Chapter Seven Bryden （Mountain）
CHAPTER SEVEN
brYDEN (MOUNTAIN)
Another party.
Perfect. This is exactly what I don’t want, to wade through a sea of juiced-up college kids. I turn onto the gravel drive, and my headlights cut through the dark. Cars are crammed haphazardly on the lawn, and red Solo cups litter the steps.
My jaw clenches as I ease into the only remaining spot, the bass pulsing so hard it feels like it’s coming through my chest. I kill the engine, but the vibrations don’t stop. They’re in the air, the pavement, and the bones of this house that was supposed to be quiet tonight.
Someone stumbles off the porch, already drunk out of their mind, and I suck in an aggravated breath. Just once, I’d like to come back to something other than one of Alex’s beer-soaked ragers.
Frozen Four are three weeks out, nationals are looming, and the last thing we need is another visit from the cops. We’re already pushing our luck with the coach. You’d think a curfew and the threat of a team-wide bag skate would’ve stuck with Alex after the last time.
But no. Alex and consequences? They’ve never been on speaking terms. It shouldn’t surprise me, he’s spoiled, and oftentimes the rules don’t apply to him. Kane’s no better, always complacent where Alex is concerned. He might not plan for these things, but he certainly goes along with them.
Don’t get me wrong, I love my boys. We’ve been friends since elementary school, and if it weren’t for Alex’s father buying us this lake house, my folks would be out a lot of money to cover room and board.
But this is idiotic. There is too much riding the line to risk it all for chicks and bad decisions waiting to happen.
A cheer erupts from somewhere inside, sharp and reckless, slicing through the thick night air.
My grip tightens, the leather of the steering wheel cool against my palm.
A hot shower and the kind of silence only exhaustion can deliver is all I wanted.
Instead, I’m about to walk into a battlefield of beer pong and bass drops, plus probably pulling double duty as a bouncer and cleanup crew.
I sit for a moment longer than I should, letting the sounds of laughter and muffled shouting filter through the car windows. The ache in my shoulders from staying at practice longer than everyone else begs me to just turn around, find a hotel for the night, and deal with the aftermath tomorrow.
But I don’t.
This is my house, too, and someone has to keep things from spiraling. With an exhale, I grab my bag from the passenger seat and step out of the car. The scent of lake water and spilled beer carries through the air, a damp heaviness clinging to everything from an earlier rain.
A group of rowdy kids spills onto the porch, beer splattering from their cups as they laugh entirely too loudly. I set my jaw and head for the door, bracing myself for whatever disaster waits inside.
Once I step onto the portico, a guy I don’t recognize stumbles out the front door and gives me a sloppy grin, holding up his cup in a silent toast.
I ignore him.
Inside, the house is a writhing mass of people packed into the kitchen, the living room, and along the stairs. The music is deafening, and the heat of too many bodies in too small a space makes the air thick.
I navigate through the crowd, sidestepping a couple dancing—or grinding, really—near the doorway. Jackson, my teammate cuts in front of my path, and I pause, turning slightly to keep from running into him.
Someone shouts my name, a voice too familiar to be ignored, as I step into the kitchen.
“Mountain!” Alex’s voice cuts through the chaos, drawing more attention than I’d like.
He’s propped against the counter with his easy grin and a cup dangling from his fingers. A couple of girls crowd around him, one twirling her hair, the other leaning a little too close. He doesn’t seem to mind. Alex never minds.
“Look who finally decided to show up,” he chastises.
I don’t stop moving, shouldering past a cluster of guys to exit out the other side of the room. “Didn’t realize I was coming back home to another party.”
Alex laughs, slinging an arm around one of the girls. “Come on, man.” He gestures around with his cup. “It’s just a few people, nothing crazy.”
“Nothing crazy,” I echo, glancing at the horde crammed into the living room. A girl stumbles over a stack of beer cans, sending a small avalanche across the floor. “Sure.”
Alex waves me off like it’s nothing. “Relax, Bryden. No cops this time, promise.”
I look at him, deadpan. “You promised that last time.”
“That was different.” He flashes me that disarming grin he thinks works on everyone. “This time I mean it.”
I don’t say anything. Instead, my eyes slide past him, landing on the far corner of the room where Kane sits, partially swallowed by the shadows. He’s perched on the edge of the couch, a drink resting in his hand—untouched, judging by the thin layer of condensation trailing down the plastic.
His shoulders are hunched, his stare fixed on nothing. He’s distant, quiet in a way that’s different from my kind of quiet. Alex follows my gaze, but instead of commenting, he just smirks.
“He’s fine,” he mutters, almost like he’s reassuring himself more than me, before shifting his focus back to his entourage.
I hesitate, then decide I’ve had enough. Leaving Alex to his chaos, I turn and head for the stairs. I move through the living room with a steady stride, my eyes scanning but never lingering on any one person longer that I need to.
A girl sways into me, her drink sloshing dangerously close to my shirt. She grins up at me, oblivious. “Mountain, right? You’re on the hockey team.”
I step around her, barely offering her a clipped nod as I continue on my way.
I can feel her eyes follow me, but I don’t turn back.
Unlike my friends, getting wrapped up in girls is the last thing on my mind.
I don’t need the distraction. My life consists of hockey, getting drafted to the NHL, and making my mother happy.
I steal a glance to my left, where Kane sits.
