THE REFEREE’S whistle cuts through the air, stopping play. I glance at Evan, who gestures to the other end of the rink; Mickey’s getting to his feet with help from Brandon.
“Two-minute penalty for tripping,” the referee says. The player from the Boston College side, a forward, skates to the penalty box, and we set up for the power play, the first of the game. It’s the third period, and our defense has been flawless, but unfortunately, so has Boston’s. With only a couple minutes left, I have a feeling that whichever team gets a goal will end up winning. A power play is a perfect chance to make that goal belong to us.
A home victory for the first game of the season would be sweet.
With Boston down a defender, we’re able to penetrate their territory and stay there. Brandon and Mickey and the other forward, Jean, pass the puck back and forth as they look for an opening, and Evan and I shore up the line. All game, I’ve been sharp. Focused. When Brandon shoots and the Boston goalie sends it right back, I stop it from heading into our zone, passing it back to him between the legs of the remaining Boston defender. The goalie denies his second try too. Mickey tries to send in the rebound, but the goalie slaps it all the way to our end. I chase after it, protecting it against the Boston forwards as I look for an opening. I finally see one and send it to Jean, who slaps it to Evan, who loops back around and passes it off to me again. I’m back in Boston’s territory now—and the goalie isn’t protecting his right side well enough.
I take the shot. It squeaks by the goalie into the back of the net. The crowd erupts with cheers as the band starts up the McKee victory song.
Evan practically skates into me as he pulls me into a hug. Mickey and Jean crowd around me, patting my helmet and congratulating me. The first goal of the season? Mine, with an assist from Evan. I’m a defenseman and don’t get many scoring chances, thanks to my position, so each goal means even more. I can’t control my grin as we resume play. I can’t wait to hear what Coach has to say when the game ends.
We hold on to the defensive end of things after the power play ends, and the crowd—the stands absolutely filled with students and fans from Moorbridge and other nearby towns alike—cheer so loudly we can barely hear the buzzer when time runs out. I pull Evan into another hug, breathing in the cold air and the sweat on our skin. The team skates onto the ice, raising our sticks, bellowing the lyrics to the victory song. The lyrics aren’t actually “Go McFucking McKee,” of course, but no one cares. When we finally make our way over to the bench, I look for Coach Ryder, but something else catches my eye. A flash of orange hair.
Penny?
No, some other girl. I shake my head, willing the disappointment away. The less I think about her, the faster I’ll forget her.
Someone slams into my shoulder. “Watch yourself,” Brandon snarls.
I whirl around. “What the hell was that for?”
“I know you think you’re getting the captain position,” he says, “but I’m a senior. It’s my year. I’m the center.”
“It’s based on merit.”
He snorts. “One power play goal doesn’t make you better than the rest of us, Callahan.”
While I can admire his ability to get under our opponents’ skin, he turns it on his own teammates too often for my taste. I grind my teeth. He’s a douchebag, but that’s nothing new.
I lean in. “Maybe, but actually leading in something other than taunting counts, too.”
“And you’re a saint?” He laughs shortly. “Say what you will about me, but I’m not the one who pulls my gloves off at the slightest provocation.”
Brandon is the kind of player I can’t stand; he chirps his head off, but at the end of the day, he won’t throw an elbow when necessary. I know the college rules, but it’s still hockey; it’s a physical game, and hits are part of the game.
Before I can reply, Remmy skates over, throwing his arms around us. We get caught up in the celebration, and it’s for the best, anyway; Brandon and I have never been best buddies. If Coach ends up making him captain, it’ll be a bitter pill to swallow. I can only hope that games like this one, as well as the volunteering, show him I’m willing to play by the rules. Whatever the hell allowed me to get into the zone—Ryder’s lecture, or the skating class, or even my hookup with Penny—I’m grateful for it. I haven’t felt this good about my play since early last season.
