Page 6 of In the Net (Sin Bin Stories #5)

SEBASTIAN

“ S ebastian! What the hell are you doing out there!”

My teeth grind at Coach’s reprimand. He’s not wrong to call me out, though. I’ve performed like shit this whole practice session.

Coach has me running drills against Jamie.

Jamie started as a forward, but when our former captain, Lane Larsen, broke his leg, Jamie filled in for him on first line defense.

Jamie did so well in the role that once Lane graduated, Coach decided to put him in that position full-time.

With both Lane and our other first line defenseman, Rhys Callahan, graduating, we have more holes on defense than on offense.

And Jamie’s burned my ass the entire time we’ve been facing off. On one hand, it’s a good sign that Jamie’s playing so sharply. On the other hand, I’m playing like I have no business on this team.

Having no good answer for Coach, he blows his whistle and brings today’s practice to an end.

“Whatever’s going on in that head of yours, un-fuck it by our next practice session, Lawrence. Just because you boys won the Championship last year, doesn’t mean I’m willing to accept a losing season this year.”

“Yes, Coach,” I answer. As good as it felt winning the Championship, the idea of following it up by having a bad season for my very last year of college hockey makes my stomach turn.

Hopefully I’ll be able to work out what’s distracting me by tomorrow. It’s the essay I’ve been working on for the English department competition. I just realized that I need to scrap weeks’ worth of work and restart it from the beginning.

Last night, I realized the direction I was pursuing was just too … predictable. Too bland.

I know the kinds of students who are going to be submitting papers to this contest, and if I want to win, my paper needs to not only be stylistically flawless and logically sound, but it needs a bold and provocative thesis.

It’s bad that I’m letting this affect my hockey performance.

As a senior and veteran player, I should be leading by example.

But, fuck, I want that trip to Paris. And even though an academic career isn’t what I’m interested in, it would be a really cool experience to present a paper at a conference.

I sucked during this practice, but the team is in high spirits in the locker room. Overall, we looked good out there. Felix is teasing Kiran, who got promoted to first line left forward to replace Tuck, about being able to block all his shots on goal today.

Felix might be insufferable when it comes to bragging, but at least he’s good.

Granted, our former goalie, Hudson, was even better, yet knew how to shut the fuck up about it.

But, hey, that’s life. People come and go, and you have to adjust to the new personalities and quirks. Felix might love to brag, but he’s still a good dude.

While we shower and get dressed, I focus on constructing and outlining my new thesis in my head. Just as I’m pulling on a pair of boxers, I feel like all the pieces are sliding together, and I’m eager to get home and start working on my revisions.

Now that I think I’ve found a path forward, the churning of contemplation in my head slows down. I tune back into whatever the guys are talking about.

“Veikko, bro, you’ve really gotta learn how to read facial expressions,” Carter’s saying.

“What do you mean?” the Finn asks.

Felix laughs. “Dude, that girl at the bar Saturday night. She was, like, catastrophically into you.”

Veikko frowns. “No she wasn’t. She said she was trying to avoid hockey players.”

Carter huffs a disbelieving laugh, shaking his head. “She said, and I quote, I’ve heard hockey players are trouble, and I’m trying to stay out of trouble this semester .”

Veikko nods, like he’s just been vindicated. “Exactly.”

“She said it while stepping so close to you that her tits brushed against your arm, with a smirk on her face, making eyes at you that basically begged you to take her into the nearest empty closet,” Felix adds.

“Then why would she say she’s trying to stay out of trouble? If I’m a hockey player, and hockey players are trouble, and she wants to stay out of trouble … clearly, she does not want me.”

Felix closes his eyes and rubs them with the heels of his hands. “Oh, Veikko, Veikko, Veikko. We really need to get you to understand flirting.”

“I think you’re wrong about this,” Veikko replies, a serious expression on his face. “If I see her again, I’ll ask.”

This draws uproarious laughter from the rest of the guys, to which Veikko only shrugs his shoulders.

Felix claps his hands. “Alright, I’m fucking starving. I’ve got the image of a big, greasy burger in my mind, and I want to get one into my stomach.”

Jamie lets out a disapproving hum. “The season is just around the corner. I think we need to start being more mindful of our diets. We should go to the ramen place instead. We’ll get protein and vegetables without a pile of grease along with it.”

My lips hitch into a grin. Ever since the beginning of this year, Jamie’s sort of become the dad of the group. Really stepping into Lane’s shoes in more ways than one. He keeps the younger players on track and makes sure the guys in the house are making good decisions.

I haven’t told him this yet, but I’m planning on talking to Coach soon and suggesting that he make Jamie team captain this season, instead of me.

Felix groans about Jamie’s better judgment, but Jamie puts his foot down, and we all head out in the direction of Chiyoda Ramen.

It’s probably the restaurant in town we go to the most, all because a couple years back, Hudson struck up an unlikely acquaintanceship with the notoriously misanthropic owner, Kazu.

