Page 4 of Sticks and Stones (Shadow Valley U)
I give him a look that says I don’t buy his bullshit, and he grimaces.
Evan’s parents are softies. Like, some of the best people I’ve ever met. Wren wasn’t their first foster kid, but shewasthe first one who seemed to fit into their family as easily as breathing. Something just clicked with them.
And I hated it. Hated that my best friend suddenly had a distraction, someone who pulled his focus away from playing with us. Someone who tagged along with him when we met at the basketball courts or teetered around on figure skates while we practiced our slap shots at the local rink.
The more I got to know her, though, and the longer she stayed with Evan’s family…well, I guess I just had to work a little harder at my hate. It helped that I was able to turn my attention to hockey. That I had some distraction, an outlet for my anger. But she throws these freaking barbs at me all the time, and I push her buttons.
Sometimes it’s fun.
The buzz in the cafeteria rises. It’s like a tide coming at our table, a rush of sound that has the hair on the back of my neck standing up.
“Shit,” Evan mutters. He scans a text, then shoves out of his chair. “They did a drug search—and found something, judging from the sound of it.”
“Sit down,” I order. “We’re fine.”
He drops back down and frowns. Evan wouldn’t dream of touching the stuff, and neither would I. My coach would skin the whole team alive if he caught any of us doing drugs. Even something as innocuous as weed.
It’s not worth the public humiliation that Coach would inflict on us.
As a result, I’ve been on the straight and narrow since I joined the team my freshman year. Once I realized I had a coach who could elevate my skill, I put everything I had into hockey. I saw it as a ticket out of the funnel my father was going to shove me into. The forced path into the corporate world.
I have more riding on the line than most of my teammates, though. I’ve got real interest from the NHL. Scouts keep coming to games. There have been whispers of drafting me in June. Signing on with a professional team will set me up for life.
It’s all I need.
It’s all I care about.
Everything else—my home life, family relationships, a “real job” in the words of my father—all gets pushed to the background. Nothing else matters when I’m on the ice.
Doing something to jeopardize that would be laughable.
“They’re coming this way,” Evan says under his breath. “I don’t like the look of this, man. What if—”
“Stone Foster.”
The room goes silent, minus the approaching footsteps.
Ice sweeps down my spine.
I pivot in my seat and eye the two officers who stride toward us, led by the rather skittish principal.
“Come with me, Stone,” the principal says. “Now, please.”
I narrow my eyes at her, but I rise anyway. I’m not in the habit of disobeying orders, especially with the whole school watching.
As soon as I stand, one of the officers is on me. He grabs my upper arm, squeezing my biceps like I’m going to bolt, and practically drags me with him out of the cafeteria. Like I’m no better than a scum-of-the-earth drug dealer? A miscreant?
They couldn’t have found anything. Not in my truck, not my locker.
“Officer…” Principal Howie hesitates. “We need to call his father.”
Funny, because I was about to use him as my only defense. The words,‘Don’t you know who my father is?’almost passed my lips. I lift my chin, although my skin is getting hotter by the second. There are a million fucking people in the hallways, all gaping at me.
At the scene the officers are creating.
But worse than this is any idea of my father finding out.
They move me into the principal’s office and force me into a chair. I let out a huff, trying to suppress my irritation—and quell the sudden worry. Because this seems serious. The principal gives them an admonishing look. It’s nothing compared to the one my father will shoot in my direction before he unleashes decades of legal crap at them.