Shea

Saturday's party was a disaster, and there are going to be ramifications at tonight's practice. Connor's pissed off. He'll try to drag me through the mud. I'm not sure how.

It scares me.

Text messages and complaints have ramped up, too. The boys are expecting more from me. Ever since the party, there have been earfuls about how long it's taking me to beckon Harrison.

School does nothing to prevent my mind from wandering, either. All throughout French, I'm judging myself and calculating my next move. Having a girlfriend has never been a concern of mine. High school romances are overrated. I want a stable career before I think about committing to half of a relationship. My plan is solid, but it also comes with calamities. I'm not in prime condition to flirt. Girls have expressed their interest in me before, but I've never given them a second thought. My life is too frazzled. All that matters is education, hockey, and Chelsea. Yet, here I am, trying to snag a girl who despises my guts while having no experience with flirting or dating.

Frustrated, I run a hand through my hair and saunter down the hallway. I wind through the crowd, avoiding the grade tens with every fibre of my being. Not because they're annoying, but because they're oblivious to their surroundings. Every time I move, my backpack bumps into someone else's body. I want to curse and tell them to stop crowding the hallway.

After five minutes of manoeuvring through a maze of bodies, I find myself in the cafeteria. I pause at the edge, scouting the area for KJ. It takes several seconds to find him. He's sitting on the far side, next to the exit to the smoke pit, with his own friends. The last thing I want to do is interrupt their conversation, so I decide to find Harrison instead. We've scheduled another session for our French project, but my parents need me to babysit that night. I don't plan on calling Noah for help again, either. I've already asked for too much from him. Either we need to reschedule or she needs to come to my place instead.

She's easy to find. Sitting with her usual group of friends, she's dressed in an army-green long-sleeve shirt and a pair of ripped overalls. White Adidas shoes peek out from beneath the table. Next to the white shoes is her backpack. Her long hair is tied up in a messy bun.

Tucker makes a motion with his hands, which causes the rest of the table to laugh. A smile lights Brenna's face up, and it makes me wonder how she would've reacted had I been able to finish my sentence at the party. Before Connor interrupted us, I'd been prepared to tell her she was right. About Chelsea. I'd never prevent her from playing hockey or nurturing her skills. And no matter how many times I try to justify my rivalry with Brenna, I can't.

Acting the way I do around her... it's caused by my own insecurities. The realization makes me think of my parents. Their relationship is suffering from insecurities, and I hate having to deal with the residual emotions that follow. Making Brenna deal with mine makes me exactly like my parents. I don't want to be like them. 

I run a hand through my hair, tugging at it.

I'm having an inner battle with myself. On one hand, I strive for Dad's approval. Despite the toxicity of our relationship, I want to hear him praise his only son. Brenna's skills fuel Dad's degrading comments. I know I'm the catalyst that ruined the friendship we had prior to hockey camp. I've embedded the idea that mistreating her is justifiable in my mind. I've conditioned myself to disregard her natural talent and disrespect her.

And you know what the worst part is?

I would never, in a million fucking years, treat my sister this way.

Averting my gaze to the floor, I sigh.

Yeah, I'm an asshole.

Adjusting my backpack, I walk down the wide steps to the lower area. I wind my way through the tables and benches, careful not to bump into anyone. The overcrowded area makes me feel claustrophobic. How is it the Westside only has one high school? There must be at least three thousand kids attending this school.

When I come to the edge of their table, positioning myself diagonal to Brenna, everyone goes silent and looks at me. Aside from Brenna and Evren, everyone looks disgusted by my presence. I'm not sure how I feel about that. Ella keeps her gaze locked on the half-eaten vegetarian sandwich. I avert my gaze from her. My connection with KJ doesn't help the awkward tension between us. The guys glare at me, their arms crossed and postures stiff. If they think I'm here to start a fight, they're wrong. 

"Thought you'd be with Kaleb," Tucker drawls.

I glance at KJ, feeling out of place. He's laughing with his friends; friends I used to know before I moved to Kelowna. Although I don't miss Connor and the other guys, I miss Jayden. It'd be nice to have someone, aside from KJ, I can depend on. "KJ's a little preoccupied at the moment," I mutter. Brenna's still staring at me when I look at her. I jerk my thumb over my shoulder. "Can we talk for a second? It's about our French project."

