10. Stone
STONE
I have to shut my phone off before practice. My post caught fire, and it’s been shared over two thousand times. Not to mention the likes and comments from people far beyond Shadow Valley.
At first, it was just other students. They were laughing at Wren the same way I was. But then the messages started coming in. Shit about her sleeping in their beds. Jokes about her being potty trained or if she knows any tricks.
Insinuating shit that they have no right to insinuate.
I put my earbuds in and warm up off the ice, ignoring my teammates. They’re ignoring me, too, sensing my bad mood from a mile away. “Sweet Emotion” by Aerosmith takes me into the zone, and I crank up the volume on my outdated iPod until I can’t hear anything else.
Hands yank the back of my shirt and spin me around.
I barely have time to brace myself before Evan slams me into the wall.
He’s furious, judging by the way his chest is heaving.
He’s not an enforcer on the team. He plays clean.
If someone needs checking into the boards or given an attitude adjustment, it sure isn’t him.
But now he looks ready to murder me.
I rip out an earbud and stare at him. “What the fuck?”
“You have no right ,” he seethes. “That’s crossing a fucking line, asshole.”
I tsk and shove him away from me. It takes a second to click that he’s talking about the photo. Of course he is.
“You’re not even her brother,” I snap. “And you gave her my room . She’s pulling some crazy shit, and you don’t even see it because you’re so obsessed with having a sister. Some childhood wet-dream shit.”
“You’ve got it so twisted!” Evan yells. “Take it down. Now .”
I roll my eyes. “When Wren grows a pair and asks me herself, then I will. Until then…” I turn away from him and grab my skates. I finish getting ready, the Aerosmith switching to an angry Nirvana song. I block out the rest of the shit going on and get on the ice.
Coach doesn’t like us listening to music while we skate, but he says nothing about warm-ups. Working with this coach has made all the idiocy of living in the hockey house worth it. I’m learning more, playing better. He’s got a good team here, and I have nothing but respect for him.
It’s why I begged my father to let me come to Shadow Valley.
It’s why Wren has to be the one to leave.
She can work at any restaurant in any town. She’ll probably be a waitress for the rest of her life, honestly. Once you’re at the bottom of the barrel, it’s damn hard to claw your way out.
I put my music away and inspect the practice schedule taped to the glass. Conditioning, then individualized drills. Conditioning usually means torture in Coach’s language, but I can’t deny that I’m going to enjoy the burn.
Coach comes out. We line up for sprints, and I avoid Evan. The whistle blows. I push everything out of my mind, focusing on being quick. The fastest that I can be. My muscles are screaming by the time he blows his whistle twice and calls for a break.
“Five minutes, then we’re switching to drills.” He steps off the ice.
The rest of us go for our water bottles on the bench. I uncap mine and yank off my helmet, dousing my head with half of it and guzzling most of the remainder. The cold water feels like heaven on my heated skin, and I pull off my glove to run my fingers through my hair.
Evan is still avoiding me, which is fine. I don’t really want to get fucking yelled at again.
“Stone!”
The female voice cuts straight through me. It’s worse than nails on a chalkboard. I turn toward the sound, my eyebrows already rising. It’s impossible to mistake it.
And sure enough, Wren is marching out onto the ice like she fucking owns it.
“Stone,” she calls again.
Why does she have to be so goddamn pretty? Her dark hair is braided, there’s not a speck of makeup on her face, and her hazel eyes are lasered in on me. She’s got on an oversized t-shirt and black shorts.
Definitely not fall-weather attire.
And the more I stare at her, I realize it’s my goddamn shirt.
What the fuck?
It’s unsettling. Which means she did it on purpose because she loves to fucking mess with me in unusual ways. Like the vibrator. Like wearing my clothes.
She makes it all the way to me on the far side, waving off Evan when he tries to steer her away. Her jaw is set.
She’s damn lucky Coach went back to his office, or else we’d all be screwed. She’s drawing her fair share of eyes, but so am I.
“You trying out for the hockey team, Sticks?” I put my hands on top of my stick. “You can play with the one shoved up your ass.”
She huffs. “You’re unbelievable, you know that?”
I shrug. “That’s why the ladies like me.”
“ I don’t like you.”
“You’re no lady.” I glare at her. “Is there a point to this? Or are you just trying to make a bigger fool of yourself?”
“You had no right to post a picture of me,” she says, stepping closer to me.
She’s in street shoes. Worn-out-looking Converse that are barely holding on to life.
In my skates, our height difference is startling.
I want to crowd her, intimidate her. I live for the hitch in her breath and the wobble in her voice that says I’m affecting her. That I can actually get through to her.
