49. Kyle
KYLE
It’s mid-morning, that quiet lull between the breakfast rush and the lunch crowd.
The cafeteria’s not empty, but it’s not packed either—just the usual hum of students grabbing food between classes, muted chatter, and the occasional scrape of a chair against tile.
I’ve got the end of the table the hockey team has claimed to myself, working through a late breakfast and scrolling mindlessly on my phone, earbuds in but not really listening.
Just killing time. Minding my own business.
Until she shows up.
Dylan. Fucking. Carter.
She drops onto a chair several seats down like she owns the place. Like she belongs here.
This table— our table—is where the guys sit.
At peak hours, it’s packed with the team, loud and rowdy.
Right now, it’s mostly empty. Just me and a couple of others lingering before our next classes.
The only women who should be here are puck bunnies, maybe the occasional girlfriend when someone on the team has one, but that’s it.
Since Dylan is neither, nothing more than a fucking interloper on our team, she has no right to be sitting here. It’s a point I’ll stand by until my last fucking breath.
As if the universe is out to personally piss me off today, Finn appears.
Sliding a tray of food in front of her like she’s too good to stand in line like the rest of us, before he claims the seat next to her.
He doesn’t even notice me sitting at the same fucking table as him.
Too fucking hypnotized by Dylan’s presence.
Too sucked into her toxic orbit to notice if fucking Big Bird walked in.
I grip my fork tighter, knuckles whitening as I watch him give her this stupid fucking grin. The two of them are lost in their own little world, talking quietly. She laughs at something he says, and he leans in closer, their heads nearly touching. It’s disgusting. The heart eyes. The shared looks.
Don’t get me started on if I have to watch him tuck her hair behind her ear one more time or smile at her like she’s the second coming of Christ. I’m bordering on homicidal as it is.
Finn is my friend. He should be sitting with me , the way it normally is if we have a gap between classes. Talking shit and tearing into rookies. Not giggling and flirting over goddamn turkey sandwiches. Seriously, where the fuck are his balls? And his common sense, for that matter.
He’s not the only one that slut has wrapped around her finger.
It’s all of them. Ethan has refused to hear a bad word said against her since the beginning.
He didn’t give a shit that she was targeting me on the ice, going after me so she could take my spot.
Then he had the fucking nerve to tell me to work harder when she finally did.
Work harder? Like I wasn’t already working hard enough.
That bitch thinks just because she’s got tits and a vagina that she can waltz in here, flutter her lashes, and get what she wants.
And every fucking dumbass on this team including Coach are proving her right.
The only other one who sees her for what she is, is Lucas .
If only he’d succeeded in permanently squashing her instead of simply sending her running to my team. He’d been willing to help with the jumbotron showdown, giving me the video footage he had. He’d been convinced it would be enough to send her running, to get her to give up indefinitely.
But he’d been wrong.
She’s way more fucking stubborn than either of us had given her credit for.
And it doesn’t help that she’s got Ethan, Jax, Griffin, and Finn in her corner. What should have divided them only seemed to make them fucking stronger.
The fork in my hand begins to bend, and I force myself to relax my grip, looking away from the sickening couple. I’ve officially lost my appetite, and I push my tray away, disgusted.
No fucking way am I going to sit back and watch this shit play out. Like this is normal. Like this is fine.
It’s not fine.
Finn was my best fucking friend, and she’s the reason he’s gone.
I can’t let her get away with that.
“Reed! Back the hell off! This isn’t the NHL,” Coach roars after I send another player—I don’t even know who, they’re all faceless enemies to me in this state—sprawling against the boards.
I skate off like I don’t hear him, blood pumping too loud in my ears. Everything is too loud, too bright. I want to hurt something. Break something. Someone .
Except she’s not a fucking part of this scrimmage so I have to settle for letting my anger out on everyone else. On anyone who gets in my way .
There’s a blur of motion in front of me, and I go for a hip check that sends the guy flying. Clean? Maybe. Probably not.
Coach blows his whistle, barking out the end of practice. Except, before I can escape to the locker room with everyone else, he calls me aside.
“What the hell are you playing at?” he demands, Eyes sharp and jaw tight. It’s clear he’s not in the mood for bullshit. Well, neither am I, which is precisely what this conversation will be.
I shrug. “I’m playing hard.”
“You’re playing recklessly,” he snaps. “That cheap shot on Chen? You could have dislocated his goddamn shoulder.”
I don’t respond. Just shift my weight from one skate to the other and glance past him, already done with this conversation.
“You keep this shit up and you won’t be dressing Friday night. You hear me?”
“Got it,” I mutter, flat as anything, and move to push past him.
He grabs my arm. Not hard, but enough to stop me. “You want to be benched?” His eyes narrow on me. “Because that’s the road you’re on.”
I jerk my arm free. “I’m not on any road.”
He sighs. “Christ, kid. What’s gotten into you this season? You’ve been late. Skipping lifts. Half-assing drills. And now this—cheap hits, mouthing off, acting like the rules don’t apply to you.”
“I’m here, aren’t I?” I snap. “I show up.”
“Showing up isn’t enough,” he fires back. “Especially when you’re doing everything you can to prove you don’t give a shit.”
I fall silent, grinding my teeth. He isn’t going to let me leave until he says whatever he needs to say.
He blows out a breath, runs a hand over his cap. “Look…I get it. Losing your spot on the first line? That stings. I don’t blame you for being pissed.”
I scoff, eyes fixed on the boards.
“But Dylan earned it,” he goes on, unaware of how much those words curdle my insides. “She outworked you, outplayed you. You know that. And deep down, I think you know she deserved it.”
Like fuck she did, but I can’t tell Coach that. He’s as blinded by her as everyone else is.
“That doesn’t mean I don’t see how much it’s eating at you,” he continues. “Hell, I’d be worried if it wasn’t bothering you. But the way you’re handling it?” He shakes his head. “You’re proving exactly why Dylan is the better player.”
My jaw is clenched so tight it hurts. Thank fuck hockey players don’t worry too much about losing their teeth cause I’m pretty sure I’m about to crack one.
“You want a shot at that first line?” he asks, piquing my interest for the first time. “Start acting like someone who wants it. Like someone who’s still a part of this team. Take all that animosity you’re feeling and channel it into something productive.”
Channel it? Sure. But getting my spot back is just the beginning.
Dylan has stolen everything from me.
My spot. My best friend. My fucking room .
My respect.
No one on this team looks at me the same now.
If she’d never come to BSU, none of this would have happened. I wouldn’t be angry all the goddamn time. Wouldn’t feel like I’m drowning in silence, clawing to get back everything she stole.
Something twists inside me. Tight and dark.
This is her fault.
All of it .
And I’m done with the warnings. This time, I’m going to make certain she doesn’t get back up.