Page 7 of Enemy Games

He wanted me to be like him.

But I wasn’t perfect. I wasn’t a born leader. I never wanted people to look up to me or follow me. I just wanted to breathe every once in a while.

We passed a frat house I frequented quite a bit during our junior year, and one of the guys straddling the half-wall on the porch called out my name.

I waved and hurried past, hoping he wasn’t looking for a conversation.

“Friend?” Benjamin asked curiously.

“Nah, we had a class together last semester. Worked on a few assignments together.” The lie rolled off my tongue as smoothly as the truth.

Because I was a terrible person and a worse friend.

Why was this short trip turning into a literal walk of shame? I’d been better this year. I rarely snuck out and only went to a handful of parties. Compared to the average college student, I was a saint.

“Whoa.” Ethan sighed behind me.

I turned back only to see him staring up at the massive house we were stopped at.

“When did this appear?” Reid asked.

I cocked my head, trying to make sense of this. I was no stranger to this area, but I knew for a fact I’d never seen this house.

“Calm down, this is the old omega delta house,” Benjamin explained. “I told you guys it was getting renovated weeks ago.”

“You didn’t say it was getting completely rebuilt,” Reid argued. “This is amazing.”

The bright white paint and navy shutters made the large colonial-style house even more imposing than any of the other frat homes, which were by no means understated or small.

“This is the women’s house.” He nodded toward the path that led to the front door.

“Are you serious?” I blurted.

“They get this?” Jeremy, a sophomore, grunted.

Benjamin stopped and spun to face us. “Hey, each and every one of you had a choice. Any of you could have moved into a frat or off-campus housing. You made the decision to stay in the dorms.”

“Yeah, because all of you did.” Another sophomore spoke while staring at his feet.

“You just admitted to being a follower,” Reid pointed out. “If it was really important to you to live someplace like this, then you should have had the guts to stand out and be independent. Don’t blame us if you’re unhappy.”

I grinned at Reid. Normally, we were united as a team, and the four of us tried to be good role models for the younger guys, but at times like this, it was our job to remind them each of us was accountable for our decisions.

“It’s just not fair. They got new showers, a new locker room that doesn't smell like stale sweat and feet, and a brand-new house,” Joey, a junior, complained.

Benjamin inhaled slowly, somehow managing to stay calm. “This is the one and only time I’m ever going to say this, so listen up. The women’s team and our team are very different.”

“Yeah, we know that,” someone behind me muttered.

“They have drastically different goals and expectations than us,” Benjamin continued without addressing the interruption. “There are only six professional teams in the US for women, and the average pay is significantly less than what any of us might make in our rookie year. Realistically, the players on their team are at the end of their hockey careers. Some of them only have one or two more years to play.”

He paused and let that sink in. I glanced over my shoulder and had to fight to keep from smiling at the sullen expressions of my teammates. This was hitting home. The idea of not getting to play beyond our time here was devastating for most.

“This is their time. Playing at the college level is the height of experience as female players. If that means they get all new stuff, then fine. Most of you won’t even think about them when you’re off playing in the NHL in a few years.”

As harsh as his words were, he was right, and based on the expressions of the rest of the guys, they understood.

“We’re going to support them, be kind to them, respect them, and make sure they know we’re proud to have them as a part of our program. Is that clear?”