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He’s back today. But he didn’t want a fuss. Said he’llstop by, whatever the fuck that means. I worry he doesn’t want to see us, that he blames us.
Me.
I should have seen what was happening, Idid, I should have done something. More.
Jaw cracking, I grit my teeth harder, hear them squeak as my ears rush with blood. My legs are burning, thigh to calf, and because I had to go home to Mom over Christmas, I did no on-ice training. I feel ill prepared and it only floods the heat of anger through me faster. I'm not weak. Especially not when it comes to my fucking sport, but I've still got to train hard. I need to be the best, so even when I fuck up, they won't kick me off the team. It's why I work so fucking hard to pass my classes.
Taking a deep breath, I straighten, pushing up off of the wall. I scrub my hands down my face, wincing as I catch my eyebrow piercing, irritated from being taken in and out for practice. I finish washing my body, switch off the scalding water and grab a towel, roughly drying off on my way to the gray painted benches around the edges of the empty locker room.
The space opens up, heaps of wet green towels half hanging off of benches, tossed haphazardly across the speckled white lino floor. Pale gray walls house fern-green shelves, all of themlabeled with our numbers, and bright white strip bulbs light the space.
Throwing on my clothes, tight black sweats, black sneakers, a white cotton shirt, all of it sticking to my damp skin. Taking my phone from the shelf space, I grab my duffle, slinging it over my shoulder as I check my messages. I shove out of the room, into the wide hall, pausing as the door swings shut behind me, I open the group chat.
Rex
Party at ours.
I thumb my reply.
King
Sweet.
Lynx
Gonna be late.
Rex
I can cancel.
Lynx
That's not why I'm gonna be late.
My brow creases as I stare at the messages, Lynx’s first day back and we’re partying like an old habit. A bad one. For him. And despite our other vocation, dabbling in everything he needs to stay away from, we’re determined to treat him like the same old Lynx. And I think that's what concerns me. Is this what we should be doing? He's my brother in everything but blood, in the same way that Rex is, but I feel more… protective of him now.
King
If you're not ready, we'll cancel.
Lynx
Stop treating me like a kid. I'll be there.
Anger, on his behalf this time, heats through me, and I feel my neck muscles knotting almost immediately. Tension. It thrums through me like simmering wildfire just waiting to be doused in fuel and blown up all over again. I shove my phone into my pocket, slam my way out of the glass doors and make my way to my truck.
I'm back at our off-campus house before I can even process the journey. Blinking hard, I put the truck into park, shove my braids back from my face, grip the wheel and stare up at the house.
It's large, six bedrooms with six baths, a pool out back, converted basement, open plan first floor. It used to house a bunch of Frat rejects back in my mom's day, but then my older brother -halfbrother-, and Lynx's older brother bought it, and they, and now us, have lived here ever since. All except for Lynx. The terms of his return to school without a scandal means he officially has to reside on campus. Unofficially, he'll be living here six days of the week regardless.
Snow is falling again, and that only serves to piss me off further. I stomp up the three wooden steps onto the wrap around porch, shove my way inside and slam the front door behind me, running straight up the first set of stairs to my room.
My sneakers squeak lightly over the dark hardwoods, the walls painted a warm cream. Rex's room is opposite mine, with Lynx's at the very end of the hall, the latter's door is closed, but Hendrix is hovering in his open door frame, one muscular arm lifted over his head, grip loose on the frame. His other is shoveddown his pale gray sweats, tattooed chest bare. He watches me make my way down the hall with a sullen lift to his plump lips that's almost teasing.
“Bad day?” he rumbles, my feet stopping me just outside my closed door.
I blink at him, dropping my duffle to the floor, the pale green carpet runner dampens with melting snow as it sluices off of my black sneakers. Inhaling deep, my chest lifting, lifting, lifting, I say nothing.