To anyone else, you’d think he’s just being his usually unapproachable self, but when you’ve known someone as long as we have, you can tell when there’s something more. What exactly? I guess only time will tell. Secrets have a way of spilling over if you keep them bottled up too long.
The thought of going against my better judgment to check on him runs through my mind, but Alex says he’s fine.
They’ve always been closer, glued at the hip.
So if anyone would know when to intervene on Kane’s doom staring, it’s Alex.
Besides, Kane doesn’t talk unless he’s ready, and tonight doesn’t seem like the night he’ll break that rule.
With a fraction of a breath, I turn away and push through the final cluster of bodies toward the upper level.
The stairs creak beneath my weight, and I keep my focus on the landing ahead, threading past a couple tangled in each other at the top of the stairs without so much as a glance.
They are so wrapped up in each other that they don’t notice me either.
The house quiets marginally as I step onto the second floor. It’s not much of a reprieve, but it’s enough to ease the edge of frustration. I make my way toward the far end, where my room waits—my one corner of this house untouched by chaos, though it feels farther away with each step forward.
A girl stumbles out of one of the rooms, cup in hand and her hair half-falling out of an unsteady ponytail. I recognize her as one of the puck bunnies that hangs around every game. The same girl that’s been all up on my roommates. Vanessa.
A second later, two other girls exit behind her, their voices rising and falling in high-pitched giggles. The first girl makes eye contact with me and brightens immediately, her smile wide.
“Hey, Bryden,” she says, her voice lilting like she’s known me forever. She reaches out to touch me but I subtly sway to keep her from doing so.
Vanessa steps closer, too close, her words syrupy and blurred. “You’re, like… always so serious. So… so… uptight.”
Exactly how many drinks has she had tonight? She attempts to stand upright, her brows knitted tight and her shoulders back in a weak imitation of me.
“Ever think about loosening up?” she slurs while trying to balance herself with a hand on my shoulder.
I dip my shoulder, sidestepping her as easily as I might dodge a wayward puck. “Not really.”
“Oh, come on… don’t be a pooper party. No, that’s not it. A party pooter.”
Plucking the partially empty drink from her hand, I say, “And you’ve had enough for tonight.”
Vanessa sways and looks me up and down, her eyes lusty and lazy from intoxication. “Did you just come from practice?”
I turn my attention to her friend. “You need to take her home; she’s too wasted.”
“I… I’m fine. You should dance with me tonight.”
“Dancing’s not really my thing.” Neither are girls too messed up to consent to anything.
“Boooo,” they say in unison.
“Take out your phone and call a rideshare. She needs to sleep it off.”
With her drink still in my hand, I turn away. The sound of their voices fades away as I enter my room and let the door close with a soft click.
The quiet hits instantly. The music is still there, faint and distant, but it’s muffled enough that I can finally breathe. I let out a long exhale, and lean back against the door for a moment. The tension in my chest loosens, but it doesn’t fully let go.
Crossing the room, I set my bag down by the foot of the bed, place the cup on the dresser, and fish my phone out of the side pocket. The screen lights up, and a single notification stares back at me. It’s a message from my mother. It’s simple, just a few words, but they mean so much.
Mom: Proud of you.
The knot in my chest eases further, a small warmth creeping in to replace it.
Nationals aren’t just about the game. They’re about them.
Every sacrifice, every early morning, every extra shift they took on just to make sure I had what I needed.
They’re about doing something my family can be proud of.
I set the phone down, the message still glowing faintly on the screen as I stride into the bathroom.
I flip the switch, and the light flickers as it comes on, casting the small space in a harsh glow.
I lean forward with my palms against the edge of the counter.
The cool surface presses into my hands as I let my eyes drift shut.
When I open them again, my reflection stares back.
I exhale slowly, assessing the person in the mirror. The lines of my face feel heavier tonight, the weight of expectations sitting firmly on my shoulders.
Why can’t Alex or Kane take any of this seriously?
Finals.
Nationals.
The future.
All it takes is one bad decision and everything we’ve worked for can be stripped away.
But as quickly as it comes, I push the thought away.
I guess everyone deals with pressure in their own way.
Mine is silence and space. Theirs, booze, girls, and noise.
I’m not judging—just tired. It’s lonely sometimes, but a necessary evil.
There’ll be plenty of time for girls after we win nationals.
Until then, I’ll keep my head on the game.
That’s easy enough, or at least it used to be, until that girl showed up in class today, staring at me like she can see right through me.
There was something about her, something I haven’t been able to pinpoint.
Whatever it is, I push it out of my mind.
I peer at the gash above my brows, now healed, yet a constant reminder of the sport I love so much. Roughhousing a little too much during practice with no gear will result in all sorts of bruises. It’s just the nature of the game. We play hard, dirty and unrelenting.
Pushing off the counter, I face the shower and turn on the water.
Steam thickens, fogging the mirror until I can no longer see myself.
I peel off my sweaty clothes, letting them fall into a pile at my feet.
What’s left of the cool air bites at my skin for a moment before I step into the heat of the shower.
The water beats against my skin, the pressure massaging away the aches from practice. And when I undo my braid and stick my head under the showerhead, all the tension from the day melts.
Nationals isn’t just a game—it’s our lifeline—so while I want nothing but to catch some Zs and call it a night, I mentally prepare myself to wrangle the mess downstairs. Because another house party turned police report is the last thing the team needs.