Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Noah
Like a Fucking Toddler
“What happened with the blonde, Callahan? Did you take her home?” our goalie, Darren Steele, asks while spotting me in the weight room. He’s currently sporting a mustache, which I hope is for Movember and not a new fixture on his face.
“She was nice,” I say dismissively. I don’t kiss and tell, so my answer would be the same even if I had, but in this case, the blonde left when I said I don’t do relationships, then her friend and I made use of an upstairs bedroom at the party.
Cassidy was out the door before I even had to explain why I wouldn’t be seeing her again.
I never bring girls home. I get names and majors, learn at least a couple of things about them so I’m not a total asshole, but then it’s best if I don’t see them again.
“He came home alone,” David Alvarez shares, his tattooed arms flexed and ready to step in for Michael Lewis, who is pushing it, like he always does.
“Not entirely true,” Mike points out.
“Asshole.” Colton Beckford huffs, struggling with his weight, which makes sense given how much he drank last night.
“What am I missing?” Steele asks, looking to me.
“Colt passed out in the car on the way home, and we didn’t want him to drown in his own vomit, so Callahan carried him into the house,” Mike explains before I can.
“Like a fucking toddler,” Colt grumbles. He’s the unruliest of the freshmen, and I can’t say there’s much difference between him and a two-year-old when he’s had that much to drink, except he was way heavier.
“I tried to fireman carry you, but you kept—”
“What happened to the bro code?” Colt cuts me off before I can explain that he kept wrapping his arms around my neck.
“We’re all bros,” Tanner Burke points out with a grin, looking like he just came in from a jog on Venice beach rather than Vermont in November. He says he runs hot, but he just likes being ogled, which happens more when you’re shirtless.
“Thank God you’re not on the second floor.” I pat Colt on the shoulder as he collapses after his set.
“It’s like Coach knows we had a party last night,” he complains.
“It was Halloween,” Owen Brooks points out.
He spent half his day yesterday FaceTiming with all his nieces and nephews to see their costumes.
One of them asked if she could come to our party instead of hers, Colt promised to personally take care of her, and Owen nearly castrated him.
I don’t think Colt would have made the comment had he known the girl was in high school, but it made me grateful my sister, who dressed up as me, is only eight.
“Also, it was a Saturday,” Joseph Spring remarks.
“We weren’t this bad, were we?” Burke asks him.
They’re both seniors, while I live in a house with Owen, Dave, Mike, and Colt, the freshmen.
Steele is a Junior, like me, and Chris Donovan is a sophomore, but I don’t think any of us partied as much as Colt, even back then.
We lived in dorms, so house parties weren’t as easy, but we also hadn’t made friends with the football team, the frats, sororities…
Every night, Colt has a list from which to choose where he’ll go.
While most of us will do Friday or Saturday, depending on games, he’ll do both, and won’t balk at weeknight parties if the incentives are right.
“Hopefully you’ll recover in time for practice this afternoon.” Spring shakes his head, because as the other offensive winger, he’ll have to take up the slack.
“Fuck,” is Colt’s response.
I call my mom to check in on my way to the library after practice.
“Hey baby, how’s school?” she asks, but there’s screaming in the background, hopefully from my seven-month-old brother and not an actual emergency.
“All good,” I assure her. “Is that Tatum?”
“Yeah, he’s got a lot of energy today. I don’t know how I’m going to wrangle him at Isabelle’s practice.”
The way she says it is performative, like she’s giving herself an excuse. Which I wouldn’t have picked up on, only Izzie did nothing but shrug when I asked her how hockey practice was going without me, which was weird.
“What time is that at?”
My senior year of high school, I’d bring her to the seven a.m. class, because assisting the coaches helped me warm up, then the rink manager let her play in the penalty box during my practice.
Izzie loves the ice, so it worked out perfectly, until I got to Wynchester and had to drive an hour each way at the butt-crack of dawn, rushing back in time for a workout or morning skate.
It was exhausting, and I didn’t think I would be able to keep it up after I became captain, so I was grateful when my mom said she could handle it this year.
