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JACK

W HOEVER SAID THAT women are like delicate flowers never had to walk across a college campus on a Saturday night in too-tight leggings.

The latest catcalls come from a group of drunken girls across the street.

Hey baby, why don’t you bring that package over here so we can unwrap it?

Like to take a bite out of that fine ass, another girl calls out.

Thanks for the offers, ladies, but I’ve gotta get home, I reply with a wave. There are a surprising number of people out at 3:00 AM, or whatever time it is. Since I don’t have my phone, I have no idea.

My admirers continue to taunt me. You can see his everything! Thank you, Lord!

Screeches of laughter follow me down the street. Christ. Will I top off this night by getting arrested for public indecency? The sweatshirt seemed to cover everything when I was sitting down, but now that I’m walking, my junk is very much out on display.

Only two hours ago, my new life at Monarch was going great. I went to a party with a bunch of my teammates, and everyone was so friendly. And then, um—Jenny?—got extra-friendly and invited me back to her room. Now I’ve lost my clothes and my dignity. Not that I’m big on dignity.

Fuck me. Was Cori right? I can still hear my ex-girlfriend warning me that moving to Minnesota was a big mistake.

That I was a small-town boy who wasn’t smart or savvy enough to handle things in a whole new country.

But why should I believe anything she said?

She made it clear when we broke up that she hadn’t told me the truth for ages.

The front door of my hockey house is locked, something that never happens back home in Saskatchewan. And of course, my keys are back in Jenny’s room. But there’s a glow in the front window. Luckily, I live with four other guys from the team, so someone’s up.

I tap on the window until Swanny throws back the drapes and peers out into the dark. He looks nervous until he recognizes me, then he disappears and yanks the door open.

Fuck. You scared us, Sinc, he says.

Sorry. I make my way into the living room where he and Bergy are playing on the PS5.

Karl Swanson and Tyler Bergstrom are sophomores and best friends.

Although I’m still getting to know all the guys, I’ve noticed these two spend a lot of time gaming at night and sleeping by day.

Guess that’ll change once hockey ramps up.

I collapse into the armchair across from them.

We weren’t expecting you back tonight. Bergy smirks, then squints at me. What the hell are you wearing? Are those yoga pants?

I yank the sweatshirt down over my junk. You know that woman I left with?

He nods. The tall blonde with the short skirt? She was hot.

If hot means psycho, then yes . I exhale. Well, it turned out she had a boyfriend she never mentioned, and I had to leave in a hurry. Without my stuff.

What stuff? Swanny asks.

Everything. My clothes, my phone, my wallet, my keys.

They both laugh loud enough to wake up our housemates, but nobody yells down at us. Good, because I’ve already done my share of waking people up tonight. That Andy chick was pretty pissed off.

Well, at least you got to have sex, says Bergy. He is obsessed with scoring, both on and off the ice.

Actually, I didn’t. Her boyfriend called her before we…you know. I was surprised she’d even answered it since we were making out at that moment, but maybe it was his special ringtone.

Then what happened? Swanny asks.

She shoved me out of bed and said I had to leave right away. That her boyfriend was coming, and he would kill me if he found me there. Obviously an exaggeration, but she seemed genuinely panicked. The only thing I had time to grab was my shoes.

The next sixty seconds were chaos. As I ran out, she hissed, Not that way, you dummy!

He’s coming up the stairs. She pointed towards the elevator.

I pushed the button repeatedly, but it was taking so long to come, and I couldn’t stand there naked and wait.

What if her boyfriend—or anyone—saw me? That’s when I spotted Andy Robson’s nameplate.

Swanny and Bergy watch me expectantly, waiting for the next installment of My Fucked-Up Life.

I ended up hiding in the RA’s room. She’s the one who lent me these clothes. I motion towards the leggings, which have split at the seams and exposed my thighs. As a bonus, my bare ass is probably hanging out the back.

Jesus fucking Christ, Swanny snorts. You’re already a legend. Wait until the guys hear this one.

I’d rather be a legend for my hockey skills than my failed hookups. Every team has one guy who is constantly fucking up. He’s good for team morale, since we all need a laugh, but I really don’t want to be that guy.

And you didn’t even get to fuck her, Bergy says sadly. Wally and I were wondering if those tits were actually real. Were they?