Coach Ryder gathers us around for a post-game debrief while we’re still in our skates and pads. When his hand comes down on my shoulder, clapping firmly, I drop my gaze, so the guys don’t see the flush on my face. “Great effort, men,” he says. “All of you played your hearts out and got us a great win to take into tomorrow’s game. Callahan, excellent job taking advantage of the power play, and great assist by Bell. Enjoy the win, gentlemen, but make sure you stay focused on tomorrow, too.”
Evan grins at me. I knock our shoulders together.
“McFucking McKee!” Jean shouts in his hoarse French-Canadian accent. We all join in, putting our fists together and cheering before breaking away to hit the showers and change. I catch Coach’s eye once more; he nods before disappearing into his office.
I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling too hard and shoot off a text to the family group chat:
1st W.
Then I head for the showers. There’s a game tomorrow, sure, but tonight? I’m using the end of my hookup curse to huddle up with a puck bunny or two… and to get Little Miss Red Ryder-hood out of my head.
WHEN I STEP out of the locker room, however, it’s Seb waiting for me instead of a hopeful puck bunny.
“If you want him, he’ll be at Haverhill House,” he says to a girl who pouts as he grabs my arm.
“Haverhill House?” I repeat, raising my eyebrows. I’ve only been to a couple of parties there. I fit in better with the frat crowd, even though, despite repeated attempts at recruiting, I’m not a member of any of them. “We didn’t have plans.”
“Yes, we did,” he says, dragging me through the knot of bodies; my teammates and their partners and hookups—current and hopeful—are crowding the hallway. “Important plans.”
I shake him off and stop walking. “What?”
“Jesus,” he says. “Stop being so dense. I’ll tell you in the car.”
“You’re acting weird, you know,” I grumble as I follow him out of the building. “What’s going on, you chasing a chick at that party? It’s not our usual crowd.”
“Not yours, maybe,” he says. “But guess who got an invite and is currently in everyone’s Snap stories?”
My eyes widen. “No.”
“We need to find her. The last thing I saw, she was—”
“No,” I interrupt. “Don’t even.”
“There were body shots involved.”
I scrub my hand over my face. “I thought the Haverhill parties were supposed to be exclusive.”
“Someone invited a bunch of freshmen. It’s been a mess since the doors opened, apparently.”
“Shit.” I yank open the passenger door of Seb’s Jeep and hop in. “Doesn’t she have a game tomorrow?”
“It’s not until the evening.” Seb lowers the radio as he turns out of the parking lot. I’m still full of adrenaline from the game, so I can’t sit still; the entire drive, I’m tapping my feet, drumming my fingers over my knees. Izzy is probably fine, but she’s a party girl, and sometimes she’s not as careful as she should be. You never know what kinds of assholes you might run into at a big university. When she was in high school, our parents had to bail her out on more than one occasion, and those were just high school parties. Now that she’s here at McKee, they’re counting on me to keep an eye on her. I’ll need to deliver her to Long Island in one piece come Thanksgiving.
When we get to the row of houses, light spills out of the one in the center, along with the thump of music. Seb finds a patch of grass to park on. I barely wait until he turns off the car before I’m slamming the door shut and stalking across the lawn. It’s a chilly night, the start of October turning from golden days to autumn, but I suppose it’s hoping against hope that my sister came to this party dressed in a parka.
At the door, a bored looking kid wearing glasses and a tweed jacket glances at us. “Names?” he asks.
“Fuck off,” I say as I shoulder past him. I’d rather go to a frat with an open keg than beg for a watered-down rum coke from a philosophy major high on shrooms. This first room must be the dance floor, because we walk straight into a knot of sweaty bodies.
“Want to split up?” Seb calls over the beat.
I jerk my head to the right. “I’ll go down this hallway. You check the dance floor.”
I wriggle past a couple getting handsy and slink down the hallway, peering into each room. There’s a group of people sitting in a circle around what looks like a Ouija board, the makings of a threesome, a couple of guys passing around a joint. One of them holds it out to me, but I shake my head. I’m not strict about not drinking during the season like James is, but I only touch weed when I’m off duty in the summer.
