Body Check (BU Hockey Season 2, #2)

1. Dutton

Dutton

“ F uck ‘em.” My voice rings out in the weight room. It’s empty except for me, my best friend, and a shit-ton of state-of-the-art workout equipment. “I’m serious. Fuck. Them,” I repeat, adjusting the plates on the leg press and settling onto the bench.

Blue Halliday knows me better than anyone on the planet.

We’ve been friends for most of our lives, so he knows my words are sincere.

I’m not being reactive or trying to start shit.

I’m a surly bastard, and I say what I mean.

But the way Blue’s peering through the floor-to-ceiling glass of the weight room, watching as our new teammates stroll right past us and out into the late-August sunshine, tells me I need to elaborate.

“They’re dicks,” I tell him.

“You don’t know that,” Blue, ever the optimist, counters. “Okay, Mickey never stops moving and Jablonski never stops yapping, but JT’s a solid guy. And a damn good goalie.”

He’s right on all counts. I never planned on transferring halfway through my college career. And if someone would have told me even a few months ago that I’d be trading in my purple Woodcock Bushtits jersey for burgundy Bainbridge Wolves gear, I’d have laughed in their face.

And I don’t laugh a lot.

I’m not a funny guy, and I’m not here for a good time. “We’re here to play hockey. That’s it. We don’t have to like them, and they don’t have to like us.”

Blue pulls down on the bar of the lateral press.

“You might technically be right,” he admits, releasing the weights.

“But our season will be a whole lot more tolerable if we don’t actively hate them.

Hell, it might even be enjoyable. I know you’re allergic to fun, but you should give it another try. ”

Gesturing to the now-empty hallway, I scoff.

“We’re supposed to play nice? No fucking thank you.

Besides, they didn’t roll out the red carpet for us, did they?

It was dead silent in that locker room when Baylor introduced us.

No welcome, no nothing. If that’s the way they want to play it, fine by me. ”

“They started it? That’s what you’re going with?” he asks, shaking his head. “This isn’t middle school. Besides, they were probably in shock. Even you’ve gotta admit that was a ballsy move on our new coach’s part. He just ripped the bandage right off. No warning.”

“Warning?” I ask, my tone incredulous. “We’re two of the top-ranked players in men’s college hockey right now. The only people who need to be warned about us are our opponents.”

“Yeah, well,” Blue says with a humorless laugh, “that’s who they used to be. And based on the way they all trooped out of here without a fucking glance in our direction, that hasn’t changed.”

Hopping off the bench, I reset the machine, wipe off the bench, and move on to the free weights in the corner of the room, taking a swig from my water bottle as I go. “Hence my sage wisdom: Fuck. Them.”

My buddy laughs. “You should be a motivational speaker, Sparky.”

I hate that stupid nickname. When we were little, my best bud decided we needed nicknames, so since his first name is Grover, I decided to call him Blue.

It’s dumb, but I was in kindergarten. Granted, my creativity is still at about the same level now as it was then.

I bestowed him with the simple nickname that stuck like glue.

Meanwhile, he chopped up my last name, Wagner, and decided that since a dog wags its tail, I should be called Sparky. Like a freaking dog. Thankfully, it never caught on. And it never will, if I have any say in the matter. “Call me Sparky again and I’ll ram a kettlebell down your throat.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time,” he shoots back. “You know I don’t mind a little gagging.”

“What I know,” I tell him as he joins me on the mat, “is that I’ve learned way more than I ever wanted to about your sex life.”

The guy my parents consider a second son just shrugs. “Until you get one of your own, I figure I should give you a little something to let you live vicariously.”

Planting my feet firmly on the mat and cradling a medicine ball in my left hand, I flip him the bird with my right. “Sue me for not treating it like a sport where ranking up points is the object of the game. Besides, I have sex.”

“You’re such a bullshitter. You haven’t been with anyone since you were cockstruck in that diner a couple months back.”

“Cockstruck? Pretty sure I’d remember something that painful,” I say, tossing the ball into his waiting hands.

I’m playing dumb, but I know the exact moment he’s referring to.

We’d played Bainbridge late last winter and headed to a diner after the game.

I was sitting there bitching about the loss, and Blue was eating his weight in pancakes when my eyes landed on the most beautiful woman to ever walk this earth.

