Chapter 3
“Mr. Stanley Cup has a problem,” Erik declares, bursting into the room with that stupid plastic crown on his head. He hasn’t taken it off since he won the Hockey Fun Run three days ago, and at this point, I’m convinced he showers in it. Might even sleep in it.
Either way, the whole look screams, ‘I missed out on prom king, so now everyone else has to suffer.’
I don’t give him more than a second glance. If I do, that means I’m validating the nickname—Mr. Stanley Cup. My father’s nickname. God, I hate it. I don’t want to be called that. We might have the same cheekbones, but that doesn’t mean I want to be remembered by his legacy branding.
I want to make my own.
“Unbelievable,” Erik gripes, waltzing through the kitchen before he sprawls himself across the back couch, effectively declaring it his throne since no one else can get around his 6’4” frame.
Not that any of us wants to sit there anyway.
No, we’ve all been giving it a wide berth since Alex caught Erik getting head on that couch last week.
“I make a royal announcement.” Oh, Erik’s still talking. “And you peasants don’t even blink. Fine. I guess this is a crisis I’ll have to deal with on my own.”
“Were you planning on elaborating on the crisis, or is this just your weekly reminder that you crave attention?” Dash deadpans from the armchair, his gaze not moving from the TV. Can’t say I blame him—Tate Sorenson is about to score his three-hundredth homer.
Erik gasps, clutching his chest. “I was pausing for dramatic effect.” He flourishes his hand. “But fine, since patience is dead in this dorm, I’ll get to the point.” He clears his throat. “Scotty can’t get laid.”
Silence.
That’s what he’s met with when he looks at Cade, Dash, me, Alex, and Brooks. Literal silence—because none of us want to deal with his drama today.
“Erik,” I warn after a beat.
He doesn’t even flinch at my glare. Of course he doesn’t. Instead, he raises his hands. “Look, SC. I didn’t want to call you out in front of the boys—”
“And yet—” Alex pipes up from the kitchen, where he’s spreading peanut butter on toast next to his pile of notes.
The guy’s been studying them religiously over breakfast even though the semester has only just started.
“—that’s literally what you’re doing, and wearing that crown doesn’t make it noble, or less weird. ”
Erik’s mouth drops open, his crown tilting as his gaze flits between us.
“Really. You’re calling me out now? Me? The only person who’s even been remotely successful at bringing a girl back is me.
” His eyes widen, and he pulls himself up.
“Wait a minute, is this a team-wide issue? Is that why you’re all pissed about the couch?
I expected issues for Scotty—girls are afraid of his fame—but you? ”
He sizes up our dirty-blond teammate and lets out a disbelieving laugh. “I mean…seriously? I thought there’d be an entire line of girls vying for the McDonnell dick like it was a Black Friday sale.”
“You know what?” Brooks says from the corner, scratching his immaculately trimmed beard. His eyes are dark, and he’s no doubt judging every single one of us. “I’m going to formally opt out of this conversation.”
“Motion denied.” Erik points dramatically at Brooks. “The Covey Crushers is a brotherhood. It’s a sacred union, and nothing builds trust like helping Mr. Stanley Cup get laid after the most humiliating meet cute of all time.”
“Wait,” Cade raises his finger, watches Tate Sorenson strike out, and then draws his attention to Erik. “Is this about the girl from the fountain?”
“Yes!” Erik claps. “The Queen of the Dripocalypse, if you will.” I roll my eyes. Only he would be so extra when describing a girl I accidentally pushed into a fountain with my dick.
“Her name is Laura, and Scotty barely spoke to her,” Alex says, shooting me this soft, sympathetic look that feels like a pat on the head. As much as I like him, and think he’s a solid linemate, he’s absolutely not helping the situation.
“You’re kidding, right? He pushed her into a fountain and admitted to staring at her in class,” Erik counters.
I blow out a breath, hating that yet again I’m the focus of everyone’s jokes.
Fantastic.
Hopefully this will all blow over when Erik realizes that I’m never going to see Laura again…wait. Scratch that. I will see her again. She’s in my English Lit class, and even though we both love The Princess Bride, there’s no way we’re going to end up besties after this.
“You know what?” Cade says with one eyebrow raised. “Maybe Erik has a point. If Scotty was really willing to lose the Hockey Fun Run just to talk to her, maybe this is something we need to discuss.”
“That’s not why he lost,” Erik insists with a bark of laughter.
“It's exactly why he lost,” Dash fires back. “Scotty’s too damn good to fall short.”
