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“Yeah. Great. That’d be awesome.”
I leave my gym bag and backpack at the bottom of the stairs and stop by the kitchen to grab a snack and two bottles of beer. But the second I return, Lavender comes barreling into the living room.
“Vaginaland is open for business!” She makes aVin front of her crotch and then stops mid-thrust when she realizes I’m standing there. “Oh hey, Mav. If you can pretend you didn’t see or hear that, that would be great.” Her face turns red in patches that also cover her neck.
“You’re not worried about BJ?” I thumb over at him.
“He’s asleep.”
“That’s what you think.” BJ cracks a lid. His eyeball shifts from Lavender to Kody—who’s frozen like a statue, eyes comically wide with horror—over to me. He reaches for the lever on the side of the chair and pulls the footrest down. “Way to make things awkward, Lav.”
“I thought Kody was alone—or mostly alone! And what’s awkward is when Maverick’s past flavors of the month stop by looking for him, and I have to be the one to give them the bad news that he’s having a herpes flare up!” She pinwheels her arms like a drunk octopus.
“Wait! What? You don’t seriously tell people I have herpes, do you?” While I can deal with rumors, that sure isn’t one I want to contend with.
Lavender rolls her eyes. “Of course not. I’m not that much of an asshole. But I did tell a girl at one of your parties that you broke your dick when you tripped over some dirty underwear on the way to the bathroom. I also told her you probably wouldn’t be back in the saddle until next semester. I was doing you a favor, because she seemed a little obsessed with you. Like, she knew all your stats and could list every single girl you dated last year. She did stop by with a card and some chocolates, which I told her I would give to you, but I threw them out because it seemed a little too, ‘Tag, You’re It,’ circa Melanie Martinez’sCry Babyalbum. You’re welcome for saving you from that potential stalker nightmare.”
“Did you get her name?”
“No. But I think she hangs out with Bethany.” Lavender’s eyes slide Kody’s way for a second.
None of us are surprised when he purses his lips and grumbles, “Can we treat her like Voldemort and never say her name again?”
“You, of all people, should know you can’t run away from your past,” Lavender says. “Anyway, like I said, I’m done with my assignment, so you’re allowed back in my room whenever you’re done bromancing.” She makes a circle motion to the room and spins around, heading back the direction she came from.
“Now that the entertainment is over, I gotta head home.” BJ pushes out of the chair, pats Kody on the head, and gives my shoulder a squeeze. “See you guys when I run out of food or I get bored, whichever happens first.”
Kody’s phone pings. He glances down at the screen and gives me a sheepish look. “Sorry about that.” He motions to the space where Lavender was standing.
“Eh, it’s Lavender. She inherited the same faulty filter as I did.” I let him off the hook. “Why don’t we take a raincheck on the beers. I need to work on an assignment anyway.”
“Maybe we can go for a late lunch after practice tomorrow or something?” He gathers his things and unfolds his legs.
“That works.”
“Cool. See you in the morning.” He rushes up the stairs, leaving me alone.
I put the beers back in the fridge and head for my room, glad my sister’s is on the third floor, in the attic, and that it’s not directly over mine.
Now that I’m home and not in quite the same panicked state, I realize all over again how bad my situation with Professor Sweet could be. She has every right to report me.
My dad will 100 percent shit a brick if I get expelled. There will most certainly be lectures. That will suck, but it won’t be nearly as bad as his disappointment—not to mention the highly negative impact it could have on my career if word gets out that I was in the women’s locker room of all places.
I know better than to take risks like that. Even after hours.
For a split second, I entertain what that would look like: an expulsion, or worse, the NHL future I’ve been preparing my whole life for slipping through my fingers.
What would it be like to have a normal life? To not have a dad who’s a hockey legend. To not follow in his footsteps. To not have the pressure. To be like my older brother, Robbie, who’s a brainiac. Or like my younger brother, River, whose mission in life seems to be stewing in a pit of rage and anger he made for himself and hiding who he really is because he thinks . . . I don’t know what he thinks, but he seems pretty determined to be miserable.
And more than my brothers, I wonder what it would be like to be Lavender. Traumatized, yes. Forever changed by what happened to her as a kid, definitely. But strong, resilient, and the most forgiving, compassionate person I’ve ever met.
She’d be so disappointed in me right now if she knew what I’d done tonight. That I hadn’t taken into consideration the impact my actions might have on someone else, especially being where I was.
I open the door to my room and want to turn right back around. It’s a fucking mess. The bed is unmade because I had to rush this morning. Clothes are strewn all over the floor and draped on my chair. It smells ripe in here, like my sheets need to be changed and there’s probably a pair of running shoes that need airing out.
My room seems to match my internal mental state: chaos and filth.
I spend a few minutes cleaning up and then jump into the shower. Despite the cluster of today, as soon as I step under the spray, my body responds by giving me an annoying, persistent hard-on. This is my preferred location for such activities, and my bedroom shower elicits a Pavlov-like response.
