Page 113 of Sticks and Stones (Shadow Valley U)
I eye him. “Is that so?”
“With the trust fund and hockey contract and all.”
I snort.
“What I’m saying is, having screaming sex with my sister at all hours of the day—”
“That was a one-off.” I wave him away.
“Well, maybe you should consider getting a space for yourselves. Just the two of you.” His face is red, and he rubs the back of his neck. “The guys and I took a little vote—”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake.”
“We’re not kicking you out immediately. Just, you know, when this shit with Wren’s dad gets resolved and things settle down a bit.”
I consider that. Wren and me in a space of our own, like a one-bedroom apartment that we can make a home. It’s a good idea. And it dawns on me that she’s never really had a place that was truly hers. The hockey house is a shared space—even the bedroom, we go back and forth over who puts shit where—and before that, Evan’s house.
She didn’t sleep when she was at home with her dad. Didn’t eat either. That couldn’t have been considered a home.
So the idea of giving her that, of letting her decorate a whole apartment and doing anything to make her smile—and fucking her on every surface, in every room—lifts a little weight off my shoulders.
I want that. And I wouldn’t have thought of it withoutEvan.
I slap his shoulder. “You’re totally right.”
He grins. “Yeah. Okay, good.”
When he returns to his seat, I slip my earbuds back in and restart the music. This time, “All Apologies” by Nirvana. I close my eyes and try to recenter myself on the upcoming game. We reviewed tapes of CPU earlier this week, and I know what to watch for. I know that Steele O’Brien is an asshole of a D-man, and Greyson Devereux can skate circles around half the guys on our team. And their goalie, Miles Whiteshaw, is quick.
But there are ways to beat them and cracks in their defense, and I plan on exploiting that to the best of my abilities.
The bus rumbles to a stop. We all take a few minutes to straighten our nice outfits, fix our ties, and then we’re off, grabbing our bags from under the bus and heading into the arena.
The hairs on the back of my neck rise, and I glance around. There’s not much here—a half-empty parking lot with a backdrop of tree-covered mountains. Not much else besides our managers unloading from the bus.
Taylor claps me on the back. “You good?”
“Peachy,” I reply.
I shake it off and follow him inside. Coach gives us the rundown, then basically says we’re on our own for the next hour. I pull out my phone and call Wren.
“Hello?” Her voice is breathy and hesitant.
“Are you on your way?”
“With Ally,” she replies.
“Okay, good.” I swallow. “Yeah. I just wanted to make sure.”
“Are you regretting what you said?”
I scowl. “Not in the slightest. Are…are you?”
“No.” She lets out a laugh. “And now Ally is looking at me like I’ve stabbed her in the back.”
“Well, I’ll let you explain to her that you’re hopelessly in love with me.” Holy shit, I’mteasingher about this. Love always felt like one of those untouchable subjects. And here I am, poking fun at Wren.
But then again, whendon’tWren and I poke fun at each other?