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“I was only trying to help,” he counters. “She doesn’t belong. She’s not one of us. We all know it. Even she knows it.”
He’s lucky I forgave him for his intervention in my breakup with Briana two years ago. The rumors that drove Briana and I apart were started by one of my so-called best friends because he thought he was doing me a favor. Not quite. I’ve never gotten over Briana.
“Let him do what he wants,” Nash says to Knox. “Once his dad finds out, she’ll be gone anyway.”
“Not this time,” I challenge.
Nash snorts, retreating to his side of the hallway.
Knox rolls his eyes and flattens his hand against his forehead to give me a mock salute. “Whatever you say, Colonel.”
We all grew up together at York Military Academy where I outranked all of them as a Cadet Lieutenant Colonel. I was the commander of our battalion. No one understands why we use our last names when speaking to or about each other. We were forced to address each other by rank and last name throughout military school. Ten years is a long time, making it a habit none of us can break.
Harker was a Cadet Captain. He comes from a military family. His dad is a general in the United States Army, his mother a debutant from Manhattan.
I shake my head at Knox. “Okay, Drill.” Short for drill sergeant.
“Leave it alone, would ya?” Harker says to Knox.
“Okaaayyy…” Knox’s voice trails off.
“You always have something to say about what we do,” Harker says, “when you’re over there texting the waitress you met last weekend.”
“I’m trying to get my dick sucked not marry her,” Knox says, his voice so loud it turns heads in the hallway.
“I’m not marrying anyone,” I spit back. “I just wanted to do something nice for Briana. After what Abby did to her, I owe her that much.”
His nostrils flare. “You’re Julian Rivers. You don’t owe anyone shit.”
“This is a losing argument,” I sigh. “I’m done talking about it.”
“Whatever.” Knox crosses his thick arms over his chest, his eyes intense and threatening.
He can be a mean son of a bitch without realizing it. Or maybe he just doesn’t care. His mom is a druggie whore wrapped in designer clothes and the thick stench of Chanel to cover the booze. Like me, he was born into a family with too much money and no social skills. I’ve given him a pass over the years because of his shitty home life. But I’m not fucking around when it comes to Briana. If he even thinks about getting in the way, I’ll make him pay for it.
“Jamie just texted me,” Nash says, holding out the phone in his hand. “He’s making dinner again. You guys hungry?”
“Yeah, I can eat,” I mutter.
The rest of the guys echo something to that effect.
We live in a house with our teammates, several of which are the sons of famous hockey players. Because of their fathers, they have an advantage over us that we never had, despite our money and connections. Preston Parker, Drake Donovan, and Tucker and Tyler Kane were raised to become hockey players.
But Jamie O’Connor is different. He’s richer than everyone but me, and if you met him, you’d never know he had two nickels to rub together. He also pretends to be more interested in hockey than gaming and coding. But it’s pretty obvious he’s planning to follow in his father’s footsteps instead of his friends, who want to become professional hockey players. Which is good for me, considering there are only so many openings in the NHL Draft. One less player from our team will increase my odds, which are already pretty slim.
When I came to Strickland University, I had to play on the second line. It was a real ego hit for Knox as well as Harker, Nash, and me. We were big fish in our small pond at York Military Academy. I was the captain of the team the last two years, a defenseman paired with Harker for all of high school. Our parents dumped us at YMA because they didn’t want to be bothered with us, forcing us to become our own fucked-up family. So, like our other teammates, the four of us also have an unbreakable bond.
When we step inside the house, the scent of spices and garlic fills my nostrils. Ever since Jamie started dating Shannon, we’ve had a lot of home-cooked meals. My mother never lifted a finger to cook. She was too busy planning charity galas and pretending that her spa trips weren’t extended stays in rehab. For the short amount of my life I spent around her, she never paid me any mind. I was the requirement she needed for the prenup. One child. That was the deal she had with my father. And then, like I meant nothing to either of them—because I didn’t— they shipped me off to boarding school. I haven’t been home for more than a week or two at a time since I was eight years old.
When Shannon started hanging around the house, offering to make our food, I told Jamie he had better not fuck this up. There comes a point when you get sick of ordering out. Cafeteria food is decent, at best. None of us will admit it aloud, but we all look forward to the nights when either Jamie or Shannon cooks for us.
Tucker Kane, a tall blond, whose father is the general manager for the Philadelphia Flyers, rushes down the stairs, slinging a backpack over his shoulder.
“Jamie’s making dinner,” Knox says to Tucker.
He nods. “Yeah, I know. But I got a study appointment.” He wiggles his eyebrows.
All of us laugh, and then Tucker brushes past us, slamming the front door behind him. Tucker was failing his classes at the start of the semester. Not until he started crushing on his tutor did he even bother to open a textbook. Now, he spends a lot of time at the library with this girl.