A small crease forms between her brows as she nods. "Yeah, sure."

I take a step back, giving her room to swing her legs over the bench and stand up. While she's slipping her phone in her pocket, I glance around the area. There's nowhere private to talk unless we head downstairs. I doubt she wants to travel that far. The smoke pit is out of the question, too. Feeling defeated, I decide on the vending machines. They're about eight metres away and next to the hallway leading to the arts wing.

When we're at the vending machines, I lean up against one, subconsciously rubbing my shoulder. My injuries have healed, but the rubbing is a habit I developed while the sling was on. I force my hand down and cross my arms.

"What's going on?" Harrison—Brenna asks.

God, habits are hard to break.

"Next week," I start, "I have to babysit Chelsea. Is there any way we can reschedule? If that's not possible, could you come to my house?" I twist my lips to one side, waiting for an answer. I could bring Chelsea to Brenna's house. The only problem is Chelsea will feel out of place if I do. She'll hover by my side while we're working. If Brenna comes over to my house, at least Chelsea will leave us alone. She can watch a movie on the couch with Peaches. 

Brenna yawns, rubbing her tired eyes. I scratch my jaw in thought, inhaling deeply. Does she ever relax? Does she know how to relax?

"That's not a big deal," she replies. "I'll come over to your house."

I expel a deep breath. "Okay," I nod. "That's great. Thanks."

Brenna presses her lips into a flat line, nodding. Instead of feeling electric rivalry-induced tension between us, I feel awkward tension. What happened at the party on Saturday has shifted something between us. Being on the same side again was... was nice. Life is easier when you're not fighting.

"Do you really believe it was an accident?" I blurt.

She flicks her gaze up to mine, her bluish-violet eyes burning with emotion. She looks about as shocked as I feel. I didn't expect her to stand up for me. Especially against someone like Connor.

As quick as it appears, the shock disappears from her face. She replaces it with a semi-cocky grin. "I thought we already discussed this, Smith," she drawls. "Your question is making me reconsider."

I cross my arms again, my defensive shield chipping away as I relax my posture against the vending machine. "It was an accident. I... I just wasn't expecting you to have my back."

Brenna shrugs. "Connor's a dick. He needed to be put in his place."

"Yeah," I snort in agreement. "I'm just sad it wasn't me."

We chuckle for a few seconds before I sigh. "I'll let you get back to your friends." Only half the day has gone by and I'm already dragging my feet. The stress of tonight's practice is weighing on me. I don't want to deal with Connor and his games.

Adjusting my backpack, I turn around, ready to head down the hallway. I'll hide in the library's corner until the bell rings. That way, I can eat my lunch in peace and avoid any drama until tonight on the ice. I've also got some readings I need to skim through before Biology.

"Hey," Brenna says, grabbing my wrist.

Her touch sends a shock coursing through my veins, making me turn around so fast I almost stumble over my own feet. I glance down at her hand, my cheeks flushing as warmth seeps through my skin. There's an urge to tear my wrist from her grip. There's an urge to keep it there, her hand warm against my skin. "Yeah?" I ask, clearing my throat.

"I'm sorry about your dad," she continues. The smile on her face is soft. "The way he treats you isn't fair. You're an amazing hockey player." Her lips curve into a smile of disbelief as a small laugh escapes her mouth. "Why do you think I hate you so much?"

I cock an eyebrow. "Because I'm a dick?"

My voice is weak. I force my gaze to the ground, feeling like a fool. Not only for allowing my drunk mouth to accept a bet, but for also thinking my sister was any different from Brenna. I can't imagine what Chelsea would think if she saw the way I acted around Brenna, too. Talk about a terrible example. Either way, I'm at fault for my behaviour.

Brenna stays silent for so long I have to glance up at her again.

She presses her lips into a flat line and stares at me with her cool, calculating gaze. "Perhaps. But people can change. You stood up for me against Connor. Thanks for that. It's reassuring to know some boys don't support lack of consent. I can say I felt safe with you there. Not that I needed your strength to protect me. I could kick Connor's ass any day. But... But the support was nice." 

"You sure could," I snort. Picturing Connor laying on the ground like a drunken fool is priceless. Even if I have to face consequences, Brenna bruising his ego was worth it. "Crash another party and kick his ass."

