Page 76 of Play Dirty

“It’s hanging,” I told him. “How’s the back healing up?”

He opened his mouth to reply, then stopped, as total confusion crossed his face.

“Wait. How do you—”

“House ain’t that big,” I returned his grin.

Dorian blinked a few times, completely dumbfounded.

“Go back to sleep, mush-mouth,” I chided him. I even offered him my shoulder back. “We’ve got another few hours’ ride.”

I closed my eyes as well, focusing on the hum of the motor to drown out the dozen or more conversations going on around me. Grayson and Mercer were done talking strategy. Ares and Sebastian were seated beside each other, talking about something in low tones.

And that was a conversation I would’ve paid to listen in on.

I tried to rest but sleep wouldn’t come. My mind was too busy jumping from issue to issue, stat to stat. Eventually it would wander, trying to put out fires that had nothing to do with hockey.

The problem was, a few of those fires I secretly wanted to keep burning.

Finally the bus lurched into the parking lot, with a long, groaning exhale of air brakes.

I glanced up and shook my head. The hotel looked like it had burned down years ago… but someone forgot to close it.

“Home sweet home,” Caleb muttered, behind me.

A flickering neon sign buzzed weakly overhead, missing at least half the letters. The parking lot was cracked and uneven, puddles reflecting the sickly glow of the lights like something out of a B-grade horror movie.

“Nobody touch anything,” Zack added, stifling a laugh. “Seriously. I mean it.”

We filed off the bus in a loose cluster, bags slung over our shoulders, gear dragging behind us. The air was crisp, and noticeably sharper. This deep into Canada, it actually bit at your lungs.

Mercer and Grayson disappeared through the door of the main building. They emerged ten minutes later, although it felt like an eternity.

Together, they started handing out keys.

“Zack, you’re with Caleb,” Mercer grunted.

“The fuck I am.”

“Figure it out,” the coach growled. “Dorian, you’re with Asher. Riley, Jackson…”

Keys flew across the parking lot, snatched from the cold mountain air by guys with the reflexes of, well, hockey players. I hovered off to the side, waiting, not entirely sure how this worked for me. I hadn’t exactly been included in overnight trips before.

Finally, Mercer glanced over at me.

“You’ve got your own room,” he said, and handed me the key. “Second floor. End of the hall.”

I took it with a nod. “Thanks.”

“Don’t die,” Zack called as he passed me.

“What?”

He pointed to the hallway ceiling. Either it had been painted half-black, or it was covered in mold.

My stomach twisted as I realized which one it was.

I climbed a set of dirty cement stairs. Grayson stepped up beside me, just as I reached the landing.