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“You did good out there,” he says. “You’ve got skills, man.”

“Thanks.” I sit down next to him, pulling off my skates. “Who’s Caleb?”

Tyler grins, a mischievous glint in his eye. “You’ll meet him soon. You’re your demeanor, you’ve probably already got your foot in the door with the brotherhood,” he says, glancing at me, his grin widening.

I freeze, staring at him. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Tyler just shrugs, standing up and throwing his bag over his shoulder. “You’ll find out. But trust me, with your game, you’ll fit in.”

He walks out, leaving me in the locker room with more questions than answers.

Brotherhood like a secret society? At Blackridge?

Well now I am freaking intrigued.

My phone buzzes as I’m pulling my hoodie over my head. I glance at the screen.

Mr. Coleman. My father’s lawyer.

My stomach twists.

I shove my phone into my pocket and grab my bag, ignoring the call. The guys are still talking shit in the locker room, so I slip out quietly. No way I’m taking this call with them around. I head toward the library. It’s early, and the place is practically empty. Perfect. I duck into a corner near the back, leaning against a row of bookshelves, and call him back.

“Mr. Coleman,” I say, trying to sound calm.

“Eli,” he says. “How are you?”

“Fine,” I answer. “What’s up?”

He clears his throat. “The trial date is set.”

My breath catches. “When?”

“Three weeks from today.”

Three weeks. I rub the back of my neck, my mind racing. “I’m coming home for it.”

“Your father doesn’t want that,” he says quickly. “He was very clear—”

“I don’t care what he wants,” I snap. “I’ll be there.”

There’s silence on the other end. Then, “I strongly advise against it.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t give a damn about your advice, Coleman.”

I hang up and shove the phone back in my pocket. My chest feels tight, like I can’t get enough air. My fist slams into the wall before I even realize what I’m doing. Pain shoots through my hand, sharp and immediate.

“Shit,” I mutter, shaking it out. Not my best move.

“Eli?” A voice startles me, and I look up. Sienna. She’s standing a few feet away, holding a notebook. Her eyes dart from my hand to my face. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Nothing,” I say, flexing my knuckles to feel the stretch of pain.

She stares at me like I’m going to spill my guts under her gaze. “Nothing? You just punched a wall. You’re lucky it isn’t drywall because you would have made a hole.”

“It’s fine.” I try to sound convincing, but the throbbing in my hand isn’t helping.

She sighs and walks over, dropping her books and bag onto the table. “You’re an idiot,” she mutters, pulling out a can of Diet Coke. “Here. It’s cold.” She grabs my wrist, forcing my hand into the air, and presses the can to my knuckles.