I scan the room, and the rest of the guys are wearing similar expressions, with the notable exception of Slags, who’s preoccupied with the string on his hoodie.
I rake my hands through my hair and swear under my breath. The last thing I wanted was to alienate my teammates. I hadn’t even considered how they’d feel in all this.
“Guys, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to freeze you out. It’s just—personal. I thought I could handle it myself.”
“It’s not personal if it affects us on the ice,” Cooper speaks up again. “If we had known one of the Hartfield players had it in for you, we could have protected you better.”
“Yeah.” Cal nods. “You shouldn’t have to handle it yourself. We’re a team. We’ve got your back.”
“And not just on the ice,” Tate adds. “Off, too.”
“If you’ll let us.” Lex moves over to make room on the couch between him and Cal.
I take the hint and sit down between them. Then I spill my guts, telling them everything about my relationship with Chase and the trumped-up sexual assault charge. Once I get talking, I can’t seem to stop. It’s like I’ve opened a vein, except instead of blood, truth is pouring out of me. I even find myself talking about Kolby and how we—or, I guess, I—ended things.
When I’m finally done there’s a few seconds of silence before someone speaks up. To my surprise, it’s Slags.
“That is one messed-up story, man.”
Cal smacks his palm with his fist. “If we meet Hartfield in the playoffs, I’m going to kill that asshole Chase.”
“Get in line,” Cooper mutters through clenched teeth.
Tate shakes his head, like he still can’t believe what he’s just heard. “It takes a special kind of asshole to make up shit like that. He could have completely fucked up your college hockey career.”
“Not to mention your shot at the NHL,” Lex says.
“I take it back.” Cal smacks his palm again. “I’m not waiting for game time to give Chase the beat down he deserves.”
I want to wrap them all in a big fucking bear hug. Even Slags. “Thanks, guys. I appreciate your, uh, enthusiasm. But I don’t want anyone to get in trouble on my account.”
“No beat downs,” Lex warns, shooting a threatening glance at Cal. “But when we take on Hartfield in the conference final—and mark my words, we will make it to the conference final—then all bets are off. Understood?”
Cal nods, and the rest of the guys follow suit. There’s a moment of awkward silence before Slags, in his own special, clueless way, breaks the tension.
“Anyone want to play air hockey?”
“I’m in.” Cooper stands and heads for the dining room.
Cal follows him. “I’ve got winner.”
“I could use a drink.” Tate disappears into the kitchen.
The rest of the guys drift off too, leaving me in the living room with Lex.
“Aren’t you going to go with them?” I ask. Lex never says no to air hockey. Or booze.
“Nah.” He leans back, resting his arm across the top of the couch. “I’d rather hang out here and interrogate you some more.”
“I thought you said this wasn’t an interrogation.”
He gives me a sheepish smile and a halfhearted shrug. “I lied.”
“What more could you want to know? Weren’t you listening? I told you guys pretty much everything.”
“What are you going to do about the reporter?”
Ugh. The million-dollar question.