Chuckling, Brenna softly punches me in the shoulder. The one that wasn't injured. "I'll see you around, Shea." Before turning around, she hesitates. "For what it's worth, you are the one who makes me a better hockey player."

I blink in surprise, my mouth going slack. "What?"

The corner of her mouth upturns. Her cheeks are a shade of pink, bringing out the light dusting of freckles across her skin. "I can skate circles around every boy in the league." She nods her head in KJ's direction. "My shot is stronger than KJ's. Drew admits to fearing it. You, though? You're the actual competition. I have to work extra hard to beat you or outsmart you. Why do you think I worked so hard at camp?"

I'm not sure how to respond. Instead, I rub my shoulder again. All this time, I thought Brenna played hard against me because she hated me. Not because I was a threat. Her compliment doesn't inflate my ego, either. It... humbles it. Having someone appreciate my skills is a delightful change. Aside from the coach, Jayden, and KJ, I don't get many compliments. It feels good coming from my rival—if I can even call her that anymore. I'm wondering if our truce has developed into something more.

Flashing me a quick smile, Brenna says she'll text me later for my address and then bounds back to her table. Her friends greet her with smiles and cheers. And the moment I see the smile on her face, I realize something.

I can't do this.

The bet.

"Fuck," I mutter, running a hand through my hair. Spinning on my heel, I head for the main entrance. I weave my way through the crowded hallway, past the wooden bear statue, and then push the door open. Outside, the air is chilly and crisp. It nips at my cheeks, causing them to sting.

Taking a sharp right, I head up the stairs to Royal LePage Place Arena. The student dirt parking lot is just past the building, sitting on the edge of the forest. As I'm walking, I tug my sweater tightly around me.

I can't do this—the bet. My time is already divided between school, hockey, work, and taking care of Chelsea. What was I thinking when I opened my mouth? Jealousy isn't a good enough reason to ruin someone's life. Yeah, I hate Brenna being a better player than I am. I hate that my dad is an asshole. And although I love my sister, I hate that I'm basically her guardian.

But I can't control any of those factors.

I can only control how I act or what actions I choose to follow through. There hasn't been a lot of effort on my part. My cheeks heat with shame, despite no one of importance being around. It's a wonder KJ has stuck around me this long.

In the distance, the bell rings. I continue walking in the opposite direction to my vehicle, pushing against the scattered, complaining groups heading back to MBSS. I'm skipping my last class. This is too much. I don't want to take part in this stupid bet anymore. And why should I have to? Connor can shove his money up his ass. I was drunk and belligerent when the agreement was made. I'll reject the money and admit to them being right. Maybe I can't rope in any girl I want. Maybe I'm anti-romantic. Who gives a fuck? It's not like it's affecting their every day lives. I refuse to be a pawn in someone's game.

Or maybe I don't want to be a hypocrite. I have an obligation to my sister. An obligation that isn't just limited to her but to her and everything she stands for. If I hurt Harrison, I'm inadvertently hurting my sister. I'll be degrading and labelling Brenna just as badly as Connor and Preston do to Ella. My actions will only add to the cycle. I'm giving these assholes power.

When I arrive at my vehicle, I unlock it and toss my backpack into the passenger side, slamming the door behind me. I trudge around the front and open the driver's side. I slam the driver's door, too. And when that doesn't make me feel better, I slam my fist against the steering wheel. 

Screw Connor and his games. After Brenna's comment, the one that continues to haunt me, I realize this isn't right. If this happened to Chelsea, I'd be furious.

I'm an idiot for not accepting it sooner.

Everything ends tonight. I refuse to be a pawn in someone's game.

* * *

Coach blows the whistle.

"Another set of forward suicides!" he bellows. "Now!"

I close my eyes and silently groan. After being benched for two weeks, I'm pushing myself past my limits to keep up with the boys. Sweat soaks my jersey and drips down the back of my neck. My thighs are aching; they scream in protest as I line up between Jayden and KJ. Even my hair is sticking to my forehead.

Sweat and aches aside, I love being back in the subzero atmosphere. Hearing my skates scrape against the ice and the puck lodge itself into the net is music to my ears.

