I might be a fucking coward, but they were, too. Those words could never hurt me. They weren’t insults. They were badges of goddamn honor… because I was still here. Against all odds.
The other phrase I’d heard tossed around when I passed by hurt more.
Damaged goods.
That one stung.
Because it was true, wasn’t it? I was damaged, and broken. And no one could ever pick all those pieces up.
I headed in the direction of the party, my mood dark, heart thudding at the thought of having my first drink of the evening. Maybe someone would be passing something else out. Something to forget, for a while. Something to make it easier to breathe, just for tonight. I could decide to clean up my act tomorrow. To be braver, tomorrow. To be more than just a shell of a person, scooped out and used up… tomorrow.
That sounded like a plan.
Brody
“‘Come to the party,it’ll be fun.’ Right. What a fucking joke,” my brother Cal muttered, surveying the braying mass of the Alpha Zeta Rho house.
“Aren’t you having fun?” I shot back. The scene before us was the opposite of my brother’s idea of fun. “There’s a girl over there in a whipped cream bikini, or maybe it’s shaving foam. Go lick her and find out.”
“Degenerate.” Cal reached out and snagged an unopened bottle of beer from the table. He used his teeth to pop the cap before heading in the opposite direction of the gyrating, makeshift dance floor.
I couldn’t blame him. It looked like fucking Hell in here, and it smelled even worse.
Still, trying to tempt my brother out his natural state of being a brooding bastard was my habit. I’d done it growing up in London, and then later, in a procession of private schools upand down the country, and repeated it in the US. Our adopted homeland.
I watched a football player turn a girl upside down and stick his face between her thighs, searching for a lost shot glass.
Fucking hell.
I’d only lived in Hade Harbor a few weeks and was starting to think the little Maine town, famous for its university hockey, was a pit stop to Hell. I’d thought that a persistent puck bunny badgering me in the library to get me off had been crass, but it had only been an introduction to the hedonism that seemed as common as lukewarm beer in red plastic cups.
“Brody! You made it.” A heavy hand slapped my back hard. Too damn hard. Hard enough to have some teeth smashed in, in return.
I turned and nodded toward the guy standing near me.
Chase. We’d become friendly over the summer at a hockey-intensive camp. Well, as friendly as I got with people other than Cal.
“Friends are a means to an end, and they only matter for what they can do for you, Brody. Get it straight from the beginning and don’t get attached. They’re commodities, just like everything else.”
I didn’t need my father to be standing by my side to hear his words. He’d repeated his core lessons often enough. They’d become the pillars my identity had been built on. My foundation. The voice in my head was his, and I was made in his design.
“Yeah, I’m here,” I said to Chase, when it became clear he was waiting for a response.
Chase was a decent enough forward but not good enough to outshine Cayden West, HHU’s star player. I was also a forward and had different plans.
“Well, that’s good. You and Callahan need to show your faces and become known. Everyone should know that the Ice Gods have some competition.” Chase’s smile showed his amusement. The fucker looked like he was planning to bring popcorn to the first hockey training in a week’s time.
I shrugged. “Usually, competition is on the opposing team. We all want to win,” I pointed out. I wasn’t getting into a meaningful conversation with this guy.
Chase nodded. “True, but I’d bet that we all want to shine as well, right? To be the star?”
I shrugged again and took a swig of tepid beer. Disgusting.
“I don’t get my validation from adoring sycophants or local hicks.”
Chase chuckled and nodded. “I’ll remind you of that when West and the Ice Gods prevent you from touching the puck even once.”
“No one prevents me from anything, on or off the ice,” I told Chase.