But now that we know him and he knows us, he’s pretty cool. In his own way.

When we walk past Last Word, the café-bookstore downtown, Jamie suddenly gets quiet and introspective, a strange demeanor radiating from him.

I step up just behind him and nudge him with my shoulder. “What’s on your mind?”

He tilts his head thoughtfully. “How do you think you would describe your ideal girl?”

I scrub my hand over my jaw, feeling the prickly stubble that’s accumulated after skipping shaving for three days. “Like, to date?”

He nods, a bashful look on his face.

I pull in a deep breath and let it out slowly, thinking.

“I don’t know. I mean, she’d have to be smart.

Well-read. Not just well-read, but able to form interesting opinions about what she reads.

If we’re really talking ideal, I’d love to be with someone I could talk literature and stuff with.

I’d like her to have a sort of forceful personality.

Someone who treats me for who I am as a person, rather than who I am as a hockey player.

Someone witty, who forces me to keep up; like we kind of sharpen each other, you know? ”

“What about physically?” Carter asks, falling in step with me and Jamie and joining the conversation. “Like, what hair color do you find most attractive?”

I shrug. It’s not something I’ve ever really thought about. I find all kinds of women good-looking. “I dunno. I mean, I’ve kind of always thought red hair was attractive.”

For some reason, this makes Carter erupt in a peal of laughter. When I quirk an eyebrow at him, he just clasps me on the shoulder.

“What?” I ask.

“Sounds like someone we know,” Carter replies, a wide grin dominating his face.

I scrunch my brow. “Who?”

Carter’s gaze slides away from mine to lock with Jamie’s. “I don’t have the heart to break it to him,” he says, before picking up his pace to join with Veikko and Felix ahead of us.

I turn to Jamie. “What’s he talking about?”

Jamie shakes his head, his lips pulling into a smile that I can tell he’s trying to fight against. “He’s talking about Harper.”

I balk, my eyes going wide with surprise. I take a step back like I’ve just been pushed. “ Harper ?” I almost gasp her name. “No way. You guys are nuts.”

Jamie presses his lips tight and lifts his brow. “Yeah, totally nuts.”

I don’t like the sarcasm I detect in his voice, but I judge it best to just drop this entire conversation. The kind of girl I just described doesn’t match up with Harper at all.

I mean, except for the hair, obviously.

And except for …

I shake my head, scattering that thought to the wind.

We step into the cozy ramen restaurant. Kazu tersely and almost imperceptibly dips his head to nod in our direction, which compared to his usual attitude basically marks us as his best friends in the whole world.

I mean, except for Cindy, the curvy and vivacious owner of Last Word, Kazu’s girlfriend. Those two sure make an unlikely pair, but they seem to be perfect for each other.

The five of us place our orders at the counter and then take our usual seat in the big circular booth near the window. When we sit down, my phone rumbles in my pocket with a notification. It’s just a video an old friend sent me on Instagram.

I give it a laugh reaction, but when I press back to my home page just before putting my phone to sleep, I see something that makes a pit form in my stomach.

A picture of Bryce. My best friend.

That immediate association in my mind— Bryce , and best friend —brings a bitter taste to my mouth. The flavor is laced with regret.

We were best friends since we were seven years old. More than best friends, we were like brothers. Inseparable.

Until tenth grade, when I got that scholarship to St. Bart’s, the prestigious prep school close to our hometown. We drifted apart slowly, then all at once, when we had a big argument and fell out during winter break in eleventh grade.

We haven’t spoken since.

The worst part? I know I was in the wrong.

Bryce was upset that I was taking his friendship for granted, prioritizing my new prep school friends over him. He called me out over being desperate for their approval and desperate to feel superior to the people I grew up with.

He was right. Instead of taking his words to heart and trying to be better, I lashed out, accusing him of being jealous.

A sad, nostalgic feeling lances into my heart as I look at the photo on the screen. It’s a group picture, at the college Bryce goes to back home in Connecticut. There’s him, a guy I recognize from our high school, and another guy I don’t know.

Bryce’s arm is slung around the shoulders of the guy I don’t know, and there’s a bright smile on his face. It’s a smile I used to be so used to, having one on my face all the time too as we cracked up together about something ridiculous that only the two of us would find funny, or even understand.

There’s not a day I don’t think about him. Not a day that I don’t wish we could still be texting each other stupid jokes, or news about our lives. I can’t imagine anyone else ever being my best friend.

Maybe I should send him a message.

But then the wave of guilt surges through me, the same feeling that always tightens my chest whenever I have that thought.

It’s been so long, and I’ve gone so long without trying to apologize. Would he even care if I reached out?

I turn off my screen and slide the phone into my pocket, a pang of remorse filling my chest.

It’s probably too late to make up for the past. Hell, just the fact that my relationship with Harper is so different from what it used to be should make one thing perfectly clear: I’m not the person I used to be when I was still friends with them.

I’ve changed. I don’t think it’s been for the better, but I also don’t think I can change back.