KJ taps me on the shins with his hockey stick. "You look like the dead, bro."

I roll my eyes. "You flatter me, KJ. You're a ray of fucking sunshine."

A grin splits his face. "Love you, too, Shea."

The corner of my mouth twitches as I turn back to the ice before me. Coach will blow the whistle any second now. I want nothing more than to flop on the couch and sleep, but I have to work. My shot at Boston University depends on my skills and physique. Without determination and the ability to push myself, I'll never make it. Chelsea's well-being hangs in the balance, as per usual, but I push it away for now, shifting into a ready position. After missing time on the ice, I'm treating this the way I treat games: as if I'm a kid whose only responsibility is hockey. As if I don't need to worry about my sister or what happens after I graduate high school.

When Coach blows the whistle, I'm off. My thigh muscles burn as I rush to the blue line, but I push. I keep pushing, telling myself all the sore muscles will be worth it. At the blue line, I come to a skidding stop. Snow flies in the opposite direction as I turn around and race back to the goal line. I spin around again, heading to the red line. When I glance to my side, I see KJ beside me. We're ahead of the rest of the team.

As I race KJ for the red line, I try to keep my breathing even. My chest heaves as my lungs burn in protest. At this rate, showering will be out of the picture when I get home. I'm going to be a zombie.

Come on, Smith. You can do this.

I push harder. Skating against my best friend makes me like that. KJ and I fuel each other; we strive to be better than the other. We banter and critique. Sometimes we want to strangle each other. In the end, we're as close as brothers. Beating him, winning the race would be beneficial. Being the captain, I want to provide a good example for my teammates. I want to show them how hard I'm willing to fight for wins, to become a better player.

We continue on, fighting against each other and the teammates we've left behind.

When we're on our way back, tied neck-in-neck, and only two metres away from the goal line, a foot comes out and tangles with my skates. The sudden impact of skate-on-skate causes me to lose my footing. I hit the hard ice with blunt force and slide into the end boards. My previously injured shoulder contacts the boards first, and I grunt. The throbbing pain returns with full-force. For a few seconds, I lay there, wondering if I've re-injured my shoulder.

"What the fuck, Connor?" KJ spits.

I roll over, coming face-to-face with Jayden's hand. "Are you okay, Shea?" he asks. He's removed his helmet, and his hair hangs in sweaty strands as he leans over.

Although I'm concerned, I test my shoulder. The sudden ache is gone, and it doesn't hurt to move. I breathe a sigh of relief.

"Don't know what you're talking about, Jones," Connor drawls.

"Don't play stupid! You tripped Shea!"

In the distance, I hear a body being smashed into the boards. If KJ is messing with Connor, his actions are going to have consequences. KJ shouldn't be engaging with him. It worries me. I've already got a price on my head for telling him to leave Brenna alone. I don't need KJ walking around with a target on his back, too.

"Smith," Coach says, joining Jayden. "You okay, kid?"

I nod and take Jayden's hand. He helps me to my feet and makes sure I've regained my balance before letting go. Over his shoulder, I see KJ does in fact have Connor pinned against the boards. Whatever words they're exchanging are being spoken with low voices; I can't hear anything anymore. But the arrogant smirk on Connor's face tells me one thing: he's goading KJ. He's trying to make KJ snap.

Pushing past Coach and Jayden, I skate over to the two of them. KJ grips Connor's jersey and pulls him forward before shoving him back into the boards. Connor laughs, not bothering to fight back.

"Do you think it's funny?" KJ demands. His eyes burn with fury. "We need Shea—our captain—to win games. Have some common sense, you thick-skulled fuck."

Connor shrugs. "We were doing fine without him." His gaze flicks over KJ's shoulder, connecting with mine. "He's been preoccupied lately."

"The only reason he's been preoccupied is because you can't keep your—"

"Kaleb," I say, resting my hand on his shoulder. This conversation needs to stop before it goes too far. If teammates fight, Coach is going to make us do more suicides. There's still an hour of practice left, and I'm ready to get the hell out of here.

He blinks at me, shocked I've called him by his first name. KJ blinks one more time before shoving Connor and skating away, mumbling profanities. Since Coach and the rest of the team are still around, listening with keen ears, I have to be careful with what I say next. Keeping my gaze locked with Connor's, I lean in and lower my voice. "Watch it, Watt. This bad blood is between you and me. Don't bring KJ into this."

