Chapter 7 #2
I bristled, even fisting my hands, but my father’s voice lingered inside of my mind.
“Get your head out of your ass, son. You’re going to experience hate in their world.
People fear what they don’t understand. You’re not like them and it makes many of them nervous.
Let’s face it. You’re not entirely human, but you are a man with a heart and soul, with blood and bone, with emotions and fears.
Let that shine for them. Not your wolf abilities.
Be the man we’ve all fought to become, to be allowed to walk freely among full humans. ”
The speech was one I knew well. How our ancestors had fought for freedom and rights. Yeah, yeah. I got it. That just meant I couldn’t put my fist into my coach’s face. At least not now.
What my father had been trying to tell me was to take the high road whenever I had the opportunity. Doing so would make me the better man.
I wasn’t honestly sure he was right, but at this point, I also didn’t want to hear my father’s snarls if and when I told him I’d gotten kicked off the new team. Oh, hell, no.
“I just want to play hockey, Coach. I know I was shit today. I think I’m just nervous. You know, being with a new bunch of guys. That’s it. I’m happy to be here. I plan on making this a winning team. With your help, of course.”
I wasn’t good at sucking up.
He eyed me warily, chuckling as soon as he dropped and shook his head. “Keep your day job, Steven. Don’t try and become an actor. However, I do believe you want to play so we’ll try this again. Just do me a favor. Don’t become a goddamn werewolf in the middle of one of our games. Alright?”
He was still laughing as he walked off.
Meanwhile, my fists were still clenched.
“I’m a shifter, not a goddamn werewolf.” However, there was no point in arguing the semantics.
Fury tore through me as I stood in front of my locker, staring at the limited contents as if they’d somehow provide me with answers as to why I couldn’t focus and every second my skates felt like they were made of wood.
And reckless.
Hell, my feet had moved too fast for my brain. The worst part was I had no memories of what had seemed so important to take my mind off the game.
None.
I grabbed my electric razor. Given how fast my fucking facial hair grew, my skin became irritated by the constant scrape of a Bic razor.
With the slight whir covering my low, husky growls, I proceeded to shave.
My anger was so raw, my tense muscles were causing me to do a pretty shitty job, but it would need to do.
“You okay?” Tony was one of the few guys on the team who talked to me. Likely because he had to since he’d been forced to accept me as his roommate. Sure, it was all meant to be temporary, but at least I’d had a place to land instead of a hotel when I’d arrived in Florida.
My funds were limited and I wouldn’t get paid for a couple of weeks. If I remained on the goddamn team. I could get some money from my parents, but doing so would make me seem weak.
If I wanted to lead a pack of my own one day, I had to be a man.
“Just perfect.” I continued shaving, my hot breath fogging the tiny mirror attached to my locker door.
“You can’t let the pressure get to you.”
I glanced at the right winger, snorting when I did. He’d made his mark on the team, getting just enough accolades he was almost never on the radar. “Yeah, well, I’ll do my best.”
He started to walk away then scratched his head. “Look, I hate to do this to you, but I need you to find another place to stay.”
“I’m working on it. I went to a place today.” But a hot little woman kept me from going inside. The thought of living next to the feisty girl was what fantasies were made of and yet would be another thorn in my side. While the kiss had been something special, her attitude was shit.
Yeah. She’d accused me of destroying her flowers on purpose. Now, why would I do that? I could still see her face and that wicked smile a split second before she turned on the water.
If I was so angry with her, why was I rubbing my lips and thinking about the awesome kiss?
After clicking off the shaver, I tossed it onto the top shelf. There. I’d followed orders.
“No, I mean as soon as possible.”
When I snapped my head in Tony’s direction, I expected to see fear.
That was everyone else’s reaction. Maybe I was eager to see terror so I could be the asshole they all thought I was deep down inside.
“Why? You don’t want a wolf living with you?
Afraid your girlfriend will prefer a man with two cocks? Oh, sorry. A furry dude?”
His expression went from jovial to as if I’d assaulted him physically.
“You need to get that fucking chip off your goddamn shoulder, Steve. I don’t know who you think you are, but you’re not that goddamn special.