I take Dash’s words as a compliment. Maybe I am proving myself here, albeit slowly with Erik on my case.
“I tripped,” I mutter.
“Into fate. Face first.” Erik grins, his eyebrows waggling, but then he thinks about it. “Actually, more like dick-first, since you slapped her in the face.”
Brooks coughs to hide a laugh. “Wait, that part of the rumor is true? I thought you just accidentally pulled her in.”
“I didn't—” I start, then sigh, dragging a hand through my hair. “Yes. No. Technically. But it wasn't intentional.”
Even Dash can't hide his amusement, and that guy’s about as expressive as a granite countertop. “Dude.”
“Dude is right,” Erik says triumphantly. “Our boy really went full frontal on the only girl who doesn’t want an encore.”
“Okay, that's enough.” I stand and start pacing, hating how just like when I’m on my Dad’s show, my every move is being dissected. “It was an accident.”
Erik holds up his hands. “I'm just saying, what are the odds? The universe clearly wants you to bang this girl.”
“No. The universe clearly wants me in prison,” I mutter.
“Stop,” Dash says louder. “This isn’t our business. Being a brotherhood doesn’t mean messing with each other’s love lives.”
“Yeah,” Alex drawls, taking a huge bite of toast as though he’s narrating my downfall on the Food Network.
“Let’s just let Scotty get over one of the most humiliating moments of his life.
Honestly, it’s almost as bad as that episode where he ripped his pants doing a victory spin after being crowned Homecoming King. ”
Again, Alex? Seriously, the man offers the emotional support of a car alarm. He knows I hate talking about the show but often talks about my high school experiences like he was living it right alongside me.
That’s the worst part about being ‘famous.’
These people grew up with me; I just didn’t grow up with them.
“But that's exactly why it's a crisis,” Erik insists. “We need a plan.” He rubs his hands together. Why do I feel like anything he plans will destroy any chance I have of talking to Laura ever again?
“No, we don’t.” I can’t do this anymore.
I can’t argue with my teammates over this.
“I’m going to get some air,” I say, grabbing my jacket and ignoring all eye contact with Erik—just in case he takes it as a sign I want him to join.
“You guys can stay here and continue plotting my social demise if that’s really what gets you going, but just FYI, I’m not going to implement any of it. ”
When I’m out in the hallway, the freedom I feel is short-lived, because I can already hear the other team members walking down the hall.
I take a deep breath, staring down at my shoes, mentally preparing myself to smile so I can get out of here with as few questions as possible.
I stride down the hallway, making a beeline for the stairs.
Before I get there, I’ve high-fived six different guys and had a conversation about my choice of hairstyle in season three of my dad’s show.
I don’t even know these people’s names. They aren’t on my line, and most of them won’t make the roster, but I play along anyway and smile. If I don’t, someone will go on social media and talk about the experience.
No. I’m the nice guy…just like my dad.
When I’m down the stairs and through the lobby doors, I take a deep breath, desperate for some air that doesn’t smell like hockey pucks, over-hyped confidence, and everyone else’s expectations.
It’s still hard to find.
What with the girls sitting on the bench opposite the building, watching me with their phones up, directly aimed at me.
So far, I haven’t found a place at this college where I can just be myself.
Back home, we have this treehouse that is so far in the backyard the cameras couldn’t follow me.
It’s where I went to think, to hang out with my real friends, and where I took my girlfriends when I didn’t want the world to know about them.
I thought the reality TV cameras were bad, but it turns out I’m still living with them. Only now, I’m not edited to look better than I am.
“Scotty!” one of the girls screams, making the other elbow her and giggle.
“Alison! Shh.”
Honestly, it’s fucking insulting that I get this much attention. I don’t deserve it. I’ve been here three weeks and haven’t proven to anyone that I’m worthy of it. I’m just a nepo baby who’s having to live in his father’s shadow because I love the game as much as him.
I should’ve quit like my sister, Amelia, did, but I love skating too much. It’s part of me.
My phone rings, and when I see my dad’s face cover the screen, my smile drops.
I contemplate answering, wondering if I can handle his level of positivity today.
It’s not going to matter either way. If I don’t answer, he’ll keep calling until I do. Or worse, he’ll get one of the security guys, probably Dan, to come and check on me even though I specifically told him I don’t want any of that attention here.
I just want to be a normal college student, experiencing it the same way as everyone else.
Although, when I hear the girls giggling in the background, it doesn’t seem like it’s possible anymore.
My phone continues ringing.