He glares back at me, his eyes icy with anger. "Then quit testing me, Smith. What you did on the weekend..." He tsks and shakes his head.

I roll my eyes. His comment will never make me feel guilty about my decision. What he was doing to Brenna wasn't right.

Jackass.

"Watt!" Coach barks. "Suit up. We're taking shots."

With one last glare, we part ways. I head to centre ice, where KJ and Jayden are. Connor heads to the bench to retrieve his mask and stick. My blades glide across the ice, scraping the cold surface with precision. Things would be much easier if Connor weren't on our team. He's a shit disturber.

"I could kill him," is the first thing KJ says when I join them.

"Join the club," Jayden mutters.

I draw my bottom lip between my teeth. There are worse words I have to say about Connor. Words that will earn me another set of suicide lines if Coach hears them. I grind my teeth together, trying to gain control of my temper. Removing one glove, I slide my hand under the protective visor of my helmet and rub my tired eyes. God, I don't know how Harrison has the energy to go to school, work, go to the gym, play hockey, and read. I can barely get through hockey practice without feeling like I'm about to pass out.

KJ nudges me. "What did he say to you?"

"More shit about the bet," I mutter.

I notice the look of distaste on Jayden's face.

"I'm backing out of it," I murmur, glancing at him. The look of surprise on his face and KJ's face is clear. I slide my glove back on, staring ahead at the net. Coach is standing off to the side, watching as Preston takes a shot. He misses, the puck pinging off of the crossbar. "I don't have time. And..." I trail off. Pushing Brenna out of the game, hurting her enough she stops being my biggest threat, is inviting. But I force myself to think otherwise. Shifting my positioning will not be easy. But, for the sake of how my sister grows up, I have to be a better person. I glance at Jayden and sigh. "You were right. I'm not dragging Brenna into something she never wanted to take part in. I'm telling Connor tonight."

KJ drops his stick and makes a T with his hands. "Whoa, bro," he says, eyes wide. "Time out. Time the fuck out. Are you crazy? Connor will not be happy with your decision. He'll come after you."

His words make me want to rescind my statement. Swallowing thickly, I shake my head. "I'll handle Connor's cruel games. With work, school, hockey, and university applications, I don't have time for this kind of shit." I don't mention Chelsea. Jayden and KJ both know where I stand within my family. I talk about hockey and university as if they're set in stone. When, in reality, they're balancing on a thin line. I don't know if I'll be able to leave Kelowna.

"Miller!" Coach calls. "You're up!"

Our heads snap up. Coach is off to the side, leaning against the boards, just shy of the goal line. He motions for us to get out of the gutter and turn back to the current drill.

"The boss has called," Jayden murmurs. As he skates by, he taps his stick against my shins, his gaze flicking to mine. "Maybe you're not so bad, Smith. Excellent choice."

After Jayden has taken his shot, which went through the five-hole, KJ's up next. I turn my back to his shot, gathering up one of the many pucks at centre ice. When it's my turn, I skate past the blue line and position myself a few metres away from Connor. Through his mask, he glares at me. His gaze is intense and nerve-wracking, but I don't let it faze me.

Using the strategy Harrison taught me, I shift my gloved hand down and move into proper positioning. The flex of my stick walks a thin line as I test it. After my previous outbreak, I can't afford to break another stick. Literally and figuratively.

Recalling her hand on mine and the warming scent of lavender, I wind up and take a shot.

The puck flies over Connor's shoulder and lodges itself in the back of the net.

His water bottle lands on the ice with an iconic thump.

I press my lips together, glancing down at my stick. Although I want to ignore the moment in Harrison's driveway, I can't. It lessens my indignation towards the bet. After the context is taken away and I'm free of Connor's stupid games, maybe getting to know Brenna isn't such a bad thing. We could benefit each other. If she can teach me how to shoot better, maybe I can help her learn to relax. I could show her that life needs balance—even if you're striving to be the best hockey player.

A small smile curves my lips as I turn away from a fuming Connor and a grinning Coach.

* * *

"See you at school, Shea," KJ says as he exits the dressing room. He glances at Connor, who is sitting in the corner.