“Three-thirty, so we’ve got time,” she assures me, but then there’s a pause, and I can hear the reluctance in her sigh, the hesitation. “Assuming Tatum calms down, but then I really need to—”
I pinch the bridge of my nose and do the math. “I can take her,” I volunteer.
“No, baby, you don’t have to do that,” she says quickly. “We’ll manage.”
But I do have to, now I know that Mom ‘managing’ means Izzie misses out on her activities, which isn’t fair. It’s not like I can’t study when I get home tonight. I’ll be tired, but Iz will be happy.
“It’s fine, I don’t have practice until seven, and it’s been months since I’ve seen her in action. It’ll be fun.”
“That would be amazing, if you’re sure you don’t mind.”
I don’t, in the sense that I would do absolutely anything for my siblings, but my mom sounds so relieved that I’d go even if it was the last place I wanted to be.
“Not at all. I’ll come over now and we can do lunch. Sandwiches from Mama Joy’s?”
“You spoil me. See you soon.”
I cup my hands around my mouth and shout, “Let’s go, Izzie! Woohoo!”, enjoying the way my sister’s eyes go wide with embarrassment, and she glares at me until I get back to the group I’m in charge of.
I’m not the only family member cheering, even though they’re mostly running drills, but I am the only one doing it from the ice.
Which is Izzie’s fault for volunteering me to help coach when one of the dads didn’t show up, and for being so damned talented.
At the skating part, at least. Not that she’s not great at hockey, but she’s way more into figure skating, even if she refuses to acknowledge it.
I’ve taught her all I know, but as much as I would do anything for my sister, I’m not going to go back to figure skating so I can teach her more of it. A year was enough.
“It was great having you today,” the dad in charge thanks me at the end, while the kids get changed. “Your daughter mentioned you coached her morning class?”
“Sister,” I correct with a tight smile. Back when I lived at home, it didn’t feel like there was much of a difference, until I’d compare myself to how our dad was with me, and saw how clearly I was failing her. “I helped coach the last three years, but I can’t do afternoons. My mom brings her.”
He gives me a look that tells me she doesn’t, even if I hadn’t already seen him recognize everyone except my little sister when we arrived. It’s not because Izzie isn’t memorable.
“I hear they’re still short-handed, if ever you wanted to switch back to mornings.
Kid can skate.” He pats me on the back before heading off and a weight settles in my chest, because I can either give up my Sunday mornings or let Izzie give up hockey.
Which isn’t really a choice, but it still fucking sucks.
I return the skates and am about to check my phone when Izzie barrels towards me, and if I wasn’t 6’4” and over 200lbs, she very well could have knocked me over.
Instead, I twirl her around, praising her skills, loving the way her face absolutely lights up, especially when I use specifics.
Dad used to come to all my games and practices, and nothing made me happier than when we dissected hockey on the drive home.
Even criticism was framed like exciting new challenges we could take on next week, but he always made it clear he was proud of me and loved me unconditionally.
Fuck, I miss him.
“Jeremy says his slapshot is better than mine, but I’m working on it,” Izzie shares.
“You were flawless,” I assure her. “Want some ice cream before I drop you off?”
“Do you have time?” she asks, hopefully because she remembers I have practice, and not because I’ve made her feel like I don’t have time for her.
I look at my watch. “Of course.” I smile. “Just don’t tell Mom I let you have dessert before dinner.” I wink before we head out.
I check my phone while we walk and see the Team Chat is active, plus I have a few missed calls. I skim them while I start the car and see Coach asked if practice could be at six instead of seven.
Fuck.
My heart drops, sinking lower as I scroll through every other guy on the team agreeing to the new time. My latest text is from Coach but just to me.
Coach Benson
Practice is at 6 tonight. Hope you can make it, Captain. If not, come by my office on Monday.
As captain, I make it a point to be the first to show up and the last to leave, so I would have been on the ice by 6:30 at the latest, but no way can I get there in the next half hour after ice cream and dropping Izzie off.
“Hey, Iz, would it be okay if we raincheck the ice cream?” I ask her while dialing our mom. “Maybe next weekend?”
