Line Mates & Study Dates (CU Hockey Book 4) Read online

  Fucking Christ on a cracker, Rhys can’t be gone. We can’t have screwed this up already.

  I spin in a circle and grip my hair. Real fear shoots through me.

  This can’t be happening. This can’t be happening.

  Pressure grows in my chest, and I rub my sternum to try to dull the ache.

  “Hey.” The voice behind me is familiar, but not the one I’m hoping for.

  I turn to find Kole, and I blink at the coincidence. “Are you following me?”

  “Yes, I’m stalking you.” He lowers his voice and mutters, “Fucking hockey players and their egos.”

  “Sorry. I’m not thinking clearly.”

  “Are you okay?” he asks.

  I glance at him and then his … what I’m assuming he calls a dog. It looks like a hellhound of some sort.

  “Asher?”

  I shake it off. “Uh, my brother. He …” I can’t push the words past my lips.

  “Coach Dalton?”

  “No. My younger brother. He’s thirteen. He went out while we were at practice, and—”

  A loud laugh sounds behind us, coming from the kids’ playground. I’d know it immediately.

  “Rhys?” I yell.

  Then I hear, “Shit, it’s my brother,” in a loud hiss.

  I charge over to the climbing tower and find two pairs of legs sticking out. Relief and anger surge through me in equal measures. I’m fully prepared to yell at Rhys for being stupid for meeting some rando, when the girl’s face comes into focus.

  “Wait, I know you. You go to Rhys’s school.” I look at Rhys. “Hazel said you were with someone you met online.”

  Rhys scoffs. “You really think I’m that dumb? I ain’t telling Hazel shit. She’ll tell everyone at school.”

  “Go home before I call your parents,” I say to the girl, and then I eye my brother. “You need to get your ass home before West kills you. And then kills me for the fun of it.”

  They both scramble away, and even though I know he’s safe, adrenaline is still kicking through me.

  Taking a deep breath, I try to compose myself before I head back home. My hands tremble, and my chest burns. Ouch, no, it aches every time I suck in air.

  Oh, shit, is this what a panic attack feels like?

  I can’t let anything happen to my younger siblings. The thought of losing another person …

  I swallow hard and wince. Everything. Fucking. Hurts.

  A calming hand lands on my shoulder. “Breathe. He’s okay. It’s okay.”

  I want to pull away and put my usual walls up—be the asshole I’m known to be. But I’m tired. So damn tired.

  I blame it on utter exhaustion that I let Kole see me like this.

  Kole sniggers, and at first I think it’s at me. My hand fists at my side, and I grit my teeth, raring for a fight, but when I lift my head, Kole’s focus is on something else. “Shit, I think you lit your brother’s ass on fire. I swear he’s leaving cartoon steam as he runs home.”

  I huff and follow his gaze to where my brother is indeed running faster than I could probably skate. I take out my phone, my hands still shaking as I try to come down from the adrenaline, and message West that Rhys is on his way back.

  “Your parents should sign him up for track,” Kole says.

  “Mm, maybe.” I pocket my phone, and just like in the locker room earlier, my gaze rakes over Kole’s soft features.

  His dirty-blond hair looks more brown in this light, but his hazel eyes are brighter.

  A growling mutt nuzzles his way between us, and I jump back a bit.

  “Hades, stop being such a whore,” Kole says.

  I almost choke. “Uh, what?”

  “He growls whenever people are paying attention to anything but him. He’s an attention whore.”

  “He looks like he’d bite my hand off if I tried to pet him.”

  “That’s why he wants the attention.” Kole kneels and pats his dog, who pants happily at the affection. The sight is so … pure and … the opposite of what I am.

  “Strangers don’t give it to him because he looks so fierce. Who’s a fierce boy?” Kole’s baby voice is kind of adorable.

  No, not adorable.

  What the hell is wrong with you, Asher? Get your head together.

  I need to get out of here. “I should, uh, get back home. Make sure West doesn’t kill Rhys, that the twins aren’t killing each other, and that Zoe’s calmed down from her panic attack.” My eyes widen. “Oh, wow, I just realized that’s a whole lot to dump on someone. Let’s rewind that. I’m … going home.”

  Kole tilts his head. “Why do you have to do all that and not your parents?”

  This is the perfect opening for me to play the woe is me card. My parents are dead. My siblings and I are orphans. If the word “orphan” doesn’t make someone uncomfortable, my blasé attitude when I say it usually does the trick, but tonight, my mouth doesn’t cooperate. I couldn’t stand to see the usual pity on Kole’s face after what just happened with Rhys.

  “They’re … uh … not around.”

  “That sucks. Want to walk together? We’re going the same way.” He points in the direction Rhys ran.

  Again, the urge to shoot him down is there, but I suddenly have no voice at all. All I can do is gesture for him to lead the way. I can do this.

  I made friends last year … well, friend. But I can do it again. Maybe. Cohen seemed to like me in spite of my attitude. I tested him and his boyfriend repeatedly with my stupidity. They both took it in stride, though I’m fairly certain Cohen’s boyfriend wanted to punch me a few times. I would’ve welcomed it if he did.

  That said, making friends with Kole, specifically, seems like a recipe for disaster. I’m a fuckup. Sometimes on purpose. And fucking up with Kole is risky when Coach holds the entire season in his hands.

  “Asher?” Kole asks, and I realize I spaced out.

  “Right. Walk.”

  Just a walk.

  With Coach’s son.

  4

  Kole

  Asher Dalton is … unexpected.