I nod, giving him a tight smile. After practice ended, I delayed removing my hockey equipment. I need to be the last one in the room with Connor. We need to have a discussion. Leaning against the wall, I adjust my mid-calf socks and cross my arms. My nerves are jittery. I'm not fond of being alone with Connor, but this needs to be dealt with.

As he's lacing up his runners, Connor snorts. "You're usually the first one out of here, Smith. Is something wrong?"

"I'm done," I reply, keeping my voice steady. "You can shove the money up your ass. I don't have time for a silly bet. My home, school, sport, and work life already take up too much of my time."

The words spill from my mouth without fear of consequence. But with saying what we're doing to Brenna is wrong, my tongue stops working. I don't want to show too much empathy around Connor or else he will pester me about being a softie.

"You seemed to have plenty of time at the party," he drawls, grabbing his water bottle.

Goddamn party. I knew I shouldn't have shown up. "The only reason I could attend was because of my cousin," I argue. "But I can't keep asking him to babysit my sister. He has a life, too."

Connor sets his water bottle down and flicks his gaze to mine. An egotistic smirk sits on his lips. "And that concerns me, why?"

Frustrated, I run a hand through my hair. "I don't want to take part in this bet, okay? I was drunk when we discussed it."

He cocks an eyebrow and stands, stretching out his muscles as he paces the length of the bench. I force myself to stay in place. Silence stretches between us, and I hope he can't hear my fast-beating heart. "There's no problem here," he sighs. "You agreed. You can't turn away."

His comment ticks me off. How dare he try to decide for me. Standing up, I jab him in the chest with my finger. "I don't want to."

Connor's mouth twists to one side. "Don't be so naïve, Smith. You don't have a say in this. Don't tell me you have feelings for that bitch."

I slam Connor into the lockers. "I don't want to take part in this bet," I snarl. "It's a waste of my goddamned time! I have better things to focus on than Harrison. Find someone else to play your psychotic games."

"Games?" he laughs. He grabs my shoulders and spins us around, pinning me against the metal lockers. With a vindictive smirk, he digs his hand into my previously injured shoulder. A rush of cold terror runs through my body, and I freeze. "This isn't a game, Smith. You've said so yourself she doesn't belong in this league. Think about it this way: When you break her little heart, she'll never want to play hockey again. We won't have to deal with her again."

If I could shove my previously stated words down my throat and choke on them, I would. I should've known Connor would pull this.

Connor applies more pressure to my shoulder, and a jarring pain strikes. I wince, leaning into the lockers, trying to get as far away from Connor as possible. He only pushes harder, which makes me wonder if I stayed away from the ice long enough. The pain reverberates through my muscles, causing me to screw my eyebrows together. His face splits into a devious grin. "Fucking wimp," he laughs, pushing harder. "Pull through with this bet, Smith. You've made a deal. Follow through or else—"

I stumble to the side, gripping whatever I can to stay upright. Connor and the mysterious attacker go flying over the bench beside me, tumbling to the floor. When I regain my balance, I'm able to get a better look at the situation before me. Jayden's got Connor pinned to the floor. He's gripping Connor's T-shirt, and he looks furious.

"Connor," Jayden spits. "Knock it off. If Shea doesn't want to take part in this, he doesn't have to. Quit forcing this on him and quit pulling Brenna into something she didn't ask for."

"What?" Connor snorts. He looks too comfortable laying on the ground. The smug bastard. "Now we need consent to talk about them?"

"Talk about women all you want," Jayden shrugs. "But when the decisions you're making affect their well-being, it's not acceptable. Brenna did nothing to deserve this. She's an outstanding hockey player. Better than any of us." He tugs Connor's shirt, making his back thump against the floor. "Drop it, Connor. No one wants to deal with your shit."

I mentally groan. While I can somewhat agree with Jayden's statement, he shouldn't have said it around Connor. Even the mention of Brenna's name pisses him off. He's also goading Connor. If Jayden doesn't shut up, he is going to snap.

With one last shove, Jayden climbs to his feet and steps over the bench, collecting his jersey. I frown. He must have forgotten it. That's why he returned and interrupted our conversation.

"You good, Smith?" Jayden asks.

