Chapter 7
SEVEN
DYLAN
I’M OFFICIALLY KICKED off the hockey team.
I knew it was coming, but this morning, I received an email from the board of discipline detailing my new restrictions: no practices, no ice time unless it’s approved by Director Alan Reed, no attending games.
The reality of that is even more clear when I walk into the DU Sports Clinic to see the headline staring right at me.
ROYALLY BUSTED: DALTON’S HOCKEY STUD KICKED OFF THE ICE FOLLOWING FAILED DRUG TEST
Summer Preston, Aiden’s girlfriend and my only friend who’s not an athlete or in a frat, stands behind reception, frowning at the latest Dalton Royal Press before crumpling it and tossing it in the trash.
She texted earlier, asking me to meet her here before our library study session.
It was just after I got the suspension email.
“They’re calling me a stud? I think someone at the paper has a crush on me,” I say.
Summer shakes her head. “I wish you’d told me, D. My dad knows the dean, he could’ve helped.”
Yeah, I highly doubt that. Lukas Preston hates me.
More than he hates Aiden, and that’s saying something, because he’s the one fucking his daughter.
But last month when we visited Toronto, I wasn’t prepared for how hot—beautiful—Summer’s mom is.
A few drinks in, and I couldn’t stop flirting.
Aiden kicked me under the table a bunch, but making her laugh felt like earning those tiny gold stars that my kindergarten teacher used to hand out.
So asking NHL legend Lukas Preston for help was out of the question.
“Can’t do much now,” I say, pointing to the paper she just tossed.
“Don’t worry, I stole every copy.” Summer hikes a thumb to the mountain of newspapers teetering on the ledge.
A smile tugs at my lips at the gesture. “Thanks, but I’m sure Kian’s big mouth spread the news already.”
Someone groans. It’s Kian carrying another batch of papers. “I just had a two-hour philosophy lecture and then scoured campus for these newspapers. Please don’t yell at me.” He drops them with a thud by the recycling.
Summer laughs, then turns to me. “Well, good luck talking to Aiden when he comes home tomorrow.”
Crap. When Aiden was still at Dalton, he didn’t just lecture me as captain—he worried as a friend, his clear disappointment hitting harder than his words ever could. Now with his preseason calf-strain injury sidelining him, he’s coming back to rest and be with Summer.
Kian’s eyes light up. “Oh shit, Cap’s coming! We’ve got to clean his room and the house.”
“His room is clean. I’ve been sleeping in there,” Summer says.
“Right, I love overhearing your conversations with Aiden from across the hall. They’re my favorite bedtime stories,” Kian deadpans. “But it’ll be like old times. Especially if he’s staying for your birthdays.”
The reminder of my birthday creates a pit in my stomach. This year, Summer and I are celebrating together since both our birthdays fall on Halloween. Everyone’s excited.
Everyone except me.
After welcome week, parties are just loud reminders of my failed drug test. And with Kilner’s insistence that I find something worthwhile to prove I’m not just some stoner, I plan on being on my best behavior.
Because I’ve given everything to hockey, convinced it would lead somewhere real, only to watch it all disappear as quickly as the smoke blew past my lips.
“Can we go now?” Kian says, already at the door. “I need to study.”
The guy sitting in the waiting area looks deathly ill, and he mutters something to Kian about closing the door because he’s cold.
“One sec, I gotta talk to Dr. Müller first.” Summer rushes off, and Kian says he’s going to the bathroom. It’s right then my phone rings. The drug test news has spread like wildfire. My parents probably know and are trying to reach me. But this time Ada’s name flashes on the screen.
“Suddenly, I’m the most popular girl in school,” my sister says.
“You heard?” Way to set a good example, Dylan. Though it’s not a worry, because Ada Donovan is a genius. She’s sixteen and studying biology at a Boston STEM academy.
Ada laughs, and she sounds so much like my mom, it cuts like barbed wire. “You mean my brother being labeled a pothead? Yup. Mom even called, and I tried to assure her everything was okay. But I haven’t seen you in forever, Dyl. What’s going on with you?”
“I’m fine. It was a stupid mistake that’s not going to happen again.”
“Did it have anything to do with Dad’s latest display of fabricated affection?” she asks.
