“Quinn!” I shout, ready to shove through the guys and run after him. But I don’t make it much further than through the door, because Holden presses his palm against my chest to stop me.
“It’s better to just let him go,” he mutters, sorrow written on his face. “Trust me on this one, Oak.”
I push back against his palm, only to have another hand clamp on my shoulder. This one belongs to Camden. He spins me away from Holden and presses me against the wall with a painful grip.
“Look, I know you’re used to being the one who always knows best and is always right, but right now, you’re not. Going after him is only going to make things way worse.” He ducks his head, forcing me to meet his gaze. “You know how he gets when he’s pissed. You don’t want to be on the receiving end of his fists when we’ve got a game to play tomorrow.”
The game tomorrow is the last thing on my mind. My one and only thought is circling around getting to Quinn as quickly as possible. Maybe figure out how to explain this so it makes sense.
If it’s even possible.
“Don’t even think about it,” Holden says, almost reading my thoughts as he stares at me.
Camden must pick up on it too, because his eyes narrow on my face. “Where are your keys?”
Goddamnit.
“Downstairs table.”
Cam glances at Theo, who simply nods and sets off down the stairs to get them without a word, retrieving my keys and probably hiding them somewhere I’ll never be able to find them.
Doesn’t matter. I could always walk to Quinn’s once they’re all asleep.
“Are you going to make me camp outside your door all night to make sure you don’t make a run for it?” Holden asks, cocking his head. “Because I will. I’m not above it one fucking bit if it means keeping your face nice and pretty and in one piece.”
“We could put a bell on his door,” Cam adds. “Make it easier to wake us.”
Theo chooses that moment to reappear. “Are we planning to put bars on the windows too, or is that reaching extreme limits?”
The four of them get a good laugh out of his joke, but while they might find this entire conversation hilarious, I sure as fuck don’t.
“You all fucking suck,” I mutter, attempting to free myself from Cam’s hold. Except Holden’s right there when I fight back, and his hand presses against my other shoulder, keeping me firmly locked in place.
I’m being held there, powerless to the situation I’ve found myself in, and no idea where to go from here.
And while it scares the shit out of me, it also makes me angry. Irrationally so, and it’s this moment when I realize why it’s so easy for Quinn to let his snap.
Being backed into a corner, utterly helpless, is the worst feeling in the world.
My glare moves from Holden to Camden, and finally to Braxton. He’s the only one not saying anything. In fact, he’s not doing anything other than leaning against the opposite wall, arms crossed over his chest, and staring at me.
Like he doesn’t even recognize me.
“Fine,” I bite, sick of being the star of this Jerry Springer-esque showdown. “You win. I’ll stay here. You can all go.”
Not wanting to stick around long enough for them to ask any other questions, I shove free from Cam and Holden’s grasps and barge my way through them until I’m inside the safe haven of my room. The door slams closed behind me, my back colliding with it, and I sink down until my ass hits the wooden floor. It’s cool against my skin, and it’s at that moment I realize…I’m still in only my underwear.
Great.
My fingers weave their way through my hair, and I grip the strands hard enough to rip them clean from my head. But the pain lancing through my scalp as I pull and tug has nothing on the fucking agony coursing through my veins, heading straight for my heart.
The gravity of this situation is suffocating, and it’s all I can do to breathe through the panic.
I can still hear the murmurings of Cam and Holden’s voices from the other side of the door, but it’s low enough to where I can’t make out the exact conversation. But I’m sure I catch the phrase sleeping together more than once, and it’s more than enough to get me up from my spot on the floor.
The last thing I want right now is to hear their opinions on me sleeping with Quinn when they don’t know a goddamn thing about it.
Crossing the room, I grab a pair of sweats and drag them up my thighs. I’m shoving my arms through the sleeves of my hockey hoodie just as a knock comes from the other side of my door.
A low growl works its way from my throat, and I don’t care which of them it is. I’m not fucking doing this right now. “Go away. I’m not in the mood.”