Staring at him, I nod. Gratitude rests on my tongue, but I can't express it. Jayden and I are friends, but I didn't think he cared that much. I never expected him to come between Connor and I. Especially when consequences will follow.

He nods, tossing his jersey over his shoulder, and heads for the exit.

But then Connor is there, between Jayden and the exit. Jayden freezes.

Before I can comprehend what's going on, Connor's fist collides with Jayden's face. There's a sickening crack, and it's followed by gushing blood. Soon enough, the dressing room reeks of sweat, hockey equipment, and something metallic.

I act before I can think. Connor's next swing impacts my jawbone, sending me careening against the door. I scramble to my feet, shoving him away from Jayden. "Connor!" I bellow. "Stop!" Although I'm terrified of another hit, I stand my ground. Connor has no right to throw punches at Jayden when he's done nothing wrong. I keep my gaze level with his, noting the height difference. Which is useless compared to brute force difference. I don't know how Connor hasn't gotten kicked out of the league yet. I'm positive he uses steroids.

"Leave him alone," I continue, raising my hands. He's fuming. I need to be careful with what I say next. "Let's just calm down and talk. We can find a resolution."

He fists my shirt, bringing our faces a breath apart. His gaze is madness and hatred combined. "If you don't follow through with the bet, Smith," he spits, "and get rid of Harrison, I'll make sure he never sets foot on the ice again."

I suppress an eye roll. Why didn't I realize anything I say wouldn't work? It's his way or the highway. "This bet is between you and me. If you drag Jayden or KJ into this, then so help me God, I will—"

"What?" he taunts, releasing my shirt. He steps back and throws his hands up in the air. The rubbery floor squeaks under his runners. "Beat me up? You're afraid to punch Harrison, let alone one of your own teammates. Tattle? Are you going to run crying to Coach, Smith? You'll be forever ridiculed if you do." He glares at the "C" on my sweater, his lips curling in disgust. "Your captaincy will be demolished."

I try to ignore the nagging feeling in my gut. This "C" is supposed to help me gain recognition. I need it embroidered on the chest of my jersey. The panic escalates, and I feel my blood pressure rise. A poor reputation will not gain me entry to Boston University. But neither will a guilty conscience.

Jayden, who is sitting on the bench to my left, coughs. I glance at him. The blood is still gushing from his broken nose, and purple and blue bruises pattern his skin. It's swollen, too. The state of Jayden's face makes me angry. I clench my fists at my sides. "I don't care about my captaincy," I grit out. It's a lie. A complete lie. My captaincy is everything to me, just like the sport itself. "Ruin my reputation, get me kicked off the team. I don't care what you do. I'm not partaking in this silly bet."

Connor casts me a look of disappointment, the fluorescent lighting above us highlighting the sharp angles of his face. They look menacing. "I'm disappointed in you, Smith. When did you become such a pussy?" He sighs, rolling his shoulders, and takes a step in Jayden's direction. "I've told you the consequences. Now I suppose I must go through with them."

He takes another step towards Jayden.

"Wait!" I exclaim.

Connor pauses, grinning over his shoulder at me. "You've come to your senses?"

I exhale deeply, hoping the Hockey Gods don't punish me too much. "Fine," I spit. "I'll go through with the bet. For the record, Watt, I'm doing this against my will."

He steps away from Jayden, and I breathe a sigh of relief. "Either way," he sneers. "You agreed to this, Shea. Whatever the outcome, everything will rest on your shoulders. And, man, I can't wait to see how badly you fuck Harrison up."

My shoulders sag in defeat as he claps me on the back. I stand in one place, waiting until he's gathered his hockey bag and coat. I hear the creak of the door as he opens it. "Oh," he adds. "And Smith?"

"What?" I snap, turning around. His grin makes me want to punch him.

"If you tell Harrison what's going on"—he nods at Jayden—"things won't go well for Miller. Or Jones."

Connor steps out into the hallway, leaving Jayden and I behind in the dressing room. I pinch the bridge of my nose. What the hell am I supposed to do now? I can't let Connor hurt Jayden or KJ. They can't suffer from my idiotic actions. But... But Brenna shouldn't have to either.

