Page 23

TWENTY-ONE

brOOKS

“Welcome to the jungle,” War mouths along with Axl Rose, spinning to snatch up his compression shirt.

We’re in the locker room, getting ready for the game, our game-day playlist in full swing now.

Daniel, who’s playing an air guitar, falls to his knees, head banging as he goes.

The laughter that escapes me echoes even over the earsplitting music. This is exactly what I need to get me out of the funk I’ve been in—my boys. Coach normally leaves us alone while we suit up, but he’ll be in here soon enough to give his pregame talk.

I can only guess he’ll pull me aside and give me hell after the sounds Sara made against his bedroom wall last night. A chuckle breaks through me when I’m struck with a memory of the look on his face when he stepped inside the diner this morning. For an instant, he lit up, but just as quickly, his bright expression fell. Probably when he realized I wasn’t wearing a damn suit. Then the look went murderous. That was the moment he noticed that I wasn’t alone in the booth he and I normally occupy. He turned right around and stormed out, leaving Sara unaware of the entire encounter.

Maybe it’s wrong, but knowing he was uncomfortable fills me with a sense of satisfaction. My goal is to make him as uncomfortable as possible until he has no choice but to leave. As the Guns N’ Roses song comes to an end, every guy in the room starts snapping. We all know precisely what comes next.

Not yet in his skates, but already donning his uniform and socks, Aiden jumps up onto the bench and starts his a cappella version of Flo Rida’s “My House.” Like he does with any song he sings, Aiden comes up with his own lyrics, and he raps the words rather than singing them.

“Welcome to the Bolts’ house

Brooks will take the net now

My wingers never slow down

War will take you out

Welcome to the Bolts’ house

Parker gonna show you how

We got the best defense now,

and then War gonna take you out

Sink the puck in the net, I like it wet.

Block the puck, Saint, we are the best

Wipe the floor with the other team

Yeah, you know the fans will scream

Gravy’s in the back

And Playboy’s by my side

Yeah, War gon’ attack

And Slick gon’ spin in

Welcome to the Bolts’ house.”

By the end, we’re all singing along and breaking it down, the energy in the locker room out of control. Aiden isn’t team captain, but he might as well be. He may drive me fucking nuts half the time, but he’s a leader, and he beats to his own damn drum.

The guys come to me when they need a steady head to help work through shit, but on the ice, Aiden’s a natural leader. His skill is unmatched.

For a moment, I allow myself to get caught up in how proud I am of him. And how grateful I am that I get to play hockey with him.

“You okay?” War turns, putting his back to the rest of the guys who are now tying up their skates and bullshitting with each other.

I blow out a breath. “I’m good, man.”

The second my shoulders relax, my uncle enters, and his steely gaze immediately finds me. I don’t allow myself to tense up again. Instead, I drop to the bench and lace up my own skates, wanting as little interaction with him as I can get.

All that matters is the game.

Sara’s request from this morning filters into my mind, so I close my eyes and go back to visualizing. Tuning out all the noise. I wouldn’t mind a repeat of last night, and if she wants to use my hockey superstitions as an excuse to let me touch her again, then I’ll happily get on board with that.