The sound of the door swinging open lets me know whoever it is doesn’t care, and Braxton comes into view when I’m done pulling the hoodie over my head.
“What?” I snap again, irritation settling low in my stomach.
He steps into my room and slams the door closed behind him.
“Those guys might not have the balls to ask questions right now, but I’m not leaving until you tell me what the fuck is going on.”
“You’re asking me what the fuck is going on?” I hiss, pacing the room. “You’re the one who has the explaining to do here. And I’m not doing this bullshit don’t ask, don’t tell crap anymore.”
Too bad Braxton doesn’t hear me, instead tossing accusations right back in my face.
“What do I need to explain to you?” he asks, incredulous. “You’re the one who’s been fucking de Haas behind all our backs. And even if the rest of them don’t give a shit, I sure do.”
Quinn’s name from his lips lands a blow straight to my chest, damn near knocking the wind out of me. But I breathe through the pain, my gaze colliding with his.
“What does it matter to you who I’m sleeping with?”
“It matters when you’re literally fucking the guy we tried to take out earlier this season.” He shakes his head, tossing his arms out to the side. “I’m honestly surprised this didn’t blow up in your face sooner.”
“That’s fucking rich coming from the guy who set this whole mess into motion.”
“Me? You’re the one who gave me the fucking idea in the first place, Oakley! So don’t be coming after me just because you can’t—”
“It was my idea?” I wheel on his, eyes wide and temper blazing. “Please tell me when I’ve ever said ‘hey, let’s fuck with someone else’s drug test just because we don’t like them and see what happens?’”
“No, but you are the one who brought up high school and were all ‘too bad we can’t slip weed or booze in his locker.’”
I blink at him, trying to see how he made the logical leap from that singular comment to…to— “So the next natural thought you had was to drug him without him knowing?”
He frowns, confusion etched into his brow. “I didn’t drug him.”
Slamming my eyes closed, I pinch the bridge of my nose. All these non-answers are starting to give me a headache, and I’m fucking over it.
“If you didn’t drug him, then how the fuck do you explain the positive test then?”
“Shhh,” he hisses, glaring at me as he crosses the room. “Look, just keep it down, all right? Holden and Theo might be all the way downstairs, but Cam’s room is right next door, and the last thing we need is him hearing—”
He’s actually worried about that right now?
“Oh, fuck off, Braxton. Just say what you need to say, because this entire fucking situation can’t possibly get any worse.”
He gives me a dubious look before shaking his head. “Well, it started when Holden—”
“Jesus Christ, you pulled Holden into this too?”
Braxton glares at me, a clear sign to shut the fuck up, before continuing. “Holden found out about the testing from one of his buddies on Blackmore’s football team after a bunch of those guys failed theirs. I’d overheard him talking about when Leighton was planning to test us, and I figured…what better way to get de Haas out than that? So since I knew you had some leftover pills, I—”
Oh my God.
I drop my head back and slam my eyes closed.
“Stop.”
He cuts his words off mid sentence, then asks, “Do you want this fucking story or not?”
I do. I really fucking do, but as it’s unraveling before me, I can’t stomach to hear much more. Because I know what he’s gonna say. It all makes sense now, all the pieces fitting together.
He knew I had leftover pills from my injury because I rarely used them as it was. So he took them and framed Quinn for using them. Probably banking on a suspension, or worse, since he wouldn’t have a medical exception filed with the NCAA.
Goddamnit.
“So how did you manage this if you didn’t drug him?”
The next sentence he says damn near knocks me off my feet.
“I just took them.”
My eyes snap back open. “What?”
He shrugs in one of those what can you do ways. “I wanted to slip them to him directly, but I couldn’t figure out a way to without him noticing, so I just took them. And when the time came, the label with our names was on the lids of the sample cups, so I just…swapped the lids.” He shrugs again. “Made the whole thing a lot easier than having to swap the samples the way I thought I’d have to. Playing with piss is—”
“You really don’t need to finish that sentence,” I tell him, wrinkling my nose in disgust.
Fuck me running.