Next to me, I hear Jayden's jersey slip from the bench. It rustles against the floor. When I glance at him, I see his hands are covered in blood and it stains his shirt. The blood flow has slowed, but he needs something to clean up with. There's dried blood atop his upper lip and stuck to his chin.

"Fuck," I mutter.

Leaving Jayden behind, I cross the dressing room and rifle through my bag until I find a towel. It's the one I use to wipe sweat away when I'm working out, but it's going to do for now. On the far side of the dressing room, where the washrooms are, I turn the tap on and wet the towel. After I've wet it, I turn the tap off and wring the cloth out, removing any excess water.

When I return to Jayden, I kneel in front of him. He flinches as I wipe the blood away. "Sorry, man," I murmur, retracting the cloth.

"It's fine," he mumbles.

I scoff. He's far from fine. The swelling has increased and the bruises are worse. His eyes are also red from tears. My heart hurts for Jayden. I never meant for this to get so out of hand. "You're not fine," I reply. "Your nose is broken."

"Obviously," Jayden replies. His voice is dead; there's no emotion or oomph.

"I'm sorry." I continue wiping the blood away, careful to not press on the bruises.

"How's your shoulder?" he asks, jerking his chin at it. "That asshole had you pinned."

I test my shoulder as I remove the cloth from his face. It's sore, but the ache doesn't cause any alarm. When I injured it on the ice, I could hardly move it. "It's fine," I reply. "A little sore, but I don't think he caused any damage."

I glance down at the cloth. It's damp and stained with his blood. I head over to the sink to rinse it. It takes several seconds for the water to change from cold to hot. "You didn't have to stand up for me," I call over my shoulder. Holding the bloody cloth beneath the tap, I watch as the water turns from deep red to light-pink and disappears down the drain. "I had it under control."

"Yeah," Jayden snorts. "You sure did."

When the water is clear again, I turn the tap off and wring out the cloth. The wet fabric is so hot it's steaming. I head back over to Jayden, handing him the warm cloth. He grunts in appreciation and presses it to his nose, flinching. His brown eyes are dark and pleading when he looks at me.  "Don't do this to her, Shea," he says. "Fuck Connor. I'll deal with him. Don't hurt Brenna."

I shoot him a pleading look. "What else am I supposed to do? Jayden, if I disobey him, he's going to ambush you or KJ. I can't let him hurt you."

He fixes me with his fiery gaze. "But you're allowed to hurt Brenna?" Shaking his head, he sighs. "I'm choosing my path, Shea. If Connor beats me up, he beats me up. Don't drag her into this."

I draw my bottom lip between my teeth, contemplating my options. There has to be a way to make Connor think I'm making moves on Brenna. If we acted as friends and hung out... I rub my jaw. Maybe this could work.

"Seriously, Shea," Jayden adds. "Don't hurt her."

"Do you think I want to?" I ask. "Brenna... Brenna made a point, and it's gotten to my head." I drop my face into my hands and sigh. "One of these days, I will apologize to her for my despicable behaviour."

"Man," he chuckles. "You have a bad habit of contradicting yourself. You don't want her playing with us yet you think she deserves an apology?"

I bump my shoulder against his. "Shut the hell up. I'm aware of my imperfections..." I trail off and sigh. "I'm trying, okay? Brenna fucked me up with her comment. It's hard to break habits."

"What did she say?" he asks.

"If Chelsea wanted to play hockey with the boys, would you crush her dreams and say she's not allowed?" I recite.

Jayden lets out a low whistle. "Damn. Brenna kicks ass both on and off the ice. How d'you respond to that?"

"I made a sexist comment," I admit, feeling ashamed of myself. "And then she kicked me out of her house. After I thought about it, though, I wanted to talk to her. Which I had a chance of doing at the party until Connor ruined everything."

Jayden squints at the ceiling. "Seems to be his pattern. What else is new?"

"Same old, same old," I chuckle. After the humour has died down, I glance at him. "Do you want me to take you to the hospital? You should get your nose checked out."

He doesn't look pleased to go to the hospital, but he sighs and nods. "It's the only reasonable action to take. But we gotta stop this shit, you and me. There've been too many trips to the hospital this season."

"Yeah. One was enough." I agree, standing up. After I've gathered my bag, I join Jayden again. "Ready?"

Nodding, Jayden follows me, collecting his jersey from the floor.