Chapter 1 #2
I think about not going, about just sitting on the couch like this, holding Percy, and eating snacks until I pass out.
Then I remember I’d have to face Lawson and the rest of my teammates tomorrow at practice, and they’ll be armed with a hundred questions, just like always, and I don’t want that.
I’d rather bag skate for an hour straight than have to answer why I hate this day so damn much.
Meow.
“I’m going anyway, bud. I have to. You understand, right?”
Meow.
He accepts this answer—or at least that’s what I tell myself—and I keep an eye on the clock as I run my hand up and down his back, loving the soft purrs he emits.
When it gets close enough to ten that I know I’ll have Lawson annoying the piss out of me again if I procrastinate any longer, I peel myself off the couch and head to my bedroom.
Percy jumps off, following close behind, and I grin.
I was never one of those kids who begged for a puppy or a kitten.
The only thing I was ever interested in was hockey.
I would have taken new skates or new gloves over anything else.
But with Percy, I wandered into the clinic on a whim, we locked eyes, and I knew we were meant to be.
Maybe it was because we had just lost our shot at making the playoffs, or maybe it was because I was lonely.
It doesn’t matter. I’m stuck with him now, and he’s stuck with me. I wouldn’t have it any other way.
The cat hops onto my bed as I swap my joggers for jeans and my old t-shirt for a long-sleeved gray Henley. I’m sure most of the group will be dressing up more than this, but it’s not like I have anyone to impress.
“All right,” I say to Percy once I’ve finished getting ready. I stand by the front door, slipping my shoes on. “I’ll be back by twelve thirty at the latest. Keep an eye on the place. If anyone breaks in, gouge their eyes out, then scream like you always do at three in the damn morning.”
Meow.
I give him one last ear scratch and head out, making sure to lock the door behind me.
Phone in hand, I order a rideshare on the way to the elevator.
I have no plans of drinking until I’m shit-faced tonight, but I figure it’s better to be safe than sorry.
Because who knows? Maybe Lawson will annoy me just enough that I might need alcohol to survive until midnight.
As I wait for the elevator, I pray nobody I know is inside. With Whitlocke and his girlfriend, Vanessa, living here, I run into them far too often for my liking. I’m glad the old man is happy—truly—but do they have to make out in the elevator even when someone else is in there with them?
I’m relieved to find the car empty as the doors slide open, and I step inside. I rest against the back railing, closing my eyes as I descend, trying to extinguish the urge to march right back into my apartment and become one with my couch.
Fuck, maybe I should get shit-faced on tequila shots tonight. Maybe then I’ll forget just how much I hate this fucking holiday.
If only I didn’t know Coach Smith has a long morning planned for us tomorrow.
He always makes us come into the rink early after a holiday.
It’s his way of keeping us all in check, making sure we don’t get too rowdy.
I used to hate it, mostly because I had an actual reason to celebrate, but now?
I don’t care. Drag me out of bed at six AM.
Hell, do it at five. It’s not like I get much sleep anyway. What’s it going to matter to me?
My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I check it, just in case it’s my rideshare.
It’s not. It’s my brother.
Stefan: Broooooo
Stefan: new
Stefan: shit
Stefan: HPPY NEWSPAPER YOUR
I laugh, knowing that since it’s already midnight on the East Coast, where he’s attending law school, he’s likely drunk as hell.
There’s a ten-year age gap between us, and though it’s easier now that he’s older, it’s still funny to see how differently our lives have ended up.
What I was doing at twenty-one is vastly different than what he’s doing.
I shoot him a quick text back, wishing him a happy New Year, then pocket my phone. It doesn’t feel like a happy New Year, though, not even close.
My fingers climb their way up my chest and to the chain that’s dangled around my neck for the last couple of years. The metal is warm from resting against my skin, but it still somehow feels cold. I’m sure it’s because it sits so close to my heart.
When the elevator stops on the lobby floor, I drop my hand away and shove it back into my pocket, along with all the thoughts and longing for what I’ve lost that come every time I close my eyes.
I give a nod to security as I make my way out of the building.
The ride I ordered is already waiting, and I slip into the back seat without saying a word to the driver.
The low thrum of whatever’s on the radio fills the silence as the driver merges in and out of traffic—another reason I didn’t take my Audi R8 out on the town tonight—and we’re pulling up next to Top Shelf before I know it.
