Chapter 7 – WHISKEY
Chapter
Seven
WHISKEY
The puck slams into my stick with a satisfying thwack, and I'm off like a shot down the ice. My legs pump as I weave between defenders, eyes locked on the goal. Just me and the net now. I wind up, muscles coiling—
And completely whiff the shot.
The puck skitters pathetically wide as I overbalance and crash into the boards, landing flat on my ass. For a moment, I just lay there, bewildered.
What the actual fuck was that?
"What in the name of Wayne Gretzky's jockstrap is going on out there?" Coach bellows, face turning an alarming shade of purple. The thin white hair barely clinging to his shiny head flaps wildly. "My grandmother could run this drill better, and she's been dead for twenty-three goddamn years!"
He's right. We're a mess out there. But it's not just rust or an off day. Wraith being gone has been throwing off our entire dynamic.
We’re not just teammates, after all.
We’re a pack.
Wraith taking off once in a while isn't exactly unusual, but this feels different. Like it’s straining at our pack bonds.
Practice limps on for another excruciating hour. By the time Coach finally dismisses us, we're all in foul moods. I yank off my helmet, running a hand through my sweat-damp hair as I trudge toward the locker room.
"Hey." Thane falls into step beside me. "You wanna grab a beer after this? Looks like we could all use one."
I shake my head. "Rain check. Got some stuff to take care of."
Thane raises an eyebrow but doesn't push it.
In the locker room, I strip off my gear on autopilot, mind churning. Something's not right. I can feel it in my bones, that same sixth sense that kept me alive in combat screaming that there's more going on than just Wraith being antisocial.
I'm still mulling it over as I hop in the shower. The hot water does little to ease the tension knotting my shoulders. Hoping it'll clear my head, I stay under the spray longer than usual.
It doesn't.
When I finally come back out, towel slung low on my hips, the locker room is mostly empty. Only Thane and Plague remain, deep in conversation by Thane's stall. They fall silent as I approach, which only ratchets up my suspicion another notch.
"Alright, spill it," I say, crossing my arms. "What's really going on with Wraith?"
Thane's expression doesn't change, but I catch the slight tightening around his eyes. "Like I said earlier, he just needs some space. You know how he gets sometimes."
I snort. "Bullshit. This is different and you know it."
"Whiskey—" Plague starts, but I cut him off with a look.
"Don't 'Whiskey' me." I turn back to Thane. "He won't answer texts. He missed practice. Hell, even you seem worried under that zen master act. So I'll ask again. What's. Going. On?"
For a long moment, Thane just studies me. I meet his gaze steadily, refusing to back down. Finally, he sighs.
"Honestly? I don't know." He scrubs a hand over his face, and for the first time, I notice how wiped he looks. "You're right, this isn't his usual disappearing act. But I don't have any more information than you do."
"Have you checked the tunnels?" I ask. "You know he likes to hide out down there sometimes."
Thane nods. "First place I looked. No sign of him."
"What about—"
"I've checked everywhere, Whiskey," Thane interrupts, a rare edge of frustration in his voice. "If he doesn't want to be found, I won't find him. Period."
"What about you?" I turn to Plague. "Notice anything off?"
Plague shrugs. "Can't say I did. But you know Wraith. He isn't exactly an open book on the best of days."
I grunt in acknowledgment. It's true. Trying to read Wraith's moods is like trying to decipher ancient hieroglyphics.
With your eyes closed.
Underwater.
And a trident up your ass.
Still, something doesn't add up. Wraith may be a loner, but he's fiercely loyal too. It's not like him to just up and vanish without a word, especially with a new player joining tomorrow.
I grab my phone, scrolling through my sent messages for the hundredth time today.
WHISKEY
Yo bro, where are you?
Dude, you good?
Seriously man, you're freaking us out
All unanswered. Not that he likes to reply anyway, but at least he'll usually open the texts. Right now, they're all unread, according to those little gray checkmarks mocking me from the screen.
"Maybe we should file a missing persons report," I mutter, only half-joking.
