Page 36 of Sticks and Stones (Shadow Valley U)

Our first preseason game is this week, and Coach seems…well, maybeworriedis the wrong word. But concerned?

I’m not the only new guy on the team. It seems like there’s been a massive transition in the past year or two, an outflux of the talented players Coach relied on, and aninfluxof…us. The new guys.

While I’m determined to prove I’m worthy of starting, while I relentlessly chasedthisschool forthiscoach andthisteam, not everyone feels the same way. Hockey is my blood. But to some, it’s a hobby.

There’s no time for anyone to half-ass this season.

I close the fridge and sit on one of the stools. The water is halfway to my mouth when a loud noise doesn’t just break the silence—it fucking decimates it. I start, dropping the bottle.

Water flows out of it onto the counter, running off the edges and hitting the floor in little streams.

“Shit,” I mutter. I right the bottle and sop up the mess with the hem of my shirt. There are no fucking kitchen towels, and one measly square of paper towel proves…ineffective. I tear off my shirt and use it to soak up the rest of the water on the floor before I register the noise.

It was a scream.

I tilt my head, waiting for…

Well, I don’t know.

Some sort of reaction from the rest of the house?

“No!GET OFF ME!”

Fuck.

I rush toward Wren’s little closet, pausing only for the briefest of moments before I yank open the door. It’s a swath of darkness and shadow. I flick on the hall light, and it illuminates enough of the tiny space to see her.

She’s writhing on the makeshift bed, which is nothing more than a few blankets on the floor—which alone gives me another twinge of guilt. Her eyes are screwed up tight, her whole body tense. She jerks like she’s trying and failing to escape someone.

I glance over my shoulder, waiting for the telltale sign of Evan running to Wren’s rescue. Hoping for it, more like.

No such luck.

Her mouth opens. A yawning, wide stretch of teeth and tongue and gums, all pink and white and exceptionally ordinary…

Except, it’s not.

And for some reason, I duckintothe closet-room instead of backing away and waiting for someone else to deal with this. With her.

Someone much more qualified. Someone who gives a shit about what happens to her.

The door closes behind me, putting us in total darkness. Yet, when I drop to my knees and reach for her, it isn’t hard at all to find her shoulders. To haul her upright and shake her slightly, even as the scream bubbles out of her.

It’s loud. Bloodcurdling.

I slap my hand over her mouth, muffling the sound, and reach for the lamp with my other hand. That, I fumble with. It takes a moment for the light to click on, and I squint against the burning illumination. Then, I focus back on Wren.

“Wake up,” I urge, peeling my fingers from her face and cupping the back of her neck. “Wren,wake up.”

She does.

Violently.

She hits me in the chest, knocking me back into the door. It must’ve latched, because it doesn’t move under my weight. And her eyes are wild, her hands patting down her body. She touches her face, runs her hands over her cheeks and lips and nose.

Her breathing is coming in short bursts, and her eyes remain unfocused.

I crawl closer until I can grab her hand.