Chapter 1
CHAPTER 1
M y favorite song in high school had the lyrics ‘I wanna feel weightless’.
I used to think it was just another metaphor for wanting all the stressors of life to disappear for a while and to set out in new directions. Looking back, I think that was a crock of shit.
‘Weightless’ is the feeling of losing everything and anything you ever loved and cared about. Weightless is realizing you can’t give a fuck about anything anymore. Weightless is drowning out all the surrounding noise to just be. I want to just be. It’s the reason I sling back the whiskey the way I do. Maybe if I let the Jack slide down my throat enough times, I will be weightless too.
Glancing around the crowded bar, I know we won tonight. The beloved Bloomington University’s golden boys of winter—the men’s hockey team—bringing home another victory. Blah. Blah. Blah.
I chuck my head back as I let another shot hit the back of my throat. It burns, a reminder that I’m still alive. I shake out my hair as I chase away the fuzzy feeling enveloping me. My skin warmed and bristled against the leather jacket. I regret wearing it, but in hindsight, it’s fall in the Midwest. No amount of whiskey will fight off the bitter cold of the windchill once I step outside.
The hockey team will be here soon and all my fun will go with it. It’s a given. They always come—win or lose. It’s tradition. Welp. Time to make it count. I wanna feel weightless, God damn it.
I flit my emerald eyes around the bar ironically named ‘The Pub’. Another classic staple in our quintessential college town, from its sticky floors to its worn-in wooden booths. The walls are littered with sports paraphernalia and neon lights. A caveat being a signed pair of khakis and a State Farm polo framed above the men's restrooms. The actual ‘Jake’ from State Farm became a bouncer here when he lost his insurance gig. At least he had a good sense of humor about it.
The Pub looked like every other college bar in the country, but there was something inviting about the condensation building on the glass that lined the entire front of the place. Anyone who couldn’t get tickets to the game shoved themselves in here, raising the inside temperature substantially compared to the chill outside. The game landed on a Wednesday, which meant 5-dollar beer pitchers and 7-dollar margarita pitchers. If you weren’t here for hockey, you were here for the iconic ‘Pub Wednesday’. Sorority girls picked at shared baskets of cheese balls and downed their margaritas at an alarming pace. I watched as an old friend—Abby—laughed while surrounded by her Delta Pi sisters. Their brother fraternity was nearby. The guys all took turns chugging their pitchers to determine who could drink it the fastest.
Once upon a time, I might have been with them too. If my hockey schedule allowed it. The women’s team at BU didn’t get the same recognition as the men’s, but we were damn good. I was damn good. Since we all weren’t born with dicks, the student body couldn't care less about the trophies and recognitions we brought home. Dad always said he thought it was unfair that the university could turn a blind eye to the women’s team. He argued we could take on our men’s team and hold our own, if not win, if given the chance.
But that didn’t matter now. I snorted to myself and took another shot. The bartender was eyeing me as I did so. Was I up to that many? It sure didn’t feel like it. Let him cut me off. Wouldn’t be the first time the bouncer carried me out over their shoulder.
I knew the moment they walked in. Who wouldn’t? The entire bar hushed as the team came in. A buzz enveloped the air as the masses became entranced by the group coming through the door. The men in front were the stars of the show. A starting line that worked together in that magical way that made you want to chant “Quack, quack,” like you were in a Mighty Ducks film. Their ability to read each other, anticipating the next move, had NHL teams buzzing. Scouts approached the three of them about the draft. It wouldn’t be a surprise if the rest followed.
The first to make their way through the threshold was Hunter St. James. He was mid-laugh, high-fiving, and being clapped on the back by those in the crowd. He turned his head to look at those behind him, his gray eyes sparkling in the neon lights. I could see his dimples from here as his smile grew. They complimented his high cheekbones. He moved towards the bar to order the guy’s first round. I watched him pull a SnapBack off his head, shaking out his chocolate-covered hair as he did so. It should be illegal for a man to do that and still look good at doing it. Maybe it was the alcohol talking, but Hunter St. James was the definition of hot, and he knew it. He exuded confidence wherever he went, and he wasn’t afraid to use his charm to his advantage.
Hunter was my twin brother’s best friend. They had met when they were both recruited for the university team. Considering my dad was the head coach, it was no wonder the two ended up being introduced. Their resulting friendship was the bane of my existence. The two of them loved to make my life miserable.
Following behind Hunter was Axel Andrews, an outside wing player who had a reputation as a goon. He was the team’s biggest man whore too. I couldn't blame him, though. He drove the girls crazy with his baby blue eyes, sculpted cheekbones, and blonde hair that he liked to pull up into a man bun. He looked like he walked out of a Viking movie.
A few of the other guys shoved their way through. I hoped that maybe my brother had skipped the Pub tonight. Not that his comrades wouldn’t rain on my parade either way, but I had a better chance if he wasn’t here. I recognized the auburn hair of Crew Rollens and his little brother, Cooper.
