Page 11

11

Caleb

October

“ C aleb. A word,” my uncle says, and I have to hold back a groan because I can tell he’s going to give me a mouthful.

With the way he’s glaring at me, I wonder if this is his breaking point. I skate away from the rest of the team and come to a halt in front of him, yanking off my helmet and giving him the most innocent smile I can muster. Behind us, the rest of the team continue with their drills, the assistant coaches yelling after them.

“Yes, Coach?” I ask sweetly, since I’m supposed to call him that when he’s working.

“Why the hell do you keep taunting Sandoval?”

Huh. So he caught that.

“I don’t know what you mean,” I say.

“You’ve been taunting him all week. Stop it. You’re supposed to be a team.”

“I’m not saying or doing anything that any other person in a match wouldn’t say.”

“Really? Because I doubt anybody would yell, and I quote, ‘You suck at handling as much as you fucking suck at Mario Party.’”

I grin. Okay, I admit, that wasn’t my best moment, but I’m running out of ways to shit talk him. Even Schultz thought it was so lame that he snorted, telling me I’ve devolved to a middle schooler. Funny guy, that man.

My uncle snaps, “Stop smiling. You’re getting in his head. I haven’t seen him fumble like this, ever.”

“What’s the issue? If his game’s off because of a few jabs, then that’s on him.”

“Caleb,” he growls. “You’re a team . Is this a roommate thing? You’re not getting along?”

Yes. He’s a homophobic prick.

“Quit being such an immature asshole or none of these guys will have your back in game time, and I might as well not let you play.”

Okay, that hits hard. Take anything from me except for hockey. I grunt in response and put my helmet back on, and I’m just about to rejoin the drills when he blows his whistle loud enough to get everyone’s attention.

My uncle yells, “We’re doing two versus two.” He goes over the drill he wants us to do, and I already hate it. “Everyone pair up. Sandoval and Caleb, you’re together.”

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

I remind myself that he’s my mom’s only sibling, and he’s done so much for me. Including helping me get a transfer here. I owe him a lot, and any other coach would have given up on me by now.

Sighing, I bow my head and just fucking accept whatever it is he’s trying to do. The man’s probably trying to get me and Nick to actually work together, as if a stupid drill would do that.

I get in line, and opposite me, Nick does the same. He narrows his eyes at me, his lips pursed, and I give him a shit-eating grin.

Schultz skates up to me and elbows me. “Lay off him. Morgan’s ready to pummel you to the ground if you don’t quit it.”

“For some mean words? Did I hurt their precious baby feelings?”

“I’ve never seen Sandoval this frustrated at anyone.” Schultz waves a gloved hand around. “At least spread out the hate and piss everyone off equally. Heck, go at it with me, if you’d like. I don’t care. It’s been a week. Let it rest. What did you two fight about, anyway?”

“Roommate shit,” I deadpan. “He used up all my toothpaste.”

Schultz rolls his eyes and when the drill starts, he backs away from me.

Not surprisingly, Nick and I work awful together—mostly because neither of us clearly wants to be paired up. I’ve somehow been able to pull out Nick’s competitiveness, except that he’s doing it all wrong considering we’re supposed to be on the same fucking team.

“You’re not supposed to steal from each other!” My uncle yells when our turn’s over, and the next pair starts. He looks so frustrated, but this was his idea, right? What did he even expect?

The next time we go, I pass Nick the damn puck just so my uncle will get off my back, and he misses the net altogether. I burst out laughing, and Nick looks ready to break his stick in half.

“Quit messing with him!” Rhys yells from the other side of the rink.

“I didn’t do shit!”

“You’re getting in his mind!”

Yes, that’s the point. Nick skates over to Rhys, telling him something I can’t hear, and Rhys glares at me from over his shoulder. I smile back.

What the hell is Rhys’s deal, anyway? Is he in love with Nick? That would be sad, considering what Nick thinks about me and my choices.

When practice ends, I watch the miserable look on Nick’s face as he leaves ahead of me. I’m just about to follow him and the rest of the guys when someone yanks on my sleeve, pulling me back.

It’s Rhys, his jaw ticking. Schultz skates up to us just as Rhys mutters, “Leave Nick alone.”

Great, not another intervention from these two.

“Yeah, Jennings,” Schultz says. “You’re taking it a little too far.”

“So dramatic,” I quip.

Rhys narrows his eyes. “He’s been late to his morning classes all week because of your pranks, and this is the first time I’ve ever seen him this off his game. Game season’s starting soon and he can’t be fumbling like that.”

“Why? It’s not like he wants to go pro. Who cares?”

“Dude, we care,” Schultz interrupts. “You need to chill out. Seriously. It’s not a good look on you.”

“Let go of me,” I snap at Rhys, who’s still holding my shoulder. He shrugs and listens though, and I take a moment to look at them. Rhys gets on my nerves with his holier-than-thou attitude and how he keeps speaking for Nick, but Schultz isn’t too bad.

With them pulling me aside to talk to me like this and my uncle, the coach, talking to me earlier—maybe I see how I’m doing too much. I grumble, “Fine, I’ll back off.”

“Thanks,” Rhys says, which honestly only annoys me more.

When we get to the locker room, my eyes automatically seek Nick. I don’t even know why—the guy’s simply that ingrained into my thoughts now, haunting me. He’s sitting in his stall and chugging water from a bottle, his throat bobbing, and I can’t help but stare.

My mouth dries up, because face it, Nick’s hot. It’s getting harder and harder to not admit it, even if he’s an insufferable asshole. Some of the guys are talking to themselves, voices resounding through the room, and I take a while to catch on that they’re talking about some girls they met at a party.

Because of fucking course they are.

“Hey, Sandoval!” Walters slaps Nick with a towel. “Did you think about what I asked you the other week? About my friend who wants your number?”

“Oh.” Nick forces a smile. “No, I—”

“Don’t worry, she’s not looking for anything serious, which is what you need. I think what you need is to get laid.”

“I’ll pass,” he says, earning him a loud groan in response. Walters leaves him alone after that, though.

This is exactly what I’m talking about—these fuckboys and their locker room talk, and the way Nick doesn’t call them out for it, even when they’re including him right in the middle of it.

But me? He told me he didn’t want to hear anything about what I do, even when I barely said anything.

I can’t help but snort.

Nick’s eyebrows clash together, and he snaps his attention to me, and I make a theatrical bow and gesture towards the guys.

“See?” I mouth at him, and his frown deepens. And even if I told Rhys and Schultz I’d back off, I can’t help but take a last dig, showing him both my middle fingers before turning away to my stall.