Page 9 of Sticks and Stones (Shadow Valley U)

He shakes his head and motions for me to get on with it.

“He’s only the greatest college hockey coach of all time. He’s already been put in the hall of fame.” I take a deep breath. “And I was accepted to the school. I met him, and he said he had heard ofme—”

“Of course he’s heard of you.” Dad rolls his eyes. “You’ve worked hard. The NHL doesn’t draft every hockey player to come out of West Ridge, you know.”

I know that.

I signed a contract with the New York Guardians last year when I turned eighteen. Their draft was nerve-racking, but I did it. I was a sixth-round pick after speaking with their coach a few days prior. They knew my intentions of doing two years at college. To improve. To play against higher-caliber players. To get stronger.

One year in, and I know I’ve made the right decision. This year, technically my sophomore year, will be my last in college. I take the minimum, easiest classes. Or the interesting ones. The school knows I’m only there for a short while, but I like to think of it as a symbiotic relationship. They let me play and take low-brow classes, and I win them championships.

Or so it’s supposed to go.

“I want to transfer,” I spell out. “This coach I have now, he’s okay, but—”

“You want the best.”

“Yes.”

That seems to be something my father understands.

“You think your team will win the Frozen Four?”

I’m convinced he only knows what the Frozen Four—the final four games of the NCAA Tournament—is because I used to talk incessantly about it. Evan and I would pretend we were playing that final championship game, the score tied. Everything boiling down tothat one moment. We loved the rush of it.

“I do,” I answer, keeping my voice steady and my body relaxed. If he missed my fidgeting earlier, all the better. There’s no sign of it now. “I need to play with the best to be the best, Dad.”

“Send the information to my secretary. What we need to do to set you up at school financially.” He frowns. “I trust you can sort out the rest?”

“I’ve got it all covered.” I back toward the door. “I’ll leave you to it. Bye, Dad.”

He’s already shifting back to work mode, picking up the folder and scanning it again. His head is bent, his tie loosened, and his suit jacket off.

Downstairs, I climb in my car. My bags are packed. I wasn’t going to take no as an answer. While I expected more of a fuss from him, I won’t look a gift horse in the mouth either. I have his blessing. I’m getting away from the step-monster.

It’s a two-hour drive to Shadow Valley. I crank the radio and sing along, lighter than I’ve felt inyears. Since the arrest, Dad has kept me on a tight leash. He insisted on drug testing me every week for over a year, going so far as to stand in the bathroom with me to make sure I didn’t cheat when the tests kept coming back clean.

Because I don’t do drugs.

The cops in this town stare at me as I pass. As the son of a defense attorney, I’m sort of used to it. I had their attention before I was accused of doing anything wrong. But now, they’re suspicious.

As soon as I’m out of the city limits, my singing gets louder. I’ve got a terrible voice, but it doesn’t stop me from belting along to the classics. Nirvana and Blue Oyster Cult. You can’t tell me ‘Burnin’ For You’ isn’t the best fucking song on earth.

The drive passes quickly that way, and before I know it, I’m pulling into Shadow Valley. I visited Evan here last year, after our seasons ended, and met his hockey teammates. I knew they were guys I wanted to play with, and with their coach? Of course I was going to make it happen.

Besides, if we win the Frozen Four, I have a better chance of the Guardians taking me onto their team immediately, instead of passing me off to their AHL affiliated team. I want the majors. I want the best.

Dream big or go home, right?

I park on the street and sling my bag over my shoulder. I’ll come back for the rest when I figure out which room is mine.

“Anybody home?” I push the door open and step through. The huge house has a frat feel to it, although it’s removed from frat row. The wide porch out front, the brick, the little balcony overhead. It’s charming and probably not a place six guys should be living.

“Hey, man!” The big guy, Sully, comes around the corner. “Evan’s upstairs. I hear you’re joining us this year?”

I grin and slap his hand. “Yeah. You think you’re ready for me?”

He chuckles. “I’ve seen your highlights. I’m just glad we’re on the same team now.”