I can’t unknow what happened now. And like Braxton alluded when this whole thing started, I don’t want to know it in the first place.
Because now…I have to figure out what to do with it.
My fingers rake though my hair before I lock my hands on the back of my head. “This is really fucking bad.”
He waves me off. “You really think de Haas is gonna do anything about it this close to the tournament? There’s no way.”
I blink at him, floored by the sheer audacity he has. “No, Brax. I don’t think he will. But I’m sure gonna.”
His eyes bug out of his head like in those old cartoons. “Why the fuck would you do that?”
Again, I’m stunned into damn near silence. Staring at him like…he’s a complete stranger all of a sudden. “You’re really asking that question right now?”
“You’re really gonna sell me out when I did this shit for you?”
“I never asked you to!” I shout, tossing my arms out in front of me. “There was no time I ever asked you to do something like this.”
“You didn’t have to! This is what friends do for each other, Oakley. Or did burying your dick inside de Haas make you forget we are friends? You and me, not you and him.”
Oh, but he’s wrong.
Braxton and I…we’re not friends. Maybe we were at one point a few years ago. Hell, maybe even at the beginning of the season when all this shit started. But that ship has long since sailed with everything happening right now.
And then me and Quinn?
My eyes sink closed. A knot forms in my throat as the image of him with that pill bottle in hand comes barreling back into my mind.
During this season, he’s gone from the person I despised most in the world to the person I never want to live without. The one who makes me laugh harder than anyone else. The one who brings out my reckless side, because life shouldn’t always be so serious.
He’s the one I should’ve protected at all costs.
Not Braxton.
“No,” I tell him, shaking my head.
“No?” he repeats, his dark eyes hardening. “Are you really gonna sit here and choose some good dick over me?”
“And that right there proves my point exactly.” I scoff, my lips curling back into a snarl. I can barely look at him right now. “You might’ve thought you were doing me a favor with all this, but all you’ve actually accomplished is costing me the trust of the person who matters most to me.”
Braxton shakes his head before waving me off. “Whatever, man. Give it a couple days and you’ll be over it.”
Yeah, considering the way I just tried to bolt after the guy in my underwear after letting him fuck the daylights out of me, I sincerely doubt that.
My eyes sink closed again, and I pray to whatever God exists for the strength to not lose my ever-loving shit on him.
“Get the fuck out, Braxton. It’s over. We’re done here.”
“Are you really gonna—”
“OUT!” I snarl, grabbing him by the neck of his shirt and shoving him out the door. I don’t think I breathe again until I slam it in his face and lock him on the other side.
Which only makes me realize one of my other roommates really did put a fucking bell on the door as a signal, because I can still hear the faint jingling of metal when I storm back over toward my bed.
Seeing as I’m not going anywhere with that wonderful little thing on my door, I strip back to my underwear and crawl into the bed, praying for sleep to take me quickly and end what might be the worst day of my life.
But instead of sleep granting me reprieve from reality, I only find more torment. Because my sheets still smell like him. Even after only setting foot in this room one time.
A knot forms in my throat, and I shove my arm beneath the pillow, attempting to get comfortable. But the second I make the movement, I brush against a familiar object.
One that makes the knot impossible to breathe around.
His puck.
I don’t need to pull it out to confirm; the way my heart lurches, aching and throbbing in my chest with every painful beat it takes, is enough. My hand wraps around the damn thing, squeezing it so hard, the rounded edges actually dig into my palm.
He was so worried about getting the hell out of here, he left it.
His superstition. The piece of his history keeping him out on the ice every day.
All the things he’s told me over the passing months come rushing to the forefront of my mind as my fingers coast over the smooth rubber disk. The hidden secrets and truths I would have never uncovered if I didn’t change my mind about following through with this superstition. So many parts of himself he willingly handed over without looking back. Entrusted me to hold and safeguard, thinking I’d done the work to earn them.
Deserve them.
And God, how I want to be deserving of them.
But I’m not.
I don’t think any amount of wishing and praying is going to change that.