But maybe not with an audience.
Or…
“Well?” She actually stomps her foot. “Don’t you have anything to say?”
I pull at her t-shirt. My t-shirt. “And what about this, Sticks? Do you have any right to wear my clothes?”
It’s my Blue ?yster Cult t-shirt. I was—and still am—obsessed with them. Which makes total sense because “(Don’t Fear) The Reaper” is a great song. And “Burnin’ For You.” Obviously. But it just makes her choice that much worse. Like she’s invaded yet another aspect of my life.
She bats my hand away. “It was in my room. Finders keepers.”
“Losers weepers.” I skate closer, fisting the collar. “Take it off.”
Her eyes go wide—and then she smiles. I get this weird feeling in my stomach as her smile grows. And suddenly, I find myself regretting my decision. Even more so when she grabs the hem in front and pulls it off in one sweep, tossing it at me.
Pink bra.
Pale, perfect skin.
My brain stops working.
Until I register the wolf whistles coming from behind me. From my teammates, who are getting an eyeful of her tits too.
I snatch her hand. She squeaks when I force the t-shirt, now fucking inside out, over her head. She fights me, but I get the shirt back on her in record time. But now her hair looks like she was just fucked, and the way she’s glaring at me…
“What’s wrong, Stone? Afraid of a little skin in the game?”
I manage a laugh to hide my sudden, strange attraction. “Just trying to save you, Sticks. Wouldn’t want anyone to think they could use you as kindling.”
Her expression drops.
“No one would think twice about your barely there tits,” I add. “Now, get to the point, or get off the ice.”
Her voice is icy when she says, “You took a picture of me without my permission.”
“Yeah, and?”
“And that’s illegal.”
I scoff. “You’re out of your mind, Sticks.
I mean, I guess you could sue me…but do you think you’d win against the Fosters?
My dad has a whole team at his disposal, and you’d have whatever two-bit attorney you could wrangle up with the change under your couch.
” I tap my chin. “Oh, wait, you don’t even have a couch.
And it’s not like you can sell yourself .
Who’d want to buy some skinny, broke chick? So, good luck with that.”
She lifts her chin. “Take the photo down.”
“Take the photo down, please .”
Her lips press together. For a second, I think she won’t say it. Out of the corner of my eye, I spot Coach talking to Archer and Sully. They pivot him around subtly, putting his back to us, buying me a few more precious seconds before he sees Wren and blames me for having a girl on the ice.
“Take the photo down, Stone, please .”
“I don’t see why you’re so out of sorts about a silly little photo, so I’ll get around to it… eventually.” I laugh. “That’s fine, right? I mean, it’s not like I can take it back. It has a life of its own. It went viral. But we can discuss that later. Right now, you’ve got to go.”
I point her in the direction that she came.
She takes two steps and slips.
I manage to snag her arm before she hits the ice on her ass. She jerks out of my hold, muttering about being able to do it herself, and hurries forward.
Well, she tries.
Apparently, her sure-footedness is only connected to her anger, and that’s run its course.
“For fuck’s sake,” I groan. “Up you go.” I grab her by her hips and lift her off the ice.
Her back connects with my chest, and she immediately squirms in my grasp. I skate her to the door fast, skidding to a halt and sending a shower of ice spraying at the ledge.
When I dump her on the mat, she stumbles.
I shake my head at the sight of her, strangely at a loss. I just can’t pinpoint why.
“Foster!” Coach yells. “Work with Maverick on passing drills. The rest of you need to tighten up your shooting.”
I nod to him and head in the direction of Josh Maverick. He’s a damn good player, although there’s nothing he loves more than a fight. It’s why he rarely starts—and nowadays, he ends up kicked off the ice more often than not.
We go to the far side, away from the other players. Through the glass, I find Wren. She’s still fucking here, having taken a seat a few rows up and adjacent to where Maverick and I now practice.
Her gaze is locked on me. And she slowly peels the shirt off, turns it back the correct way, and slides it back on. The display grates on me. Anyone could’ve just seen that. But she’s so fucking smug I can’t stand it.
Always trying to one-up me. Always trying to put me in the worst spot imaginable.
“Focus,” Maverick orders.
The puck sails past me and slams into the boards.
Wren smiles.
Fuck .
New rule: Wren Davis is not allowed anywhere near the hockey rink.
I glance back at her, and she’s staring down at her phone. Her mouth is open, and I pause what I’m doing just to watch her. Because I don’t think I’ve ever seen her look that shocked.
She answers it, rising from the seat and hurrying away.
The puck hits me in the gut, bringing me sharply back into focus. I flip Josh off and let the puck fall to the ice.
“Game on,” I mutter.