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It only takes one dark look aimed in their direction for their complaints to die away.
One of the freshman players is supposed to be manning the door at all times. No one leaves the house with open containers.
Are these asshats trying to get us busted?
Like we need that.
As I stomp up the porch stairs, a female calls out my name. That alone isn’t enough to make me turn, except I recognize this particular voice.
“Ryder!”
I swing around and find my cousin, Brooke, with a wide smile on her face. Her boyfriend, Crosby Rhodes, is steadfast at her side. He’s a football player at Western.
As soon as I’m within striking distance, Brooke throws her arms around my neck before squeezing me tight. With her held against me, I meet Crosby’s eyes over her shoulder. It wasn’t so long ago that I gave him a shiner and busted his lip open for breaking her heart.
And what did the asshole do?
Just stood there while a crowd of onlookers surrounded us in the middle of campus while taking every punch I slammed into his face. I should have realized at that point how much he loved her.
When he gives me a chin lift in greeting, I do the same.
Brooke untangles herself and pulls away just enough to search my face. “I haven’t seen you for a while. Everything good?”
I shrug. There’s no damn way I’m telling her about Coach and how it feels like my last year playing college hockey is circling the drain.
Brooke tilts her head and scrutinizes me more carefully in the darkness. Her voice softens. “Are you sure that you’re all right? There’s a strange expression on your face.”
“Kind of like someone has your nuts in a vise,” Crosby adds, as if the thought brings him genuine pleasure.
Dickhead.
Crosby and I are friendlier than we used to be, but there’s still a natural rivalry between us since he’s part of the football program and I’m a hockey player. It’s all about who has the most fans, brings home the most championship titles, gets the most funding, has the better facilities, yada, yada, yada.
As far as I'm concerned, the football players are a bunch of prima donnas who enjoy their ice baths, after-practice smoothies, and massage therapists a little too much.
Come lace up a pair of Bauers and we’ll show you who gets knocked around more.
I shoot him a glare before refocusing my attention on Brooke. We’ve always been close. She’s more like a sister, and there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for her. That includes beating Crosby to a bloody pulp if he’s stupid enough to hurt her for a second time.
Although, by the way he stares at her, it’s doubtful that will happen.
And the pics they post online?
They’re enough to nauseate me. We’re talking matching charcoal face masks. Who would have ever thought the guy would turn into such a simp?
And by the looks of it, he’s enjoying every minute.
“It’s all good,” I tell her more firmly.
“So, what are you doing outside then?” she asks.
I blink before holding up the plastic cups I’ve taken away from the dumbasses on the front lawn. “Making sure we don’t get busted by the cops.”
She nods. “Smart. You ready to head back inside?”
“Yup.”
I take away a few more bottles and cans before the three of us head up the porch steps and walk right in. Whoever is supposed to be manning the front door has gone MIA. Once inside, I set the containers on a small table in the entryway. The place is even more packed than it was twenty minutes ago. This is what happens when you don’t have crowd control. I’m going to kick some freshman ass the next time we’re on the ice.
