Chapter 13
After practice, we all file into the locker room.
Coach didn’t bother dragging things out after the rink-wide freeze-up.
He grumbled about focus once or twice, then waved us off early.
I hit the showers for a quick scrub down.
The hot water’s barely enough to thaw the ache in my legs.
We change fast, the usual sounds filling the room.
Lockers clanging shut, wet towels hitting the tile, someone swearing about forgetting deodorant.
“Wanna head back to my place?” Rafe asks, rubbing a towel through his hair. “Works for me,” I say, tossing my towel into the rolling hamper at the end of the row.
I glance at Archer as he yanks his shirt over his head. “You down?”
“Yeah, might as well. Got nothin’ else to do.” He slams his locker shut and tosses his bag over his shoulder.
Not long after leaving practice, we’re pulling into Rafe’s driveway. It’s wide, with a little off-to-the-side section for extra cars, no blocking each other in. Smart setup. Rich people always think of shit like that.
I hop out of my truck, Archer right behind me, and we head up the front steps and through the door.
Morella’s car’s already in its usual spot. Friday night routine: home early, probably in bed with a face mask and a rom-com. Saving all that fire for Saturday night parties. I laugh under my breath.
“What’s so funny?” Rafe asks, slinging his gym bag over the back of the couch as we step into the living room.
“Nothing,” I say, the grin already forming. “Just thinking about how you couldn’t keep your eyes off Olivia during practice.”
I drop onto the couch, ready to stir the pot. Because if Rafe thinks I’m letting that go? Not a chance.
“Shut up. You have no idea what you’re talking about,” Rafe snaps.
He turns his back on us and disappears into the kitchen, heading for the den.
That hallway off the kitchen is short, just a narrow stretch between the fridge and the pantry, but it leads to a room that might as well be a cave.
No windows, always cold, always dim. Like a basement someone forgot to bury.
I get up from the couch and follow. Entering the room I flop down onto the couch without a second thought.
Archer scowls, his spot, but I’m too beat to care.
He grabs one of the armchairs instead, and Rafe takes the other.
He sits with his elbows on his knees, fingers laced, head bowed like he’s about to pray.
“I honestly don’t know, okay?” he mutters. “She just… she gets under my skin.”
“Mine too,” I say, smirking as I lean back and lace my fingers behind my head. “Difference is, I like it.”
Rafe huffs out something between a laugh and a scoff. “Of course you do. You like anything that doesn’t like you back.”
I grin wider. “Harsh. Not untrue, but harsh.”
He shakes his head, staring at the floor like it might have answers. “It’s not like that. She’s… different.”
“Yeah,” I say, dropping my arms and sitting up slightly. “That’s what makes it so fun.”
“I don’t want it to be fun,” Rafe mutters. “I want it to stop.”
There’s a pause and silence between us.
“You’re screwed,” I tell him eventually. “She looked right at you today. You felt it. Don’t lie.”
Rafe doesn’t respond.
“I think you get under her skin,” Archer says from across the room.
I look over just in time to see the shift in him. His brow tightens, his fingers start tapping on his knee. His eyes flick toward the kitchen like they caught something none of us did.
“Arch?” I sit forward, pulse lifting just slightly. “What’s up?”
Rafe looks over too, eyes narrowing. “You good?”
“I…” Archer hesitates, like he doesn’t quite know what to say. Then he stands abruptly. “I’ll be right back.
He leaves the room without another word, leaving us confused.