Coming in last, I spot my twin brother, Jackson Rae. I outwardly groaned. We both had the same blonde hair and green eyes. He was broad where I was slight, and he towered over my five foot-six frame. Many women described my brother as a Calvin Klein model. A thought that periodically made me want to vomit. No girl needed to be subjected to the image of her twin as an underwear model. His eyes narrowed on me as he pushed his way through the crowd to my barstool.
“Here comes the fun police,” I sang to no one in particular. I finished the mixed drink I nursed through my shot spree and stood from my stool. If I lost him in the crowd, my evening could continue without interruption. The idea of heading next door to one of the different bars crossed my mind. There were plenty to choose from in the Uptown area. Plus, the idea of evading Jackson was enticing like whipped cream on a sundae. Before I made it entirely into the mix of students reaching to congratulate the guys, I felt his large hand grab my wrist and tug me towards the team and him.
I turned, eyes blazing and ready to put up a fight. We were siblings—equals — and he had no authority over me and my actions. I curled my lip, ready to bark out my retaliation.
Jackson’s eyes were the window to his soul. His face may be in a constant state of impassiveness, but his eyes were the gatekeeper of his emotions. Right now, he looked at me like it was the most painful thing he endured in his twenty-one years. Which, in his case, I understood. Who would want to be the twin of the fuck up? The girl who's the reason the beloved hockey coach will never coach another game again? The reason he can’t call his dad up for advice anymore? Who lost her starting position on the women’s team because she perpetually can’t get her shit together? Yeah. I’d be in a state of constant disappointment, too.
“Maci,” he pleaded.
“Not tonight Jax,” I whispered, trying to pull away.
His teammates had enveloped us, taking over the area of the bar I had been occupying. They were doing a good job of pretending like they weren’t watching us.
“You can’t keep doing this. You’re a ghost.”
I chuckled darkly. “No, you’ve got that twisted. Let me clarify what you meant to say. I should be a ghost.”
Jackson’s facade cracked, and I saw the hurt cross over his features. Just as quickly as it came, it went. My stomach curled, and I realized I struck a chord. The guilt I felt wouldn’t relent. I snagged a shot from a passing tray and downed it, pulling my wrist away from my brother.
“Leave me alone.” I shoved my shoulder into him as I passed. His eyes hardened, but he didn’t make a move to follow me, surprisingly. Normally, he had more fight in him than that.
Moving towards the exit, the world tilted with the intensity of my last few drinks. I fumbled for my phone and keys in the pocket of my jacket.
One foot in front of the other Maci. Straight line. Chin up.
“You know, one of these days you’re going to push and push until no one will push back, right?” The velvety voice of Hunter St. James cut its way over the crowd.
I groaned, wishing he would just leave me alone. “Stay out of it Hunter, it’s none of your business.”
He stepped closer to me, his hand grabbing my elbow lightly. I looked into his eyes as his chest grazed my own. The alcohol made my brain fuzzy, and I strained to focus on his irises. I stumbled, trying to pull myself away from him.
“Maci, come on, you’re a mess. Let me get you home.” He moved to steady me so I didn’t fall.
“I don't need you to babysit me. I’ll be fine.”
He snorted, “Yeah, okay, I believe that one. Can you even walk straight? Jesus.”
He said the last part more to himself than me, but I still took offense. I didn’t need Hunter to police me. Anytime Jackson backed down, Hunter stepped up. Their game of good cop, bad cop was growing old. I was a grown woman. I could make my decisions.
I made to push past Hunter the same way I did Jackson, but he stopped me before I could. A mischievous glint passed his eyes before he looked beyond my shoulder at someone behind me.
“Rookie!” He yelled. “Get Jackson’s baby sister home, would you?”
“Baby? We are literally born two—” I squealed, cutting off my own words. Someone threw me over their shoulder. The large male arm banded over my legs, locking me in place. My head was facing their butt, and I didn’t have time to see which person picked me up.
“Put me down!” I demanded.
“No can do, baby Rae, I don’t want to get my ass reamed by Capt’ tonight,”
Instantly, I recognized Cooper’s voice. They perpetually treated Cooper like a rookie, even though he was far from one. As Crew's younger brother, they unofficially adopted him as their little brother too. Crew’s shadow was a large one that I hoped he’d eventually step out of. Cooper was a certifiable golden retriever in his loyalty to the team, which didn’t help his cause. It didn’t help that my brother was made captain last year. He never flaunted it, rather, he led in a way that commanded respect without demanding it. The underclassmen practically worshiped him—Cooper included. I contemplated giving up. There was no way he would set me down until he gently deposited me into my apartment..
I groaned when blood rushed to my head. The combination of my position and drinks made my head spin and my stomach turn. Jackson made his way back over to us. The commotion my abduction caused caught his attention. He exchanged a few words with Cooper before he heaved me over his shoulder. My vision swam from all the movement and my head lulled from side to side.
“Puke on me Maci and I swear to God, I’ll make sure your debit card is frozen for a month,” He stated as he walked out of The Pub. I felt my body sway with the gait of his step.
“Wouldn’t dare,” I hiccuped.