Oh, I see.
Well.
“Fine. Go do them. Your loss,” I say. “We’re going to go eat cheese fries and drink beer.”
A somber looking player, I think his last name is Donaldson, comes over and tugs him away. Their conversation lasts for at least five minutes, and the longer it goes, the more I itch to ditch him.
They are pulled into a throng of girls and my course is set.
He’s forgotten I was here.
I back away as my throat prickles with feelings I don’t want to think about.
The pain of putting myself out there.
Not being good enough for the golden boy.
I start to sweat.
Why would he want to hang out with a stripper when he can have any girl here?
It doesn’t make sense.
We don’t make sense—even as friends.
20
Eric
Donaldson tells me that Boone is at the ER and doing well. His parents called Coach after the game and gave an update. I missed it when I left the locker room as fast as I could.
I need to go see him. Check in with his parents and see if they need anything.
I glance back where Julia and her gang were, but she’s gone.
Shit. A long exhalation comes from my lips.
She came here for me.
And I’m burning down everything that means something to me.
I pry a girl’s hand off my arm and break free.
When I’m outside, I gulp air and scrub my hands down my face. I keep running Boone’s face through my head. He was sick. So sick he had to be hospitalized.
What pisses me off is someone had his phone and saw my messages. I don’t care about the game. I mean, I do, but the sooner I could have gotten to him, the quicker he could have gotten help.
I get into my truck, nerves on edge. I turn the key and it doesn’t start. I take three breaths to calm down, but it doesn’t help. I try the key again and get the same result. I bang both fists on the steering wheel, feeling it bend underneath each blow.
Finally it starts.
Smart truck.
After checking in on Boone and his parents at the hospital, it’s almost midnight when I get home. The Kappa house is lit up. I watch as pledges struggle with a keg, trying to get it up onto their back porch and into the house.
“Nice game,” someone shouts from their property. “Losers.”
Wrong night. Wrong fucking thing to say.
I march over to the guys.
“What did you say?”
“Um, nothing,” one of the pledges says nervously. “We’re cool.”
I smile darkly. “You sure? I’m right here if you want to talk hockey, hmm?”
They ease away as Parker comes out the back door. “If you don’t want to eat shit, you shouldn’t lose games.”
I climb the stairs but a couple of scumbags block my path, trying to shoulder block me.
“You’re on private property,” one says. “You’re not welcome here.”
He tries to stop me as I grab him by his sweatshirt, whirl him around, and drag him up so he can see my face. “I didn’t ask if I was welcome, and I sure as hell don’t care.”
I shove him and he falls down the stairs.
More brothers come onto the porch.
I’ve gone three periods with the Thunder. I should be spent. But right now, I itch to wipe that smug look off Parker’s face.
“What happened to Boone at the maze?” I ask Parker. “Why did you leave him outside all night?”
“It’s not my fault if he can’t handle his liquor,” he says, scorn dripping from his tone.
“Boone could’ve died. How stupid are you?” I point back toward the school administration building. “If they find out you were hazing—”
He laughs. “Really? You forget who my dad is? He was a Kappa. Just like yours. Just like your brother. These rituals have been around a long time, Hansen. Our alumni look back on those days fondly. They laugh about it and we laugh about it. And guess what? Real men can handle it. They rose to the challenge. O’Brien? Guess he’s just a pussy like you.”
Rage boils over.
Julia handcuffed to his bed.
Boone in the shower.
I lunge at him, but he ducks back into the house.
Scott steps up and shoves me. “If you want to see Parker, you’ll have to go through me.”
“Bring it,” I say as he swings at me, too high, and I slip under it, then connect under his armpit. One, two, three, four. Body shots. Chest, leg, mouth, eye.
Gasping, he retreats backwards until he’s against the wall of the house, blood pouring from him.
I pounce on him and my fists fly, connecting with his face again and again.