Chapter Six
Rhodes
I’m still keyed up from the conversation with Monroe when I get into my Land Rover. My fingers tap anxiously on the steering wheel. I’m glad it was a home game tonight because I couldn’t handle traveling with the entire team after the locker room fiasco.
A part of me can’t believe I broke Jax’s nose.
I could be in even more serious trouble if one of the guys comes clean to Coach or the media about his injury.
The crazy thing is, I actually think Coach might be on my side for this one.
Monroe said he was being a hardass, cutting her off, but I know Carter Abrams well enough to feel confident in saying that the ultimatum was made out of serious love for his daughter.
If Coach heard what had come out of Jax’s mouth, he probably would have decked Jax himself.
I feel pretty certain that Jax will keep his mouth shut from now on, around me at least.
I’ll say this, though—he’s not wrong that Monroe is a fucking knockout. Thoughts of her and her smart mouth will not leave me alone. I wasn’t lying when I told her she was keeping me up at night.
Maybe now that I know why she’s on sanitation duty at the ice rink her father owns, I’ll be able to keep her out of my dreams.
Probably not, though.
My phone buzzes in the center console just as I hit a red light. I glance at the screen. Sloane.
I smile as I pick up. “Hey, baby sister.”
“You broke Jax’s nose?”
I blink. “How the hell do you know about that?”
“I have people.”
I snort, shaking my head as I ease through the intersection. “You have people? People in my locker room? Who the fuck do you have on my team feeding you intel?”
“Down, boy,” she says flatly. “It’s just Beck.”
Of course it’s Beck.
She continues, smug as hell because she knows it pisses me off—whatever little fake flirting situation they have going on, “I had to get a quote from him for the paper in my journalism class.”
I groan and irritation courses through me. The two of them love to tease me, but God help Beck if he actually makes a move on Sloane. “Remind me to tell Beck to keep his hands off my baby sister.”
“Ew, no. Hockey guys are not my type.”
I chuckle. “Good. Keep it that way.”
She huffs like I’m ridiculous for even suggesting it. I continue, “Okay, okay. What’s up, Sloane?”
“Want to bring me food?”
I glance at the clock on my dash. Ten-forty-seven p.m.
“Where are you?”
“The library. Studying. Starving.”
Of course she is. I rub a hand over my jaw, debating whether or not I should give her shit for this.
I don’t. The big brother in me absolutely loves that my sister is on campus nearby where I can look out for her.
“Fine. Text me what you want, you little genius.”
She lets out a victorious, “Thank you! I love you!”
I shake my head, but can’t help the smile that tugs at my lips. “Yeah, yeah. Love you, too.”
She hangs up, and I take the next exit toward campus. I don’t begrudge Sloane for having the childhood I wish I had. I’m glad she does. There were a lot of years I was a little shit to her out of jealousy.
Especially after weekends with my dad.
I’d come home from two days of tiptoeing around an angry drunk, only to see Mom and Paul shuttling Sloane off to debate clubs and speech competitions, celebrating her wins with ice cream and family dinners.
I know Mom hated sending me back to him, knowing what he was like—but the courts didn’t give a damn.
Every time she tried to change visitation, my dad cleaned up just enough to fool the judge, painting her as dramatic and unreasonable.
There was nothing we could do, not until I turned eighteen.
After I left the house, I made a conscious effort to connect more with Sloane. I only have one sibling, and I was going to be damned if my dad took my relationship with her away from me too.
I pick up her food from the only open Taco Bell in the area and park in the lot next to the U of C library. I don’t want her walking out in the dark, so I grab her bag of tacos and walk in.
Sloane really is a genius. She’s a journalism major with a full ride at U of C, to absolutely no one’s surprise. She’s been arguing and debating with all of us from the second she could talk. Straight-A student with not a single athletic bone in her body.
It’s still hilarious to me that her journalism professor is a massive Wolverines fan.
He’s always sending students to shadow the team, covering our season like it’s breaking news.
I rest easy knowing Sloane will grab quick quotes from the team here and there for her assignments, but she’d rather die than have to shadow the Wolverines for the entire semester.
She’s happy to cheer me on, but only in the way that says, Well, if that’s all you can do.
She is my best reality check.
I see her near a front window, head buried in her laptop, a giant textbook open next to her.
Her dark brown hair is tied up in a messy bun, her U of C hoodie oversized on her small frame.
I flick her in the ear when she doesn’t immediately notice me walk up beside her, and plop down on the couch next to her.
“What the hell, asshole?” she says, grabbing her ear. I stick my tongue out at her and hold out the food. “Ooooh, gimme!”
I laugh and hand over the tacos. She scrunches her nose at me. “You smell like the rink. Did you even shower before you came here?”
“Of course I showered. But I did just play a game there, Sloane.”
“Well, you didn’t actually play the game,” she clarifies. I shove her with my elbow.
I flip through the papers on the table, messing them up to annoy her.
“Wanna talk about Monroe?”
I choke. “What?”
“Monroe Abrams?” She looks at me like I’m stupid. “The girl you broke your teammate’s nose for tonight?”
“Right,” I reply, scratching the back of my neck. “No.”
“She know you have a hard-on for her?”
Another choke. “I do not. And also please never say hard-on to me ever again.”
“I’m just saying, Beck said you were pretty worked up about whatever Jax was saying about her. He refused to repeat it on principle.”
“She’s Coach’s daughter. And also—just—we should respect women.” I gesture vaguely, as if that somehow reinforces my point.
Sloane stares at me, unimpressed. “Uh-huh. Thank you, Rhodes McKnight, for your tireless service to all of womankind.”
I scowl. “I’m serious.”
“I know,” she smirks. “I’m just saying, Captain Feminism, it was a little bit of an extreme reaction for some girl you supposedly don’t care about at all.”
“If someone was talking about you the way Jax was talking about Monroe, I’d hope someone would break their nose too.” I mean it.
That actually shuts her up for a second. Then she hums. “Okay, big shot. Whatever you say.”
I lean over and mess up her bun before standing up. “Are you almost done here? I’ll drive you back to your dorm. I don’t like you walking back in the dark.”
“I’m fine.” She rolls her eyes. “But yeah, I’ll take the ride.”
We are almost to her building when she pokes me in the ribs, like she used to when we were kids. “You know, a girl might not be the worst thing for you, Rhodes.” Her voice is softer now. “You’re always taking care of everyone else. Who’s taking care of you?”
I don’t have an answer for her.