While I was wiping the drool off my chin, she saw me, too.

The smile she sent my way stole my damn breath, but before I could haul my ass out of the booth to approach her, she glanced at her phone, got a worried look on her face, and practically ran out of the diner.

He fires the ball right back at me. “Yeah, cockstruck. It’s a great word. I’m pretty sure I invented it. It’s like lovestruck, only?—”

“I understand what it means, dumbass. But you’re wrong. Yeah, that redhead was the hottest woman I’ve ever fucking seen, but she’s not the reason I haven’t had sex since?—”

His laugh rings out in the open space. “I fucking knew it! Dude. You didn’t even talk to her.

You need to let that shit go. I realize we now live in the same town where you lusted after her for all of five minutes, but the chances of you seeing her again are basically nonexistent, which is why we should go out tonight.

We’ll head over to our new place, drop off our stuff, shower, and hit up Jock Block to see who’s partying. ”

“I hate going out,” I grumble, knowing damn well that I’ll probably never set eyes on my diner beauty again, but that doesn’t mean I want to go out and socialize.

“You hate everything,” Blue responds, wholly unbothered by my grumpy attitude.

When we pull up to our new digs an hour later, even I have to admit I’m impressed.

The brick house is massive, with a wraparound porch and manicured lawn.

From the driveway, I can spot the edge of the back deck and the glittering pool beyond.

I’m not bragging when I say I grew up with money.

It’s just a fact. My family owns a chain of car dealerships along the Eastern Shore, and I’ve never wanted for anything.

But this place is nicer than any college housing I’ve ever seen.

If you picked it up and dropped it into the center of my folks’ gated neighborhood, it would fit right in.

“Damn,” Blue whistles as he exits his car. “I heard they got a new place, but I didn’t realize it was such an upgrade. I’m not going to mind living here.”

“We haven’t seen the inside yet,” I protest weakly.

Blue laughs as he shoulder checks me and bounds up the front steps to type in the security code we were given. As expected, the interior is every bit as luxurious as the exterior, with its hardwood floors, overstuffed furniture, and marble countertops.

I’m checking out the gaming set up in the living room when Blue steps up beside me.“Should we check to see what rooms have been claimed? The text from the house manager didn’t give specific room assignments.”

“If they’re empty, they’re up for grabs,” I reason, refusing to act like we’re guests.

We have just as much right to be here as any of the other guys do—maybe more.

When the shit hit the fan at our former university, and word got out that Blue and I were looking to transfer, Coach Baylor approached us with offers too good to refuse.

We’re not here as charity or because we simply need a place to play.

We’re here because we are the missing pieces these guys need if they want to keep up their winning streak.

We wander around for a bit and find that the first-floor rooms are locked, and a few of the second-floor rooms have made beds and full closets.

But the third floor? That’s a jackpot. There are three bedrooms up here, two of which have en-suite bathrooms. Without a word, I take the one on the right, and he drops his bag in the one on the left.

We’ve been friends so long that we can basically read each other’s minds by now.

My room has a view of the pool below, a fireplace, built-in shelves, and a king size bed.

A quick look into Blue’s room shows me his layout is almost exactly the same, except that he has a balcony, the fucker.

“This is pretty sweet,” he says, taking in the common area in front of our rooms. It’s got a couple couches, a minifridge, and a wet bar.

I’m not going to be a whiny bitch and complain, but there is one thing that perplexes me. “What’s with the poles?” I ask, gesturing to the two metal poles that stretch from the ceiling to the floor. They’re about ten feet apart, and they’re not really in the way, but they look out of place.

Blue runs his hand along the one that’s closer to his room. “This has to run straight through the house, right? Think we could do a little home reno and make it a fireman’s pole? That’d be a badass way to head down to breakfast every morning. Or it could be a stripper pole.”

I swear I see the wheels turning in his head. “No strippers.”

He frowns. “You are even less fun than usual.”

“I’m fun,” I say, knowing the words are generous even as they leave my mouth.

“Prove it. Let’s go out tonight.”

He looks hopeful, and I hate letting him down, but I’ve got no choice. “Nah, I can’t. I’m heading back home for dinner, just to see my folks and grab the rest of my stuff. And to pick up Hazel.”

