Page 110 of Arctic Titans of Northwood U: Volume 1

“Better than ever,” I admitted. For just this moment, I didn’t have a single trouble in the world.

“Good. Good.” Uncle Nate’s tone softened further. “That’s all I wanted to know, but you gave me news worth celebrating. Got plans for yourself?”

I couldn’t wipe this stupid grin off my face. Uncle Nate was the closest thing to a father I had. Not only was he my biological father’s little brother, but he was the strongest male presence throughout my life. And to hear the pride in his voice threatened to unman me sooner than I’d have liked. “Yeah, I’m taking the guys to the tavern on campus. Nothing fancy.” I ran a hand through my floppy brown hair and enjoyed the moment.

“Have fun, Beckett,” Uncle Nate said. “I’m proud of you, kiddo. Don’t forget that.”

How could I ever forget it? Making Uncle Nate proud had been the driving force behind everything I’d done most of my life. My love of hockey came from that place and I knew it. I didn’t need therapy to tell me how much I lacked the father who’d walked out on us. And I didn’t need therapy to tell me I attached myself to the next closest thing. My grandfather had stepped in to help my mother, but he hadn’t known much about what young boys needed. Uncle Nate had been the cool guy who’d played that part.

We hung up, and I sniffed, then walked back inside to get ready. Guys were already slowly making their way out to the tavern, but I took my time. This was my night. I could be fashionably late, even if some might use that as extra proof that my ego was the size of Texas.

Haters were always going to hate, no matter what you did. So, why bother trying to correct them? There was way more fun to be had in joining them and taking their power away from them.

Chapter Three

CADEN

For two weeks, rage simmered in my stomach, eating me up. It was a bubbling constant of agitation, not at all helped by the fact that all we ever did was practice, work out, and sit around.

These two weeks before the semester were crucial. Normally, we would get our heads aligned and use the time well. We would have all day to slide back into a routine and bring up our strengths to the maximum.

But that wasn’t the case.

Beckett was waving his dick around and provoking me to challenge his authority whenever he got a chance. The fucker had the nerve to reprimand me for being late just this morning. I wanted to shove my stick up his ass until his eyes bulged, but I resisted my freshly discovered murderous tendencies.

“This isn’t the kind of behavior I expected from you, Jones,” he said at last.

“I’m just following my captain’s example,” I said shortly. My defiance was brittle and I was ready to cut him into pieces if only he stepped on my toes a little harder. This had been the case for our two weeks of pre-season practice. Beckett was tickling me with his massive ego and I was checking where the edge of my patience was. Of all the things he could have been, Beckett decided to be the expert on keeping me at the very line between anger and rage. He never did anything to make me cross that border, but he sure as hell kept nudging.

Awkwardness filled the locker room. I changed into my gear swiftly while the others waited around. The silence was heavy and Beckett was fuming in his corner. I could feel the weight of his stare on the back of my head.

“Let’s just go out there and do our best, alright?” Beckett’s enthusiasm was gone for the day. I took it as a personal victory as I headed out after the team. Beckett failed at whatever attempt this was at motivating us to work harder. As was to be expected.

The guy had never had any leadership skills. He was a spoiled, privileged kid with a head three sizes too big for him.

Coach Murray joined us with instructions for the day. Only next week, we were supposed to fill up our time with scrimmages, simulating the game. We were behind schedule and overall performances sucked. We would spend our time today on offensive drills.

I took this coolly. Offensive drills meant Beckett and I had to pull in extra weight. Avery was in the same group, but Coach Murray had no complaints about Avery’s performance. In fact, Coach Murray pointedly praised Avery and three reserve guys for their work. He also took the time to praise Sawyer’s work at the goalpost and the entire defense. He made a passing remark that my work had seen better days, which stung more than it should have, considering I was calculating just how much of myself to give. A balm was needed for the burn that Coach Murray said next. “Jones, I expected more from you.” And that was the end.

Sweaty, flushed, and scolded enough to have my hackles stand, I marched into the locker room with everyone else and changed in silence. Other guys made some small talk and some agreed to hit the Thirsty Thinker later. As for Beckett, it felt like an air of anger and blame followed him everywhere. His floppy hair was matted and sticky with sweat, his cheeks red, and his chest heaving up and down when he stripped to his underwear and carried the towel to the shower. I followed with the rest of the team, my eyes on the back of Beckett’s neck. Sweat slicked his skin and a scowl decorated his face when he turned and looked at me over his shoulder.

Beckett held my gaze for a moment as if challenging me to give him a reason for a fight. I denied him the pleasure. Instead, I let the corners of my lips stretch just enough for him to notice, then entered the first available shower.

I took my time showering. Hot water and a soapy massage eased the tension out of my shoulders. More and more guys finished and left while I remained inside. I stood still, letting the water beat my skin and trickle down my body. I caressed my aching muscles gently and attempted to clear my head.

The atmosphere in the team house for the past two weeks had resembled a warzone at the time of the ceasefire. Everyone was on edge, waiting for the first shot to spark an all-out battle, but nobody fired it yet. Sebastian and Tyler made snarky remarks about the awkward mood, but the rest of the team seemed just as tense as I felt. Smaller skirmishes had taken place between guys. Paxton had a run-in with Avery just the other day over the beer duty and the stocking of the mini-fridge. Jordan and Asher seemed to growl at one another perpetually, pointedly leaving the room when the other one entered. And Beckett was a whole different mess. He was typically short-fused, but shorter still since becoming the captain. He snapped regularly, lectured others on responsibility, which he had never mastered, and attempted to meddle in people’s personal times where he had no reason to be involved. His attempt to get the whole team to the gym at the same time had been a catastrophe and resulted in Beckett returning from the workout with a scowl. I hadn’t been there to witness whatever had triggered him.

My time was spent differently. With nothing to study in these two weeks, I had resorted to the wonderful — and slightly tiresome — world of Grindr dates, getting my fill, so to speak.

I tied the towel around my waist after dabbing the excess water off my skin, then strolled out. Silence in the shower helped relax my muscles a little more. With the house full of guys and awkwardness and the locker room always abustle, it was hard to find peace and quiet. And if I could have five minutes in the locker room to just close my eyes and breathe, I would be eternally indebted to whatever divinity got me that.

I walked out into the locker room, already savoring the fact that the loudest noise came from the ventilation pumps in the distance and the refrigeration plant that kept the ice from melting. I walked around the corner and into the spacious locker room, glancing at my spot when movement in the corner made my heart skip.

“Fuck,” I snapped, startled. I wasn’t going to admit he’d scared me, though.

Beckett glared at me. He was half-dressed in his regular clothes, consisting of only a pair of black cotton shorts. Uneven ends of the drawstring irked me when I dropped my gaze. Then, defiant to my own goddamn instincts, I lifted my stare. It hadn’t been the drawstring that I’d scanned. And I had no business checking the bulge that cast a soft shadow on the lower side of his crotch. His shorts were tight enough to emphasize Beckett’s narrow waist and firm ass. Above the edge of his shorts, an inch of expensively branded underwear peeked.

I narrowed my eyes and refused to consider the firmness of his abs, the broadness of his shoulders, and the tautness of skin over his muscular chest. He was cocky enough without getting any ideas about his good looks.