No clue. How would I even be able to tell? It’s not like they have a barcode or anything. Besides, everything about Jenny is giving me the creeps right now. I put my head in my hands. I’m sorry I ever met her.

Swanny tosses a cushion at me. Don’t worry about it. She was the one hitting on you. And going hard too. Any guy would have gone for it.

Bergy picks up his controller. Yeah, too bad her boyfriend didn’t show up ten minutes later. You would have been done.

Jesus, Bergy. It’s supposed to take longer than ten minutes. No wonder you can’t keep a girlfriend. Swanny shakes his head.

Nuh uh. I’ve read scientific surveys. Sex is supposed to take seven minutes, Bergy replies. They resume gaming and begin an argument on what constitutes sex, so it’s a good time to leave.

Tonight has been a gong show, and I’m ready to crash. I head up to my room, but as I open the door, I immediately sense that something’s wrong.

When I flip on the light, there’s movement inside. There’s a naked couple on my bed!

What the fuck, man? the guy groans as he throws his hand over his eyes. It’s Lloyd Unger, cousin of my housemate, Ethan. Lloyd’s housing situation got messed up, so he’s been staying at our house while he looks for something new. The woman continues sleeping, totally out of it.

Fuck is all I can say. I’m exhausted and unprepared for yet another problem.

Lloyd blinks at me. Oh, Sinc. Sorry, I didn’t think you would mind. Thought you were spending the night with that chick.

Well, no, I say.

Then he grins at me. Hey, would it be okay if we stay here? You can sleep in my room.

It’s definitely not okay. His room is not even a room, it’s an air mattress in our laundry room. After the crappy night I’ve had, all I want is to fall into my own comfy bed and then get dressed in my own clothes in the morning. Still, I feel bad kicking them out.

When I don’t answer right away, Lloyd’s smile widens. Thanks, buddy. He turns his back to me and puts an arm around the still-sleeping woman.

I smack my hand against the door frame, then sigh. I grab my robe off the hook on the door and go downstairs. The air mattress is tiny and uncomfortable. I stare up at the ceiling beams.

All I’ve ever wanted to do was play hockey.

Monarch College is my chance to play for four more years and get a good education—something my mother’s really happy about.

Cori thought that I should go to university in Saskatoon, like she was doing.

That I could play hockey there too. She knew I’d moved to British Columbia to play, so I’d have a better chance of getting an offer from a U.S.

college. And when I explained how good the hockey and coaching would be at Monarch, she’d scoffed.

It’s not like you’re going to make the NHL, Jack. You need to stop dreaming.

Even if I had gone to Usask, we would still have broken up. Cori had been unhappy with our relationship for a long time, but never bothered to say a word until the day she dumped me.

I turn over and pull the scratchy blanket up. I’m not going to dwell on what happened with Cori. Monarch is a fresh start. A chance to do what I love, and maybe even find love with someone new…even if I’m not off to the best start.

I wake up feeling tired and sore. When I go upstairs, my bedroom door is still closed, so I assume that Lloyd and company are still asleep inside. I stomp down to the kitchen. I’m starved, so I eat a yogurt while I start cooking breakfast.

Morning, Sinc. Roy Matsumoto ambles in. He’s already showered and dressed—lucky guy.

Hey, Mats, I say.

He doesn’t ask why I’m wearing a robe, sweatshirt, and no pants. I threw out the remains of the leggings. But that’s his way. Mats is very zen. He’s the kind of guy who can hold things together in a game when everyone else is panicking.

Mats is actually the reason I’m here. We played on the same team in junior hockey and lived with the same billet family.

Mats is a year older than me, so he got scouted and ended up here in Minnesota last year.

When the team needed defencemen, Mats recommended me to the coach.

Colleges here like players like us who are older and have already played four years of junior hockey.

I’m making bacon and eggs. You want some? I ask.

Sure, thanks. I can start on my training diet tomorrow. He says. I try to eat clean, but I’m nowhere near as strict as he is.

Mats starts making coffee, using his complicated machine that I haven’t even touched yet. His cat, Neko, jumps up on the counter beside him. My mom would never let a barn cat into the house, much less on a table, but Mats loves animals.

As I man the stove, he hands me a coffee. In no time, I’ve done up two generous plates of scrambled eggs, toast, and bacon. Mats adds slices of avocado because he’s addicted.