“Your default setting is vaguely pissed off at the world.” He gestured at me. “And right now, you’re oddly mellow. Even with this game in the toilet.”

“Preoccupied, I guess.” I didn’t dare tell him with what.

“Well, un-occupy yourself, fuckface,” he said. “I can’t carry this game alone.”

Fair point. A lot of the guys were coasting tonight, which wasn’t helping me get my head straight. But it wasn’t an excuse, either. Usually, I would be the one reaming everyone out.

“Plus,” he lowered his voice, “scouts, man. Get it together. What happened to the fire you had the last few games?”

“Two of those were against Callingwood, and I fucking hate them, so…”

It helped when I genuinely wanted to cause bodily harm to a good portion of the other team, especially their captain. I didn’t have nearly the same size ax to grind with New England U tonight.

“So pretend we’re playing them. Get mad, bro. I need your head in this.”

I nodded. That could work. I would pretend everyone was Morrison out there and crush them accordingly.

A few minutes later, we headed back out, and Dallas and I hopped onto the ice for the first shift. Palmer, one of our D-men, immediately took a stupid-ass penalty for tripping. Idiot.

We headed into five on four play. I was at the high slot to disrupt cross ice passes and block shots from the point. The Wolves’ right winger wound up and passed to their center. Not today, bitches. I skated forward to intercept it, blocking the shot—with my fucking ankle. Searing pain shot through my foot, radiating up my leg.

Somehow, I managed to skate forward and beat the defender to the rebound, sending it over to Ward. He lined up and sank it in the top right-hand corner. With a fist pump, he skated off to our bench.

“Nice one,” I said, sitting beside him.

“When I told you to try, I didn’t mean sacrifice your sorry ass.”

“It’s fine,” I lied. It was throbbing like a motherfucker. But we needed that goal.

Dallas shook his head. He knew it was bullshit. “Are you going to invite that chick to Ty’s birthday next weekend?”

I hadn’t thought that far ahead. Would Bailey want to go? Did she even like big parties? Plus, that was so far away. If I waited that long, it would be a week and a half before I saw her again.

Then the perfect opening hit me. It might involve actually doing my schoolwork, but hey, desperate times and all.

16. a tad dramatic

CHAPTER 16

A TAD DRAMATIC