Plague snorts. "Right, because that'd go over well. 'Excuse me officer, we'd like to report a missing hockey player. Description? Oh, about seven feet tall, heavily scarred, and mute. Last seen brooding ominously in the general vicinity of an ice rink.'"
Despite my bad mood, I crack a smile at that. "Fair point."
"Look," Thane says, his tone shifting to full captain mode. "I know we're all concerned. But this isn't the first time Wraith has needed to... step away for a bit. All we can do right now is give him space and trust that he'll come back when he's ready."
I want to argue, to push for some kind of action. But I know Thane's right. Wraith's always been a wild card, operating on his own inscrutable schedule. Trying to force the issue will just drive him further away.
Coach is gonna explode if we don't find him, and soon, but that's a problem for Future Whiskey.
"Earth to Whiskey," Plague says beside me. Shit, I must’ve spaced out. "Are you planning on putting on clothes anytime soon? We need to get back to the pack house."
I blink, realizing I'm still standing here in just a towel. "Oh, you noticed?" I ask, grinning at him. He just glares at me. Without a surgical mask on, I can see his entire condescending expression for once. "Like what you see?"
He raises an eyebrow. "In your dreams."
"Ouch." I press a hand to my chest in mock offense. "You wound me, habibi."
“Clothes, Whiskey,” he snaps, turning around to grab his bag.
Thane clears his throat. "If you two are done bitching at each other like an old married couple, we need to discuss something."
Right. The new guy.
Valek.
Bad enough having a pack member MIA, now we're supposed to integrate someone new? The timing couldn't be worse.
"What's there to discuss?" I ask, rolling my shoulders until they pop as I move to get dressed. "If the new guy's an asshole and a bad fit for the team, we run him off. Don't even need Wraith for that. Simple."
Thane's brow furrows at me. "What are you talking about?"
"Valek," I reply. "That's what you mean, right?"
“No,” Thane says with a sigh. “Plague, you tell him.”
Don't like the sound of that. I turn my gaze to Plague. "Tell me what?"
Plague clenches his jaw. "It doesn't matter."
"Why not?" I press, starting to get annoyed all over again. "Why are you two acting like you've just found out everything's about to get turned upside down? Spill. We're a pack."
Plague's eyes narrow slightly as he gives me a level stare. Like he's thinking about whether he wants to clue me in or not. Sometimes he acts like he doesn't want to be in a pack with me. Or Thane. But especially me.
Which is fine.
I'm not his biggest fan either.
Finally, after what feels like a mini eternity, Plague lets out a long sigh. "I discovered evidence of someone working on equipment at night," he says carefully. “A freshly sharpened skate, still warm to the touch.”
"So someone's breaking in at night to... sharpen our skates?" I ask, tugging on my jeans. "That makes zero fucking sense."
Thane leans back against his locker. “Well, it is something to be aware of. It’s unlikely, but someone could sabotage our equipment.”
I snort. “Yeah, like that insufferable jackass Wade Kelly,” I say pointedly. He made plenty of threats the last time we wiped the ice with him. Kind of tough to make out what he was saying through the blood and snot when I slammed him up against the wall, though.
“Perhaps that’s why Wraith is gone,” Plague muses. “He may suspect something himself.”
“No,” Thane says, shaking his head. “If Wraith found someone down there, he'd tell me. And if he did find someone, they'd need a hospital.”
“I don’t know, man,” I say, jamming my feet into my boots and not bothering with the laces.
“He’s secretive as fuck. Didn’t all that shit with Daniels happen because he was curious after you said you haven’t even seen Wraith’s face since you were kids?
I don’t think Wraith’s as kumbaya with you as you want to believe he is. ”
As soon as the words leave my mouth, I know I've crossed a line. The temperature in the room seems to drop ten degrees. Thane's eyes narrow dangerously.
"Careful, Whiskey."
It's not a threat. Not exactly. But the warning's clear enough. Thane's not just our captain, he's Wraith's brother. If anyone's worried right now, it's him.
"At least I'm not the one playing Secret Squirrel while our pack falls apart," I mutter, raking a hand through my still-damp hair and shouldering my bag as I head for the door. Gotta get out of here before I say something else I can't take back.
Yeah. I do need a fucking drink.