“Hey,” I say, “you see a girl here? Tall, dark hair, blue eyes? She’s probably wearing a necklace with the letter ‘I’ on it?”
“You’re the hockey player,” one of them says, blinking at me with all the urgency of a sloth.
“Yes,” I say impatiently. “Have you seen that girl?”
“Upstairs,” another says, coughing dryly. “You sure you don’t want a hit, man? It’s primo shit.”
“Nah, thanks.” I fight back the little hook of panic trying to reel me in. Upstairs at a house party usually means one thing. I’m not naïve, I know my sister has probably had sex before and that it’s not my business to forbid her from it, but what if she does something she regrets? She’s a relationship girl. She’s been heartbroken ever since some jerk at the club down at Kitty Hawk stood her up for the date they planned in Manhattan. If she found someone new to date, I would have heard about it by now.
I take the stairs two at a time, calling her name. The lights are dim up here, the music muffled, the air filled with the sour smell of weed, undercut with incense. My eyes water as I push past someone at the exact moment they blow out a smoke ring. I start opening doors, which is a dangerous proposition, but I’d rather walk in on her than miss her entirely.
At the end of the hallway, I finally spot her. She’s on a bed, thankfully fully clothed, laughing as a girl—Victoria, I think—whispers something in her ear. Sparkles cover her midnight blue dress, and the gold-and-diamond initial necklace Mom and Dad gave her during one of her middle school era Izzy Days glitters as well. When she spots me, she shrieks, jumping up from the bed and wrapping me into a hug. She smells like booze and weed, but it’s not like I give a shit about that. Her eyes are clear enough, which means she’s not roofied.
“Hi,” she says. “You’re here! This is so cool! Where’s Sebby?”
“Downstairs.” I pull away and look at her. “What are you even doing here?”
“Victoria’s cousin invited us.”
“You’re only a freshman.”
“I know, right?” She reaches up and pets her hands through my hair, like I’m a fluffy dog instead of her older, taller brother. “Sooooo cool!”
“Iz, we saw you on Snap. That sort of stuff can’t get back to Mom and Dad.”
She just waves her hand. “They went to college too.”
“Let’s go home.”
“What? No way, you just got here! Let’s go find Sebby and dance!”
I pull her hands out of my hair. “You’re drunk. Don’t you have a game tomorrow?”
“Not until the evening,” Victoria says. She hangs over Izzy, swaying them both slightly.
“Oh my God, you had a game,” Izzy says. She reaches up again, but I block her hands. “How did it go? Did you win?”
“Yes,” I say shortly. I wish I could go find Seb for backup, but I’m afraid if I leave, she’ll disappear into the crowd again. I check my pockets, but of course I left my phone in the car. “Now let’s…” I trail off as I see a flash of red hair out of the corner of my eye.
Penny.
This time it really is her; she’s looking hot as fuck in a tight sweater dress and tall boots, her hair half-up, half-down, braids framing her face like a crown. She’s hanging on the arm of some random fucking guy, letting him push her up against the wall as she laughs with a cute snort.
I can’t breathe for a second. I thought I was on edge before, but now I’m on the verge of fucking losing it. I wish I could rip the image of her in that dress out of my mind. Or save it for later, but without that prick in the picture. Her eyes widen as she notices me, and something shifts in her expression as she takes in the scene; Victoria hanging over Izzy, and Izzy hanging over me.
She definitely doesn’t know that Izzy’s my sister.
I don’t recognize the guy, but my guess is he’s a senior, maybe even lives here in Haverhill House. I got the sense, given the hand job walk-through, that Penny isn’t all that experienced. Does he know that? Did she tell him? Is she planning on hooking up with him?
I have no claim to her. In fact, I actively try to avoid having a claim over any girls at all, especially when their last names are Ryder. But something about seeing her with another guy makes my chest hurt, and when I swallow, it’s like I have a bone stuck in my throat.
She murmurs something to the guy, pushing him away. “Callahan,” she starts, her voice trailing off.
Before she can collect her thoughts, Izzy heaves—and hurls all over me.
