Chapter 11
Twenty Minutes Earlier
I’m smiling. Actually smiling, and I can’t stop.
All because I had one text exchange with Laura. I’m going to see her today, and suddenly all I want to do is wait in that Covey rec center parking lot for the next two hours just to see her when she first opens the door.
To be her knight in shining armor and take her out for the first time.
Fuck practice. Maybe I should do just that. Coach could bench me for life, but I’d be willing to take the risk.
I could take her to the drive-in across town, let her curl up next to me with popcorn in her lap. Maybe after, we could drive up to Vista Point where the whole city feels quiet and far away, but if we do that, does it look like I’m just trying to get into her pants?
And yeah, I might really want to finish what we started on that swing—badly—but that’s not why I want to see her on my birthday.
I just want to be around her.
I want more time where it’s just us with no distractions.
No assignments. No cameras. No teammates. No legacy.
Just me and Laura with no expectations.
I hesitate the closer I get to practice. I really don’t want to go. No doubt I’m going to have to explain why I bailed on my own father last night, and I have no doubts Erik is going to talk about some stupid plan he’s hatched.
Maybe I could just take the day off.
I’m so lost in thought that I hardly notice Alex and Brooks until they’re walking on either side of me, forcing me into the hockey rink.
So much for getting out.
“Happy birthday, Scotty,” Brooks says.
“Got any plans to celebrate?” Alex asks casually, slinging an arm over my shoulders as Brooks opens the door to the rink.
“How did you both know it's my birthday?” I've never mentioned it to anyone on the team, deliberately keeping it quiet to avoid exactly this kind of attention.
Another knowing look passes between the two of them. “We have our ways.”
Translation: my father.
I have no doubt that when I snuck out of the locker room early yesterday that my dad mentioned it. The man can’t keep a secret to save his life. He’d want a loud celebration at the bar, and filled with everyone documenting it.
All I want is some peace and time alone with my girlfriend.
Shit.
Did I just say that? Did I just jump the gun and call her my girlfriend? Are we even boyfriend-girlfriend? We're dating, that much is for sure, but I don't think we're in that serious a territory just yet…no matter how much I'd like to believe it.
Before I can ask any more questions, Brooks hooks an arm around mine and pulls me past the locker room, toward a maintenance hallway I've never noticed before.
“Um, guys. Practice is that way,” I point behind us, slowing down.
“Yeah,” Alex drawls out. “There's been a change of plans.” His grip on my shoulder tightens slightly.
“Guys, I can't miss practice. Not today. Coach will kill us, and my dad—”
“Relax,” Brooks cuts in. “It's all cleared with Coach.”
“What is?” I ask suspiciously.
Instead of answering, they guide me through a door marked “Staff Only” and into a dimly lit room filled with cleaning supplies and maintenance equipment. As the door closes behind us, I turn to face them, bewildered.
“Just checking—am I supposed to be getting kissed right now? Because every other closet detour I’ve experienced involved significantly more enthusiasm.”
“Put this on,” Brooks says, holding up a blindfold, completely unbothered by my jokes.
I stare at the strip of black fabric in disbelief. “You’ve got to be kidding me. I thought we were done with all the weird hazing shit after the fountain. I'm really not in the mood—”
Brooks crosses his arms, fixing me with that intimidating stare he usually reserves for opponents. “You've got two options. Put on the blindfold willingly, or we make you wear it. Either way, you're coming with us.”
I look between the two of them. “Come on, guys. This is ridiculous. We need to practice. I need to make up for how horribly I played last night.”
“Sorry, dude,” Alex says. “This is what happens when you don’t plan your own birthday party. It means we have to do it for you.”
“Fine,” I mutter, taking the blindfold. “But if this ends with me naked in the fountain again, I swear to God—”
“Just put it on, Hendricks,” Brooks interrupts, a small smile playing on his lips.
Reluctantly, I tie the fabric around my eyes, plunging myself into darkness. Someone adjusts it, tightening the knot, and a moment later I feel a soft sweep of air against my face. A hand waving, I assume, making sure I can’t cheat.
“Confirmed. He can't see,” Alex says.
Then someone's hands are on my shoulders, and I'm being guided forward, I assume out of the maintenance closet.
“Watch your step,” Alex warns as we start moving.
“This is ridiculous,” I grumble, but allow myself to be led through what feels like several doorways and down multiple corridors. When the cold air hits me, I realize we've walked straight back out of the rink. “Is this going to take long? I have plans tonight that I really can't miss.”
“Plans with who?”
