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“Good luck in there.”
“Who said anything about luck? I intend on getting by with my sparkling humor and good looks.”
“Let me know how that works out for you.” I took off down the hall, unable to shake Coach Dixon’s words.
We only get one life, son.
If only it were that easy.
If only I could say to hell with it and focus on my future and not have to worry about my mom or Scottie. But I couldn’t do that.
Because family meant something to me.
Theymeant something.
Playing hockey didn’t mean anything if they weren’t happy and taken care of.
And how the fuck was I supposed to take care of them when I was one hundred and ten miles away?
* * *
I managed precisely one hour of studying before the noise from downstairs became too much to ignore.
Closing my textbook, I threw my pen down and shoved back the chair, working the kinks out of my neck as I stood. Fuck, that felt good. After being hunched over the desk taking notes on purchasing strategy, my neck muscles were knotted. But it was nothing a little stretch wouldn’t solve.
Grabbing my cell phone, I stuffed it in my pocket and left my room.
“Steele, get the fuck down here,” one of the sophomores yelled. “We’re doing dares.”
Fucking idiots. My lips twitched as I hauled my ass downstairs.
“Seriously, you think that’s a good idea.” I arched a brow at the scene in front of me.
One of the rookies, a guy named Johnson, had a jar of ghost chili peppers in his hand and a shit-eating smirk plastered on his face.
“Cutler said he can’t taste spicy things, but I called bullshit. We’re going to settle this the only way possible. He wins if he eats a whole chili pepper without needing a glass of water. If he loses, he owes me a hundred bucks.”
“Come on, Mac. I didn’t say—” The rest of the guys started jeering. “Fine, I’ll do it. But you’re going to look really fucking stupid when I smash one of those things without breaking so much as a sweat.”
“Fighting words for a bullshitter.” Johnson grinned, waving the jar of peppers at him. “Ready when you are.”
“Okay.” Cutler made his way over to the kitchen island, rolling his shoulders. “Let’s do this.”
“Fucking idiot.” Leon came up beside me. “I knew a guy in high school who tried to do this. He ended up in the ER.”
“You don’t think you should tell him that?”
“Nah, let him do it.” He shrugged.
“Better get a gallon of milk ready just in case,” someone hollered.
“Fuck off, asshole,” Ward grumbled. “I got this.”
“Okay, here goes nothing.” Johnson unscrewed the lid. “Oof, get a load of that.” He wafted the jar in the air. “How do you want to do this?”
“Fish one out and—”
My cell phone started vibrating in my pocket, so I dug it out and checked the screen. “I need to take this.”
