Page 12

Chapter Twelve

Trent

A s I walk across campus, headed toward my house, my cell phone dings with a new message. A dozen other phones ring at the same time. I glance around the Quad, where people hold their phones in front of them, their eyes wide with shock. A few people shoot curious looks at me.

I remove my phone from my pocket to see who texted me. It’s an unknown number, a woman who calls herself The Queen.

The Queen

Want the latest gossip about Strick U’s ice hockey team? I’ve got you covered. Click the link.

What the fuck?

My heart hammers in my chest as I tap the link. A blog called Dethroned loads, and my jaw unhinges as I read her post. She’s clearly out for my brother’s blood.

Dethroned: October Edition

I wonder what the NCAA would say about hotshot hockey stud Tucker Kane pounding beers and eating mystery brownies at the Delta Sig house on Saturday. Are those pot brownies, Tucker? Only a drug test will tell…

XO,

The Queen

“Fuck,” I mutter.

We’re still on suspension, days away from returning to the ice. Who the hell does this woman think she is? No one talks shit about my brother.

I scroll through her blog, which has dozens of pictures of my teammates in compromising positions. From the looks of it, students captured these pictures at parties and handed them over to this bitch. Tucker’s eating a brownie in one image.

I could kill him.

He knows better than to do stupid shit like eating pot brownies during hockey season. My brother isn’t into drugs, but if you get him drunk enough, he’s open to new things. Unlike me, Tucker has no self-control. He’s easily peer pressured into doing stupid shit that usually gets him into trouble.

I roll my eyes at the picture of Drake getting a blowjob from a blonde girl.

She’s on her knees in front of him. He leans forward, pressing his palm to the sink as she works him over.

It looks like someone popped their head into the bathroom at our house.

It must have been during a party before our season started.

How did The Queen get these pictures?

My phone beeps with a group text that includes Tucker, Jamie, Drake, and Preston. It’s Preston telling us to meet at the house to discuss The Queen.

As I make my way across the campus, I get dozens of looks from strangers. People point and stare, talking about me because they can’t tell me apart from Tucker. We’re used to getting confused for the other. I usually don’t mind, but in this case, it fucking sucks.

They have the wrong twin.