“Thanks,” I murmur as I climb out of the car.
I tug my phone from my pocket, rate the driver five stars, and drop them a twenty-dollar tip for leaving me the hell alone.
Taking a deep breath, I steel myself as I yank open the door, where I’m hit with the smell of stale beer, loud music, and the desire to run away.
I turn on my heel, ready to do just that, but I’m caught before I can get far.
“Keller!”
I wince as his hand lands on my shoulder. I try to shake him off, but—per usual—it’s pointless.
“You’re not trying to run away, are you?” Lawson grins at me. “Because if you were, I might have to—”
“Cry?” I finish for him with an eye roll, shrugging off his touch once again. “What is with you and crying lately?”
“What? Is it so bad for a guy to be in touch with his emotions?” Not taking the hint that I don’t want him touching me, he slings his arm around my neck as he pulls me farther into the bar. “Come on. We’re over here.”
He leads me over to the same booth we always occupy whenever we come here, which is admittedly quite a bit, but we knew right away that Top Shelf was a safe place for us to unwind after and between games.
The owner made me and the rest of my teammates feel at home from day one, and it has now turned into the Seattle Serpents’ official hangout.
“Keller!” our number one goalie yells, a wide, toothy grin gracing his face. I would blame it on the free-flowing alcohol, but that’s just Arthur Fox for you. In the time I’ve known him, I think I’ve seen him without a smile twice.
I nod his way. “Foxy.”
“Oooh Foxy! I love that they call you that,” Lilah, his girlfriend-slash-former fiancée, says with a giggle. I can see she’s already taken advantage of the drink specials tonight too.
“Sit, sit.” Lawson shoves me into an empty spot. “What do you want to drink? Nessa can get it for you.”
“Um, excuse me. No, she cannot. Nessa is not working tonight,” says the woman in question, turning her nose up at Lawson’s suggestion.
Locke reaches out and smacks Lawson’s stomach. “She’s not your barmaid, Lawsy. Get Keller’s drink yourself since you’re so dead set on playing host tonight.”
“Fine. Anyone else want drinks?”
It opens a can of worms the forward clearly wasn’t ready for as eleven people shout their orders all at once. We eventually get it sorted out, and Rory, his veterinarian girlfriend who is far too smart and good for him, follows behind to help.
“Is it just me or did he look like that Winona Ryder GIF where she’s looking around like she’s completely unsure of what’s happening?” asks Quinn with a laugh.
“He did, but can we also please discuss just how hot that woman still is? Like good grief. I can’t get over it.” Auden fans herself while her fiancé, our captain, nods in agreement.
The table delves into discussions of all things Winona Ryder, and I tune out. It has nothing to do with the subject—Auden is spot on with her assessment of Winona—but because I’m still trying to figure out how exactly I’m going to slip out of here before midnight.
I could fake being sick. Or I could start a brawl. I could even pick a fight with Lawson until everyone else is uncomfortable and the best thing would be for me to leave.
But no. None of that would work. I am very clearly not sick, and starting a fight would just land me in trouble with the team. Plus, making Lawson mad is almost impossible. I swear insults are some sort of turn-on for him.
I’m stuck here. Even worse? I’m stuck here with the reminder of everything I lost.
“And for you, my favorite grumpy bear.” Lawson ruffles my hair as he sets a pint of delicious green apple cider in front of me. It’s from a local cidery-slash-farm that makes one hell of a drink.
I don’t even bother flipping him off or yelling at him for touching me again. I just grab my glass and down half the contents in one go.
“What?” I ask Locke when he lifts his brows my way. “It’s just cider. It’s practically apple juice.”
He looks like he wants to say more, but doesn’t.
“Your face is looking better. Less yellow than it was yesterday,” Hayes comments. “Still can’t believe that jackass from Vegas landed a punch like that.”
I smirk, thinking of the fight that let me feel alive, even if just for a few moments. “Don’t worry. I’ll get him back when we play them later this month.”
Hutch grunts from beside me at the mention of the asshole who almost blew up his whole life a few years back. I went toe-to-toe with him then, too, and I have no problem doing it again, especially not after last week and the cheap shot he landed on Lawson.
“How’s the back, Lawsy?” Hutch asks, concern lacing his words as he leans closer to the obnoxious forward.