Page 26 of Trick Shot (Bainbridge Hockey #4)

Claire

W hen I’m in need of regular self-care, I do a hair mask or give myself an at-home facial.

But after the week I’ve had, I was in the mood to smash some shit.

My first choice was to punch the baseball team’s starting lineup in the face, one-by-one, but I’m already on the college’s radar as a troublemaker, so I went with option two.

When I did an article last year on local resources and supports for partners in violent and abusive relationships, I found Hissy Fits.

It’s a rage room that offers everything from kids’ birthday parties to post-divorce celebrations to therapeutic sessions for people with a surplus of anger who need a safe way to channel it.

I freaking love this place. As soon as I told Holland my plan for tonight, she was in.

Apparently, third graders can bring out the rage monster in one of the nicest people I know.

And because she’s the social butterfly to my prickly cactus, she rounded up her crew of girls.

I didn’t mind one bit, though, because Mel Cohen is a badass I’ve always had a bit of a girl crush on, and there’s no one sweeter in the world than Josie Reynolds.

I don’t know Annabelle Taylor well, but I gave her a great review when I saw her in the Bainbridge Players’ rendition of The Importance of Being Earnest last fall, so I feel like we’re old friends.

And after we smashed the hell out of every object that wasn’t literally nailed down, I think the five of us are bonded for life.

Holland is wearing a welder’s mask and wielding a broken guitar like it’s a sledgehammer.

She’s going to town on a crap ton of ancient telephones with dials like my grandma used to have, and plastic shards are flying like shrapnel.

My best friend is squealing with delight, so I do what comes naturally: I snap some pictures.

Glancing around the room, I see some other great shots, and I take them.

Josie’s had half a margarita from the pitcher Mel snuck in, so she’s officially banned from breaking anything.

I snap a great pic of her anyway. She’s curled up on a cozy chair, riffling through a box of old CDs with rapt fascination.

Annabelle and Mel are taking turns throwing plates at a wall and despite the plastic shields they’re wearing, I manage to capture their expressions perfectly.

Annabelle’s face tells a story of pure joy and liberation, but when I look through my viewfinder at Mel, I see something different.

She looks, well, hot and horny. I am fairly certain that Bainbridge’s star center is going to have a very good night tonight.

I make a mental note to develop these photos sometime next week and frame them so I can give them to each of the girls.

I’ve felt so isolated since my article dropped, and being here with them tonight has helped tremendously.

I’m not the kind of person who thrives on a large social network, but everybody needs to feel connected in some way, and that’s the gift they gave me tonight .

A bell chimes overhead, signaling that our time is almost up. That’s probably a good thing. I should go home and get some rest before facing the haters tomorrow. Another day, another slew of insults muttered in my direction. Yay.

Josie uncurls herself from her cozy cocoon and yawns. “This was so much fun. We should hang out more often, and we should invite Norris’s girlfriend, Maggie. I think she’s had a rough time lately and she could use some Girls’ Night Out bonding to destress.”

“I totally agree,” Holland says, peeling the gloves off her hands. “I almost texted her tonight, but then I realized that smashing objects and expectant mamas aren’t a great combination.”

“True,” Mel says. “But what about a movie night? We’ll let her pick the film and we can get all the snacks she’s craving. What’s a good night for everybody?”

While they all agree on a date—one I know Holland will clear with my schedule, which she knows by heart—I check my phone.

Andy said the dean would like to meet with both of us to discuss my “findings”.

I’m not scared of a meeting, but Andy’s pissing his pants.

I haven’t had any new messages tonight, though, so I guess I’ll check in with him tomorrow.

There’s a commotion at the door and I look over to see a parade of hot hockey players stroll in. It takes a second to realize they’re all here to pick up their girlfriends. I smile and wave goodbye, and when Mel wraps me in a hug, I take it.

“Don’t let the bastards get you down,” she tells me. “You know your truth and your worth, and you know what? So do we,” she says, pointing to the other girls.

If I weren’t such a prickly bitch, I might get misty-eyed. I know Holland has my back no matter what. She’d help me hide a body and never ask a single question. That’s just what best friends do. But knowing I have the support of Mel, Josie, and Annabelle means a lot.

I’m zipping up my coat when I feel eyes on me. Color me shocked to see Pete Santos leaning against the wall.

“What are you doing here?” Curiosity forces the words out of my mouth even though I’d be smarter just to stride right past him and head back to campus.

In response to my question, he takes a few steps forward and tilts his head toward the office door.