I can see her face drop and hate myself for disappointing her, but Mom picks up before I can grovel.
“Hey baby, how was it?”
“Iz is phenomenal,” I tell her, but I hardly get a smile from my sister, more like she’s resigned. “We’re actually on our way back, if that’s okay?”
“Already?”
“Are you not home?”
“I brought Tatum to Doug’s parents’. He’s getting off at five and was going to go get Iz from you, then meet us here for dinner,” she explains, referring to Tatum’s father.
I never know if they’re dating or co-parenting, and this stringing her along makes it hard for me to respect the guy, but I bite my tongue.
Izzie sighs like she’s used to not being a priority, to feeling like an inconvenience.
“I can just wait home alone until he gets there,” she assures me, but while I’m not sure if she’s old enough to be left alone, I do know I don’t want to leave her with that look on her face, especially not because of me.
“Her bedtime is still eight?” I sigh, knowing this is a bad idea, but there isn’t much else I can do.
“That’s the plan,” Mom agrees.
“Cool. Um, I’m gonna bring her with me, then I’ll drive her back after.” Dread forms in the pit of my stomach, because this complicates everything, but Izzie’s face lights up, so whatever consequence Coach gives me will be worth it.
“You sure? What will she do during your game?”
“It’s just a practice.” Which makes it worse, because Coach’s wife is there for a lot of games, and Lacey, Darren’s girlfriend has never missed a home one, but neither usually come to practice. “Coach often brings his granddaughter, so they can hang out together.”
“She’ll love that, baby. You kids have fun, and I can’t wait to see you tonight.”
“Will do,” I assure her. As screwed as I now am, I can’t help but smile at how happy my sister is in the backseat.
“Stick to me, okay?”
I figure Izzie’s too old for me to hold her hand inside the building, but there are a lot of hallways she can get lost in, and we can’t afford the therapy if she wanders into the locker rooms where my teammates hang around with their junk out.
“There’s no one here,” she says in awe.
“We don’t often have people here during practice. Only special ones.”
Izzie smiles like she knows I’m full of shit, but appreciates it, nonetheless.
“Iz, can you sit right here for a few minutes? I’m just going to let my coach know you’re here.”
She nods and takes something out of her princess backpack, which I’m glad she brought. Coach’s office is around the corner, so I head over and knock on the side, ignoring his very serious open-door policy.
“Callahan, glad you could make it.” He gives me a look that’s a cross between relief and annoyance, possibly because I have never not answered my phone for him before, which probably contributed to his so vocally backing me for captain.
“Sorry, I assisted with my sister’s hockey practice and no phones on the ice. Is Liv here?” I ask of his granddaughter.
“No, they added a last-minute mandatory faculty meeting about the whole Berwick debacle, and I didn’t want her here for that.”
“Yeah, of course,” I say like I have any idea what he’s talking about.
“Unless there’s something else, I’ll see you on the ice.”
It’s a clear dismissal, then his phone rings and he looks as stressed as I feel, so I nod and walk out without asking him about Izzie.
Instead, I pull up our group text.
Wolves Team Chat
Me
Does anyone have someone watching practice today?
Spring
Nope.
Donovan
Looking for an audience?
Colt
Are you going to make us do TikToks?
David
Hell no.
To both.
I get three more NOs before Darren calls.
“What’s up man? Did this become a closed practice or do you want people?”
“Is Lacey coming?” I ask hopefully.
“No, she went to that haunted house on Chestnut.”
“True, that was today.” She’s been talking about it for weeks, because they go all out for Halloween, and today is her only chance to see it in daylight, which I feel ruins the magic, but she’s always liked peeking behind the curtain.
“I can try to get her to come, but it’s a ways, and—”
“No, it’s fine, don’t worry about it,” I stop him from ruining her day. She probably wouldn’t get here in time anyway.
“You sure?”
“All good,” I lie. “See you soon.”
I hang up and am about to suck it up and go ask Coach if Izzie can hang out in the penalty box, but I haven’t heard her since I left his office. I round the corner to say I’ll be another minute, but while the princess bag is still there, my sister isn’t.