“You want company?” he offers. “If you tell your mom I’m coming for dinner, she’ll make those cheesy potatoes.

She knows they’re my favorite. And since I’m her favorite son, I can guarantee they’ll be on the menu.

Besides, you’re picking my cat. I should probably go along.

Although, to be fair, by letting you pick up my cat, I’m honoring you with Hazel’s feline presence. You should be thanking me.”

I roll my eyes because we both know his fancy ass furball of a cat is going to growl and hiss the entire time, half hour drive.

I’m tempted to say yes, and it’s got nothing to do with wrangling his cat.

It’s true that my parents love him, and he knows I’m not just going back to grab stuff and enjoy a home-cooked meal.

Yes, those things are true, but there’s a little more to it.

Earlier this summer, right after life at my old school exploded, my dad was in a car accident.

His sports car was totaled, but he only suffered a concussion and a few scrapes.

He was damn lucky, but he hasn’t really been the same since the wreck.

As a hockey player, I know better than most that a concussion can fuck with your whole body, but it’s been over a month, and he hasn’t really bounced back yet.

I know he will, despite my mom’s constant worrying.

Concussions suck, and he must’ve had his bell rung pretty hard.

He’ll be back to his usual self in no time, and being this close to home means I can check in more often.

He’s got another doctor’s appointment at the end of the week, and I’m sure we’ll get some answers, but in the meantime, it’s nice that I’m close enough to pop in for a visit whenever I want to.

Before I have a chance to tell Blue he’s always welcome, his phone lights up with a string of texts.

“It’s a sign. There’s a party at the LAX house tonight. Let’s go see what Mama Wagner made us for dinner, then we’ll hit up Jock Block.”

I shake my head. “Dude. We’ve been here for a couple hours. How’d you get an invite to a party?”

Blue waves me off. “You forget we grew up half an hour from here. And you forget how handsome I am. The ladies can’t resist me. I grabbed a coffee on my way here today and struck up a conversation with two blondes. “They’re the ones who texted,” he says, holding up his phone.

“Going to a party I wasn’t technically invited to and hanging out with a bunch of strangers is tempting, but I’m good. You go ahead, though. I might even end up staying the night at my parents’ house and coming back in the morning.”

“You sure?” Blue asks me, and I know with one-hundred percent certainty that he’d ditch the party to hang out with me and eat my mom’s cooking, and check on my dad, but that’s not necessary.

His concussion symptoms will let up soon, and life can go back to normal.

Normal means I’m still dodging invites to parties, but I can’t evade them all.

We both know he’ll wear me down and drag me out eventually.

“I’m sure,” I tell him as I make my way back downstairs. I’m filling my water bottle at the fridge when I see him stroll past, carrying a big-ass cardboard box. I peer inside and see that it’s filled with jars of glitter.

“What the fuck are you doing?” I ask, screwing on the cap of my water bottle.

“I’ve been thinking. Despite your objections, we really do need to get along with these guys if we want the best shot at a winning season.

That was one of the problems at Woodcock—we never really gelled with our teammates.

Granted, they are trash human beings, but I think we need a different approach this time around. ”

He’s right, but that’s because our team was insufferable and the coaching staff was worse.

Blue and I kept to ourselves and only left when we realized just how bad things were.

Two of the coaches and a couple of the players went down for hazing, and that wasn’t even the worst of their sins.

I doubt there’s a seedy underbelly of the BU athletic department, but I still think keeping to ourselves is a solid strategy.

“I know exactly what’s going through your mind, but I don’t think our new team is as awful as you suspect,” Blue says, sorting his glitter by color.

“So what’s your grand plan?” I ask, pointing to his supplies. “Are you making a sign with all our names on it or some shit?”

“Nope. I’ve got the perfect plan for instant camaraderie,” he tells me, and I know that tone. It’s gotten both of us in trouble more times than I can count.

“Do I even want to know?” I ask.

His grin is wicked. “Nothing brings people together like a little prank.”

Jesus. “My social skills are basic at best, but even I know this is a terrible idea.”

“Don’t doubt my genius,” he scolds. “And, uh, if you stay the night with your folks, you should probably use the back door when you come home in the morning.”