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So, I wake up before the sun rises, drink a mixture of raw eggs and protein powder, then spend the rest of the day with blades under my feet and the taste of metal in my mouth. I don’t even remember the last time I felt the sun on my skin. Probably in Greece. I wish I cared more about my own well-being than I do, but it is what it is.
I showed up at the arena hours before practice was supposed to start. Usually the arena is empty, but a deep, thundering voice echoes down the hallway as the Vancouver Warrior’s new hopeful star player, and my best friend, rips into whoever was lucky enough to be on the receiving end of that call.
My eyes widen the second I hear him yell his younger sister’s name. Shit.
“You’re way too young to be doing this, Gracie!”
“I’m old enough for you to talk to me like an adult, Oakley!”
I stop dead in my tracks as the familiar female voice screams back at him, probably unknown to the fact that the call is on speakerphone.
“You want me to talk to you like an adult? That’s rich considering you still act like you’re sixteen! What would Mom think?”
“Don’t bring up Mom right now and stop trying to micromanage me! You’re not my dad.”
My teeth touch and I wince at the harshly thrown insult. The call is immediately taken off of speaker phone. As the blades of my skates dig into the scratched-up cement floor, I debate whether I should save myself the trouble of dealing with the aftermath of Gracie Hutton’s erratic behaviour on the ice, or spend the next hour listening to Oakley rant about their conversation in hopes of lightening him up before practice.
“Fuck me,” I huff and proceed to the dressing room. The door is open when I get there, and only Oakley’s angered breathing is to be heard as he sits hunched over on a wooden bench, fingers tangled in his wet, shaggy hair. He looks up briefly when he notices my presence. He nods once and lowers his jaded eyes back to the floor between his bent knees.
“Hey,” he mutters.
“You good?”
“Family drama. I’m fine.”
“Ripping your hair out is something you do regularly then? Shit.”
His fingers fall from his hair and into his lap. Leaning his back against the wall, he lets his head fall back against the blue brick. “You know the girl that Grant was bragging about? The one he took on the houseboat for three days back in June?” he asks, now staring at me with his lips peeled back in outrage.
“The one with the elastic back?” I recall, my brows furrowed.
“Jesus Christ, Tyler,” he hisses. His shoulders shudder as he gags.
Oh. Forcing back my glare, I flop down beside him. “I mean, she was a dancer.”
A sharp pain shoots through my shoulder when he hits it with his, a pointed warning written across his tightened features.
“I’m joking.” I throw my hands up in surrender.
“You’re not funny.”
“Oh, come on. You don’t have to worry about Grant.”
Nobody should worry about that fucking dweeb. Of all the hockey players I expected the puck bunny that is Gracie Hutton to fuck, Grant Westen wasn’t one of them. He barely even makes it off the bench.
Her standards must have dropped since the group of us: Oakley, Ava, Gracie, Adam and I got back from Mexico. Colour me surprised. To think that after getting her guts rearranged by me, she hopped on Grant’s inch long dong. Nice. I’m sure Ava would have something to say about that. If she knew, that is.
“You don’t get it. You don’t have a sister.”
“Just a bastard of a brother instead,” I scoff lightly.
“True,” Oakley laughs while raising his arms above his head in a stretch. “It’s just not a topic I want to be brought up around me. I don’t give a shit who any of you sleep with as long as it isn’t my damn sister.”
I can’t say that it’s a topic I really want brought up either. I mean, it’s my job to protect his sister while he’s not here. That’s what best friends do. Or what they should do. It’s what I’m going to be doing from now on. No more mistakes. I’m already up to my eyebrows in guilt from the last time. Any more and I’ll end up choking on it. “Duly noted.”
“As much as I want to sign with this team, I’m not going to if it means that I’ll have to hear about more of that.”
“Who do you think you’re fooling? You’ll sign with this team no matter what,” I tease with an inflated amount of confidence, trying to bring my focus back to the present instead of thinking about past regrets.
His laugh is a sign that I’m right on the money. Oakley would do anything to play in Vancouver again. He wouldn’t throw that opportunity away for anything.
“Don’t tell that to Seattle. They still think they have a shot in the dark.”
With a heavy scoff, I roll my eyes. “They’ll have to go through me first. Don’t worry, buddy. I got you.”
Oakley throws his arm around my shoulder as he nods and murmurs dreamily, “Don’t make me blush, Ty.”