“With—” I stop myself, not wanting to immediately out Laura as the girl I'm dating. I promised her I'd keep this a secret, and I can't let it slip day one. “—my dad,” I answer instead.
“Ah, don't worry. He'll understand.”
When they shove me into the backseat of my car, I lose my patience. “Guys, I left my phone in my bag. I need my phone.”
Namely, I need to be able to call Laura and let her know I might be a little late.
“Relax, Scotty. You’ll enjoy this. I promise,” Brooks says as though being kidnapped in broad daylight is on my bucket list.
I slump back in defeat, already over it. I wanted today to be normal. No surprises. No team theatrics, and definitely no one finding out it’s my birthday.
“Sorry about this,” Alex mutters.
“About wh—” The words get stuck in my throat, along with the sock Alex shoved in my mouth.
Fuck. I hope it’s a sock and not someone’s ancient jockstrap.
“Almost there, birthday boy,” I hear Brooks say from somewhere to my left.
I’ve been through my fair share of team pranks before—a glitter-bombed skate bag, a shrink-wrapped car, sticky skate blades—but this one? Yeah, this one is the most annoying by a landslide.
I don’t want team bonding today.
I don’t want to be dragged somewhere with a blindfold on.
I want Laura, her voice in my ear, her hand in mine.
Instead, I’m stuck here with a mouth full of maybe-sock.
When the car finally stops, Alex and Brooks haul me out, guiding me through what I think is a parking lot. I’m half-stumbling, half being dragged across uneven pavement, tripping over cracks I can’t see.
My shoulder bumps a doorframe, then a wall, then something soft I don’t want to identify.
By the time they steer me forward again, I’m bracing for another collision, but nothing comes.
I’m almost thankful when they sit me on a hard chair because at least I know I can’t fall into someone.
I’m seconds from clawing the blindfold off when something cold snaps around my wrists.
Click.
Handcuffs.
“Mmmph!” I try to shout, thrashing against the restraints, the sock muffling everything.
“Oh—my bad,” Alex snickers, and someone finally rips the sock from my mouth.
I cough, then growl, “Seriously? This isn’t even remotely funny. What the hell are you doing?”
The only response I get is howls of laughter from my team.
I’m so fucking pissed that I try to wrench myself out of the chair, but I can’t. They’re holding me down.
When the blindfold is taken off, I blink rapidly, trying to adjust to the dim, red-soaked lighting.
I freeze, knowing exactly where we are.
Behind Closed Doors.
The goddamn burlesque club.
Fuck's sake. All this to take me to a burlesque club for my birthday. Idiots. I'm surrounded by fucking idiots.
A sudden burst of white light blinds me for a second. I flinch…then realize it’s not a stage light.
It’s one of my father’s cameras, and Jerry is standing right beside it.
Fantastic.
Perfect.
This is exactly what I wanted: my birthday “surprise” filmed for the whole world because my dad apparently thought this would make great content.
My jaw clenches.
Of course he was in on this.
I want fucking out of this.
I breathe out, taking in the room when my eyes have adjusted to the light. Not Behind Closed Doors, but a room at a rec center with balloons all around me. Every single freshman is here. Every single one of them except Erik.
They’re all grinning like idiots, waiting for a reaction from me.
What are they expecting? A standing ovation from me when I’ve been cuffed to a chair.
Once again, idiots.
“Guys, wh-”
“Quiet!” someone says. “It's starting!”
The lights dim further and some doors open. It’s dark, but I know those wide-set shoulders anywhere. Erik.
I can’t see the next figure who walks out because Erik is blocking them.
Then I hear it.
A soft hum at first.
A breath.
Then a note.
'Happy birthday to you…'
My stomach drops.
No.
No. No. No.
I know that voice. I’ve replayed it a thousand times in my head. In the car…on the ice…in the goddamn shower. It’s a voice that’s been in every single dream since I first heard it.
Laura.
“Where is she?” I demand, jerking against the cuffs, but no one answers.
No one even looks at me.
They’re all focused on her, wherever the hell she is.
I try to stand again, my every muscle straining, but I can’t move.
I can’t fucking move.
'Happy birthday to you…'
“Laura.”
Her name falls out of me, weak and useless, because the second I see her, I lose my breath. She's dressed as Princess Blanca—everyone knows it's her—but she can't know she's doing this for me. There's no way she'd agree to it.
'Happy birthday to Junior…”
Fuck.
She's making her way to me now; her eyes focused on not dropping the cake instead of looking at me.
'Happy birthday to you…'
She holds the cake in front of me, and then she lifts her head.
The candles flicker, illuminating my face, and her eyes lock with mine.
I see everything.