“None taken.” Pecan tears up one of the paper napkins. “My game, hell,Ifell apart.”
His misery speaks louder than words. His grief clear. And I’m a shitty friend for appreciating that I’m not the only one mourning Mom. It’s not something we talk about mostly because I made it clear when I moved into the apartment that it was an off-limits topic.
“But we all knew he was a junkie.” Joker sheepishly ducks his head. “I thought they’d run into trouble with a dealer or something.”
Gregg confides, “It fit. I think his folks must have put him in rehabover the summer break because he was barely functioning back then. Right, Mason?”
“Yeah, he was almost always high.”
“Once we were out of the running of the Frozen Four, there was no reason to hang around with Alec or Dyers. Both move in different circles than us and they’re so up each other’s asses, they’re eating shit half the damn time,” Joker mutters.
“It’s that fraternity bullshit,” Gregg remarks. “I hate that kinda thing. Mason and I room together. Pecan and Denver are tight, obvs, and he’s with Hailey. Joker is buds with a couple guys on the team, and it’s the same for the rest. Only Dyers and Alec are associated with that frat.”
“You’re saying it’s some kind of Rhos’ conspiracy?” I ponder.
“Zach, you know this shit happens. And you also know what the higher-ups will tuck away from the public eye to protect their reputation,” Gregg points out.
I hate that he’s right.
From the corner of my eye, I see Dopie push our replacement meals through the serving hatch.
Slipping into the booth, I order, “Do we all agree that we should talk about how we’re going to move forward?”
Joker scrubs a hand over his head. “Let me call the rest of the team. We have to present a united front.”
As the others concur, I hide my grim satisfaction.
I still want to kill that asshole for calling my Denny names, but I’ll settle for taking away the one thing every hockey player holds dear to their hearts…
The game itself.
TWENTY-SEVEN
HIDING IN THE SHADOWS
By the timeI make it to the quad, even with my ‘chill the fuck out’ playlist blasting in my ears, my head’s all over the place. The last thing I want is to study, but I told Callan I’d be at the library and I don’t go back on my word.
As I shuffle along the path, “Common People” by Pulp has me rocking my head to the beat. That’s when a hand yanks me toward the side of the building.
Shrieking in surprise, I prepare myself to use my bag as a boulder as we veer past the fountain that coats me in a fine mist, earning a shudder because damn, it’s a cold one today.
Then, I see it’s Alec and not Dyers so I take a deep breath, tug out my earphones, dump them in a pocket, then yell, “What the hell do you think you’re doing, you moron?!”
“Be quiet. I have to talk to you.”
“Unfortunately for you, I don’thaveto do a damn thing.”
“I just need a minute.”
His wheedling has no effect on me. “I don’t have thirty seconds. Not for jackasses like you.”
I wrestle with his grip, but he tightens it so I snag his thumb like my dad taught me and drag it backward.
His yelp is a delight to all five of my senses, but with my mood rapidly curdling, I demand, “What do you want, Alec?”
He cups his hand, shielding his boo-boo from me. “How am I supposed to play if you break my thumb? No wonder Zach’s doing a great impression of a pitbull?—”
“You never grab a woman that way, not without expecting repercussions. But I guess being friends with turds like Dyers, you haven’t picked up on that yet.”
