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The atmosphere in the room shifts, and I know the team wants to have my back but the expression on my face must convey what I hope because they reluctantly sit back in silence.

“Then why the hell are you still here!” he shouts, forcing us to shuffle out of the media room. Coach pulls me back. “My office after you’ve showered.”

The locker room is eerily quiet for the first time ever, and when I step out of the shower I’m greeted with Kian’s sullen face. “Cap, you didn’t have to do that,” he says, looking guilty.

I run a towel over my hair. “I did. I fucked up last night, I shouldn’t have let my guard down.”

Eli sits beside me. “If that’s your takeaway you’re looking at this all wrong. This is everyone's fault, mine too.”

The locker room murmurs in agreement.

“I know you guys want to have my back, but it’s on me to be a good example and last night I wasn’t.

This isn’t a united front kind of thing.

The dean’s involved which means he’ll see to it that everyone gets punished.

We can’t have that going into the season.

If it’s just me, the consequences can’t be too bad,” I say confidently.

My confidence withers when I enter Coach Kilner’s office.

It’s never an exciting event to be here, but today it’s especially grim.

He’s at his desk, tapping the mouse with a heavy hand.

When he finally decides to give me his attention, he gestures for me to sit.

He continues torturing the mouse until he grunts and chucks it at the wall.

It clatters to the floor in two pieces.

I swallow.

Kilner leans back in his chair, squeezing his stress ball tight enough to burst. “Where were you the last Friday before the end of semester?”

The question throws me off. I just confessed to a pretty heavy account of reckless abandon, and he’s worried about last semester? I barely remember what I had for dinner last night, let alone what I was doing two weeks ago.

Except the memory hits, clearing the haze of my lingering hangover. “After practice ended, I headed to the house,” I say.

“The boys?”

“Same thing.”

“Party?”

Fuck. Why does he look so pissed? The only thing I remember from that party was a pretty blonde. It had started to get a bit out of hand, but I trusted the guys to handle it. It’s the only reason I let myself relax last night. However, I’ve never lied to Coach, and I won’t start now.

“Yeah, a party.”

“So, you’re telling me a party—mind you, one that you boys have multiple times a week—is the reason you missed the charity fundraiser?”

Oh crap . The charity game.

In an attempt to pacify Kilner, I signed everyone up to coach the kids before their charity game. Spending two days a week with unfiltered children takes its toll and it didn't help that it was finals season. So, when I stopped showing up, so did everyone else.

“Those kids were waiting on that ice, and you didn’t show. What about the weekend before that? Same thing?”

I nod. Dalton parties never eased. If you can’t find one, you’re looking in the wrong place.

He lets out a derisive laugh. “You missed the mental health drive that the psychology department put on specifically for athletes. The hockey team didn’t show and neither did football or basketball.”

To be fair, I don’t pay attention to campus events. “How is that my fault?”

“Because instead of knowing where you had to be, there was a party all you idiots were at! If my players don’t honor their commitments, do you know what I do, Aiden?”

“Bench them,” I mutter.

He’s fuming now. “Good, you’re paying attention. And do you know why I called you in here?”

“Because I threw last night's party,” I answer, “and I’m the captain.”

“So you know you’re the captain? I thought maybe you’re too hungover to remember!” he shouts.

I wince. “I’m sorry coach. Next time—”

“There will be no next time. I don’t care if you’re my star player or Wayne fucking Gretzky, you will be a team player first.” He releases a deep agitated breath.

“You should be leading your team, not partaking in their stupid games. Those boys respect you, Aiden. If you’re at a party thinking with the wrong head, so are they.

Smarten up, or I will have no choice but to put you on probation. ”

My face contorts with confusion. “What? There’s no chance I get academic probation.”

“We’re not talking about your classes here. The party is being investigated.”

Ah, fuck. Remember when I said I wouldn’t know if I regretted drinking until I saw the aftermath?

I regret it now. Probation is bad, like tearing an ACL bad.

If the news gets to the league, they’ll send agents out here to assess me as an eligible player.

I had just signed with Toronto, because draft didn’t mean shit until you put pen to paper. Making a mistake now would be fatal.

“I can’t be on probation.”

Coach nods. “You’re in luck, because before the dean went on sabbatical, he informed the committee that anyone involved in the trash fiasco is to be dealt with. Since you have taken on that very stupid responsibility, your name is first on the list.”

I am going to kill my fucking teammates. “What does that mean?”

“That they gave me the option of probation or community service.”

An air of relief fills me. “That’s great. I’ll do community service. I will single-handedly scrub every inch of Sir Davis Dalton.”

Coach gives me an unsettled look. “As great of a mental image as that is, it’s not that simple,” he informs. “A lot goes into eligible community service hours, and since we don’t have a precedent, it’s going play-by-play.”

I snort. “Like a prison sentence where I get out on good behavior?”

“You’re in no place to be a smart ass,” he reprimands. “I would have been forced to put you on probation if it wasn’t for her.”

“Who?”