See? She’s too smart. “Mom seems to be on board with it. But it doesn’t matter. I’m not going.” If my mom wants to stay with him, I won’t stand in the way anymore. “But I’ll see you during break, Ada, I promise. I just need to figure out this mess.”
“Fine,” she says sadly. “You know, sometimes I miss skating with you because we got to spend so much time together while practicing and for competitions. Though I’d rather forget when that scout asked if you wanted to ditch me and go solo.”
I wince. “You were good; he was an idiot.” Ada and I did pair skating growing up. We weren’t half bad, but when I found hockey and she found her textbooks, skating drifted.
“Liar. I was awful, and you were so good it was annoying. I hated skating, and I only did it because of Mom.” She laughs. “Do you still do it? I know you live and breathe hockey or whatever, but do you?”
“Haven’t really had the time,” I say. Skating always came easy to me, and I don’t think I ever really left it behind. I get enough glares from Kilner when I mess around on the ice and do a little show for the home crowd.
“Well, you have all the time now,” she says. “Maybe even enough to call every now and again. I’m always here if you need to talk or fill me in on all your college parties.”
“Nice try.”
“Worth a shot,” she mutters. “Oh, and tell Kian I haven’t forgotten about him. He texted me that I was picking favorites between my brothers.”
“He’s just sensitive.”
“You mean like always?”
I laugh. “Exactly.”
Just as Ada hangs up, an arm brushes mine when someone stands beside me.
“Pickup for Sierra,” she says, and the pharmacy technician in the back smiles and waves. But I wouldn’t have noticed any of that if not for the dark-haired figure skater scribbling her name onto the sign-in sheet.
The beginnings of a smirk form on my lips. “Sierra, huh?”
She freezes, and her eyes widen. But then that tiny fire sparks when she looks at me. “Dylan, huh?”
I didn’t expect to like the sound of my name on her lips this much. “Been doing your homework, I see. Did you go home and look me up?” I ask, leaning against the reception desk. “Find any good pictures?”
“Yeah, I have the perfect one taped to a dartboard.”
Is it bad that that turns me on? Ever since her skate blade comment, I think I’ve dreamed of it more times than I care to admit. But that might be because of my current dry spell. “You know, I’d bet you’d land your jumps if you spent a little less time checking me out.”
Her jaw tightens as she glances impatiently toward the technician. “Great talk, Coach. Let’s never do it again.”
“I kind of like it when you call me Coach.”
She deadpans, “Yeah? Is that what gets you going? Being referred to as a forty-five-year-old man?”
“Kilner is not forty-five.”
“I never said Kilner. But good to know that’s who you fantasize about.” She raises a perfect brow.
“You haven’t seen him in the weight room, then.”
“Stop.” She shudders. “He’s like a dad to me.”
“I think you mean DILF.”
Sierra gags. “He’s my best friend’s dad. So, no, I do not mean DILF.”
I pause for minute. I had no idea Kilner had a daughter at Dalton. But I shake off the thought, focusing instead on the way Sierra grimaces. “That hasn’t stopped anyone. Pretty sure it adds to the fun.”
“Are you speaking from personal experience? Slept with a lot of your best friends’ dads, have you?” She smiles like she finds herself funny.
I stare at her mouth for an indecent amount of time. Too indecent even for me. “You’re smiling, Sierra. Are you enjoying my company?”
“It’s either this or I sit next to the guy spreading the plague all over the waiting room.” The sick guy groans loudly when I glance over at him.
“I’m flattered.”
“Don’t be,” she says. “I’ll bruise your fragile ego.”
“You’d do a lot more damage than just a bruise, baby.”
She raises a brow. “Are you flirting with me?”
“Yes.” I grin. “Is it working?”
“Ms. Romanova, your prescription is ready.” The receptionist’s voice cuts through Sierra’s heated green gaze. Sierra takes the prescription, avoiding eye contact as she tucks it in her bag.
“See you around, Romanova.”
“Walk into traffic, Donovan,” she says in a singsong voice, tossing a razor-edged grin over her shoulder.
I’m still laughing when the door closes behind her. Summer strides back in, her arms loaded with textbooks, which she unceremoniously dumps into mine.
She watches me curiously. “What’s got you smiling so much?”