped across their face. They all reminded me of the men who’d tormented me in my youth. It made me sick in the stomach, but it also made me want to hit them. I didn’t want to be a violent person—it wasn’t who I was. I took a breath. Hitting him would only get me in trouble, and I deserved to be here. He was goading me. He wanted me to fight back and get a suspension. I wasn’t going to take the bait.
“Well,Hale,you can think what you want, but I’m still starting, and, if you’re right about the Vipers, then that’s two different teams who chose me over you. I think it’s pretty clear who has the goods, bud.”
By then, several other players, including Quincy, standing close to Theo, had gathered to witness the showdown. They collectively “ooohed” once I said that, and Mason looked ready to burst.
“I’m gonna start this season, Lachlan. Just you wait. I’m not letting gutter trash take my spot again.”
“Well, so far you’re 0 for 2. The odds aren’t looking good, babe.” I winked, clicking my tongue against the roof of my mouth as I did it.
Oh, shit, that was sassy as hell!
I kind of loved it.
Mason’s eyes widened with rage. He leaned in and whispered, “I will start for the Warriors. I get what I want.” Then, he turned and walked away.
Theo started to yell something at Mason, but I put my hand over his mouth, then quickly took it off. It felt too intimate, and we were still navigating… whatever we were.
“Damn, Asher. Day two, and you already have haters. That’s when you know you’re doing well.” Quincy had made the starting line, and I thanked God for that. I needed someone out there who had my back.
I knew before I arrived that many of the guys who played in PCSHL came from affluent backgrounds. It was an elite league and more expensive than most. I could always spot a rich prick whose father had been paving the way for his success since he was born. They all had the same sour expressions, eyes that oozed condescension, and an attitude that radiated entitlement. They had everything handed to them and still walked around with a chip on their shoulder—like the world had done them wrong for not making it easier than it already was. I could tell just from one practice that there were morethan a few of those guys playing with the Warriors. They probably all hung with Mason—their daddies no doubt playing golf together and comparing who owned more of the world.