Your problem is that you’re angry at the world.
Not that it’s any of your goddamn business, but my dad called.
My cousin who’s had a hard time in life is looking to start over again in Tampa.
Dad asked if I could keep a look out for my cuz for a few weeks. Sorry, dude, but family comes first.”
He gave me another hateful look, throwing me all kinds of shade before walking away.
As soon as he walked out, I smashed my fist against the locker several times. At this point, I didn’t give a shit what kind of damage I did.
When I was finished throwing the tantrum, I hissed as I placed both hands on the locker. What in the fuck was I doing with my life? He was right. I was furious with the world. I hated everything and everyone in it.
Especially myself.
Yanking off my jersey and grabbing my street clothes, I continued grousing under my breath as I replayed the practice one too many times. Leading to complete frustration.
And rage.
Just like what I’d experienced on the ice.
Once I was dressed, the sound of laughter coming from the showers finally tipped the scale.
I slammed the locker door, intent on getting the hell away from the team. But the anger caught me by surprise and I smashed the door again.
And again.
And again.
The statement about not knowing my own strength was a fucking lie.
I knew it well, completely cognizant I could bench-press more than twice a normal human.
I could also put my fist through brick walls and my fastball had been clocked at two hundred and nine miles per hour, which was the single reason I’d stopped playing baseball.
And running? Well, forget about it.
Try a two-minute mile, easy-peasy.
That’s why the entire frame of the door was bent as if it were simple plastic and the locker itself had holes when I was finished.
My display of rage was captured by someone’s camera. I felt it. I noticed the flash. I snarled when I turned, flashing my canines without thinking.
While six of the team members stood in the doorway.
Was I close to shifting into my wolf? Well, the stories on social media would likely say fur had already sprouted on my arms and the back of my neck. But of course, that was just another complete fabrication.
I was a control freak and hadn’t shifted for over a year.
Not even for fun like other shifters did when stressed and needing an outlet.
Back home in Chicago, there were specifically designed parks designated for shifter hunting experiences.
Sadly, various cities had ruled against allowing such parks to be built.
So what was a growing boy to do in times like this when both sex and violence were off the table?
Huffing, I glared at my teammates, offering them one additional salacious photograph they could add to their collection before grabbing my jacket.
I hadn’t arrived in Tampa to make friends. I’d never consider this place my home. There was nothing other than hockey to keep me here.
Storming through the building, I almost made it to the exit when I heard a familiar noise.
I chuckled as I headed toward it and the ice, standing only a few feet away.
As a kid, I’d been so drawn to the ice my parents had barely managed to take me home.
Even as young as three, I remembered fighting to take a ride on the Zamboni machine.
How many times had the goofy kid done so over the years, even learning how to operate one?
I leaned over the railing, studying the way the driver maneuvered the boxy vehicle that reminded me of a beautiful beetle.
In my mind, Danny Wright was an artist, using the machine to paint a new glistening surface of ice.
The machine hummed a low and steady tune and as it passed, a shimmering, wet sheen stood in its wake.
Beautiful and fresh, inviting in a way that few other things were.
Since I’d arrived in town, I’d usually found myself standing in this same position, watching him work while being completely mesmerized. That’s why when he passed ever so slowly, he waved. He was just finishing up, today’s work completed in record time.
And for some reason, I was a more than a little sad the machine wouldn’t keep me company for a little while longer.
As he drove away, I hung my head. While I didn’t come from a huge immediate family, within the world of shifters, our packs were also our families. There was no one from my pack located within hundreds of miles.
No parks.
No recreational areas designed for shifters to blow off some steam.
Hell, even the gyms sported hundreds of beautiful people, but none of them with Canis lupus in their bloodlines.
Well, fuck me. There I went feeling sorry for myself again.
My mother would look me in the eye for a full thirty seconds to ensure she had my attention before launching into me that I had no reason on God’s green earth to feel sorry for myself.
She would then remind me that she brought me into this world and she could take me out. Shifter parents and their pups presented an entirely different dynamic than humans and their offspring.