Page 33
“But those guys started it,” Falk insisted.
Bennett waved this away. “It doesn’t matter. This is my team and you’ll respect everyone, or I’ll have you traded.”
Both young players stared at Bennett like he’d asked them to put on goalie pads and get in net. “Bro. You’d do that?” Pence asked, disbelief reflected in his alcohol-soaked gaze.
“That’s cold, Cap.”
Bennett stabbed a finger at the tabletop. “It’s called culture fit, and you either fit in with our culture here or you’re gone, regardless of how you play on the ice.” The irony of the statement was not lost on him, that he, a closeted gay man, was lecturing guys about fitting in. But this wasn’t about him right now. It was about these two assholes.
And while he had Pence sitting here . . . He leaned closer. “Either of you been here before?”
“The Loop?” Falk nodded. “Sure, we come here a lot.”
“Not that much,” Pence corrected. “Not as much as we’d like.”
Bennett’s hand curled into a fist under the table, hope and dread building inside his chest like a rising tide. He looked right at Pence. “Yeah? When was the last time?”
“I was here with the boys the week before last, I think? Before that, Falk and I came right before Christmas break.” Pence looked over at Falk. “Remember? We picked up those three girls and went back to their place.”
“Fuck, that night was fire,” Falk said, wearing what appeared to be a wistful expression. “Top five for sure.”
“When you were here recently,” he asked Pence, “did you stay long? Because the club claimed one of our players got in a fight. And based on what I’ve seen . . . ” Bennett gestured toward the lower level.
“That wasn’t me,” Pence said, sitting up and appearing far more sober than he had a second ago. “I ate some bad Thai that night and had to leave almost as soon as we got here.”
Was it true? Bennett wondered if he needed to cross Pence off his mental list.
“Ha,” Falk said, snickering as he jabbed his elbow into Pence’s arm. “I remember you bitching about that.”
“Fuck off.” Pence shoved him. “I spent all night on the toilet, bro. It was awful.”
Bennett dragged a hand down his face. He could be at home right now, doing a hundred different things he’d enjoy more than listening to bass-thumping music and paying for overpriced drinks while trying to talk to drunken assholes.
Glaring at both of the young men across from him, he ordered, “Stay upstairs for the rest of the night and keep quiet.”
“But—” Pence started, but Bennett’s expression turned forbidding. He was not in the mood and the team’s PR staff would already be pissed about the argument.
“Stay upstairs,” he repeated. “Are we clear?”
“Okay, okay. Jesus.” Falk put out his palms in surrender. “Can we at least bring girls up?”
“No. You’re both drunk and stirring shit up. Go drink some water.”
Pence and Falk immediately started arguing, getting loud again, so Bennett shot them a glare to shut that shit down, and the two men walked away, grumbling. Bennett couldn’t take anymore, so he got up and went over to Noah, who was watching the dance floor. Leaning over the railing, Bennett blew out a breath.
“You think it was one of them?” Noah asked.
“I don’t think so.” He shifted his weight off his bad knee—well, worse knee—and let the railing take more of his bulk. “We have to find this guy, fast.”
“Yeah, no shit.” They both fell silent, then Noah asked, “You think he’s raping them, too?”
Bennett grimaced. They hadn’t discussed this, but clearly they’d both been wondering about it. “Seems likely. He dropped the girl on the sidewalk when she started throwing up and people came over to help. Then he took off. If he’d gotten her in the car, who knows what might’ve happened?”
“Fuck.”
“I know.”
“Hi!”