“Van’s not cleared to drive yet, and Josie had a few sips of alcohol, so I’m their chauffeur tonight.

They’re in the office right now, talking to the lady who owns this place.

Van said something about having the twins’ birthday party here next month. ”

I nod, because I’ve known Josie long enough to know she’s her younger siblings’ guardian.

But after that nonverbal conversational showstopper, I’ve got nothing.

I should leave, but Pete’s basically blocking my path.

It’s not purposeful, he’s just that big.

I could squeeze by and get to the door, but then I’d be so close to him. Too close.

“That was some article you wrote,” he says, the words hanging in the air between us.

“It was the truth,” I say, and if I happen to come off sounding defensive, it’s because I am. “Why does the truth make everybody so damn mad?” I ask, voicing my frustration out loud.

“I’m not mad,” he says. “Okay, maybe I’m a little angry.”

“Join the club,” I say. “No, really. I think there’s some big meeting on campus later this week. They’re sizing people for pitchforks, so you’ll want to get there early so you don’t get stuck with one meant for someone half your size. ”

He doesn’t even crack and smile. “It’s not funny.”

“I’m fully aware of the gravity of the situation, Pete,” I say, putting my hand on my hip.

“Believe me. If you calculated the amount of hate mail I’ve gotten these past few days, you’d see it’s more than twice the number of letters I’ve ever gotten for Am I the Dumbass?

So, yeah, I know it’s serious. What’s also serious is how the privileged elite get away with fucking murder at this school, and no one cares.

But when I dare to call them out, somehow I’m the one causing trouble.

” Maybe it’s unfair, but Pete’s become the target I’m throwing all my verbal daggers at tonight.

I’m so fucking pissed about this situation and the college’s non-reaction to it that my frustration is boiling over.

Pete takes a step closer to me. “I’m not saying what they did was okay. You have every right to be fucking livid, Claire, but, Jesus. Couldn’t you have just gone to the dean? I know you’re a journalist, but can’t you see how dangerous writing that article was?”

“Are you kidding me? You said it yourself, Pete. I’m a journalist. My job is to report the facts.

Let’s get one thing straight. I was taking notes for a story on athletic privilege since the afternoon I arrived.

When I started to see all the perks a certain set of students were privy to, I started paying attention and that’s when inspiration struck.

When I found out later that Mandi and her cohorts were lifting my hard-earned work, that was just the icing on the cake I’d already baked. ”

“You started the article the day you arrived?” he says, his normally bronzed skin turning pale.

“Yes,” I answer honestly. “That’s when I started taking notes.”

The look of betrayal on his handsome face kills me. “And how did I figure into it, Claire? Is that why you ran into me that first day? Or did you seek me out later, figuring you’d get a two-for-one. You could angle for some inside info and play a big fucking joke on the guy you love to hate.”

“What?” The word leaves my mouth on a breath.

“Is that why you had sex with me?” he asks, his voice low.

“No,” I answer immediately, my eyes locked on his. “I had sex with you because I wanted to. My god, Pete, do you really think that little of me?”

He shakes his head and pulls his backwards ballcap off to run a hand through his hair. “I don’t know what to think. For what it’s worth, I fucking hate what you’re going through. I hope you’ve reported all the harassment to campus security, because that shit’s not right.”

“I called campus security when nasty-ass trash was dumped in front of my door the other morning. I’m not talking one or two bags, there were at least a dozen.

The school cops came, but as soon as they took my name, their expressions changed.

It’s complete bullshit, but I just have to keep moving forward.

My editor is under pressure and though he initially liked the article, he’s regretting that decision daily, which sucks, but whatever.

I’m just counting down the days to graduation right now.

I step out of my dorm every morning with my headphones in and go about my day,” I say, holding up the little plastic case.

“I might need a new set, though. I’ve had these since high school and the battery life isn’t what it used to be.

They die on me every day around four, so the end of my day sucks, but the good news is, I’m just as tough as I look. ”

I can feel the frustration come off him in waves, but I can also hear the words he isn’t saying.

“You feel bad for me, Pete, but you can keep your pity. I know exactly what you’re thinking.

I brought this upon myself. I made a big public stink and that means I get to smell shit for the next four months.

Fine, that’s your opinion. You think I should have stayed quiet and safe and done as little as possible to disturb the universe while politely asking for justice.

You know, if it wouldn’t be too much trouble.

And to that, I say—and please know this is accompanied by all the kindness in my heart—Fuck. That. Shit.”

Before he can open his sinfully talented mouth, I grab my bag, brush right past him, and head out the door.