  His hands are shoved deep in his pockets, and his shoulders are drawn up like he wants to retreat inside them like a shell. Everything about him is coiled tight. Defensive. It’s a difference from earlier in the locker room. Before, his green eyes were intense and dark. Out here, under the streetlights, they’re dull and weighted with defeat.

  His lips are turned down, and we slip into silence as we leave the dog park.

  When I’d seen Asher tonight, my first thought was that he was meeting a dealer or something. The way Coach Dalton asked for help, my immediate thought went to him being into the kinds of things that could get him kicked off the team, and with the way he was antsy and pacing … Well, yeah, him looking for his little brother was the last thing on my mind.

  Knowing the real reason behind his anxious twitching, I can’t help being intrigued.

  This afternoon, I labeled him as a troubled asshole. Now, he’s … loving brother?

  It doesn’t add up.

  I try not to smile as he glances my way again. “Do I have something in my teeth?”

  “I’m wondering how long it’s going to take you to explain—” he waves a hand toward Hades “—that.”

  “My dog?” I play dumb but know exactly what he’s asking.

  “Yeah, what happened to the poor guy’s face?”

  I’ve had him for years, so I’m mostly unaffected by it, but every time Hades meets someone new, the questions start. “He was a shelter dog. All they could tell us is he has bull terrier in him, but it’s obvious he’s a mix of a million different breeds too. He’s a true mutt. When animal rescue saved him, he was in a pretty bad way.” Clearly. “They mentioned it was acid burns.” It’s not often I get angry, or want to hurt people, but thinking about what poor Hades went through always sets off a twist deep in my chest. He lost an ear, and one whole side of his face has been burned, so his eye is fused shut and teeth are exposed in places. Th
ey were worried his experiences would mean he’d be too aggressive and untrusting to be rehomed, but he’s just your average puppy wanting love and affection—who happens to have a mangled face.

  “You named your dog, who’s had his face burned off, after a cartoon character with fire on his head?”

  The disbelief in Asher’s tone brings me back to the moment. “Hades was god of the underworld. If my dog hasn’t mastered death, I don’t know who has.”

  “Still think Hellhound suits him better.”

  “You sensing a kindred spirit?”

  “Mutual troublemakers. He looks like he hates being told what to do too.” He points at where Hades is tugging hard on his leash. He’s never been great at walking. “What made you pick him out of all the other dogs?”

  “Not sure, really. It was a feeling. There were a few others I wanted, but you know that moment, where you set your eyes on something and just know? We were meant for each other.”

  Asher stares at Hades. “Can’t say I know the feeling.”

  I can sense his mood taking a dive again. “So, do you get all your general knowledge from cartoons?”

  “Pretty much. They’re about my intellect level.” Asher grins. It almost reaches his eyes. “But, uh, having a heap of younger siblings will do that.”

  “Are they all younger? There were … four, did you say?”

  “Five. Plus me and West.”

  “Wow.”

  He shakes his head roughly. “What about you?”

  “Only child. Wish I had siblings.”

  He opens his mouth to throw something back but stops himself. “They’re mostly okay.”

  Silence slips between us again. Normally, I’m great at small talk. I can hold a conversation with anyone. Professors, my friends, the researchers at my internship. When you grow up ugly, you learn to accommodate. He has a great personality applied strictly to me until senior year of high school.

  Asher, apparently, is terrible at small talk. Or at least, he is with me. It shouldn’t bother me, shouldn’t even be on my radar, because befriending jocks isn’t something I tend to do. And if I’m honest, if it weren’t for Coach Dalton asking me to keep an eye on Asher, I probably would’ve kept walking tonight, but I’m glad I stopped. Pleasantly surprised, even.

  I try not to stereotype, but the jocks I’ve met—and I’ve met a lot through hockey and Dad—only want to talk about sports.

  “Do you feel better now?” I ask, trying to revive this conversation.

  His expression tenses. “I’d convinced myself Rhys was meeting up with some sick fuck from the internet. I was a little panicked, okay?”

  “I was actually talking about hurling at practice today, but yeah, I can understand why your brother was your first thought. Has he ever done something like that before?”

  “Not that I know of. But until last year, I was away playing for the juniors, so who the hell knows.”

  I almost ask if his parents are going to be angry, but they seemed like a touchy subject for him, so I turn the conversation somewhere I’m sure will hold his interest while boring me to tears. “Think you’ll make the Frozen Four this year?”

  Instead of the immediate uplift I’m expecting, Asher’s tense shoulders slump. “Probably not.”

  “Already writing it off? Don’t let Dad hear that.”

  Finally, finally that gets a real smile. “I can’t believe Coach Hogan is your dad. What’s that like?”

  “Like any dad, I suppose. He has high standards for me, he loves me, but ever since I quit hockey, there’s always been a little … distance and disappointment.”

  Asher snickers. “You played hockey?”

  “Hey …” I shove him playfully. “I did. And I was good too.”

  “Get out.”

  “I was.”

  “No fucking way. I don’t believe it.”

  “I quit when I was fourteen. You can imagine how that went down.”

  “I’m surprised he didn’t kick your ass.”

  “Me too, actually.”

  “So … why did you? Quit, I mean.” Asher sounds like he’s curious when he really doesn’t want to be.

  “I didn’t like it, for one. And around that time, I was figuring myself out. Working through what I wanted in life. Sports wasn’t one of those things. Boys were though.”

  Asher turns to me, and I look up to meet his eyes.

  “I’m gay, by the way. I always make sure I get that out there early on, because I don’t have time for assholes.”

  Asher looks stunned for a moment. I’m lucky in that I’ve never felt like my sexuality has made me a target, and with all the queer guys who’ve passed through the CU team, I’m pretty sure it won’t now either.

  “Sounds to me like you’d have plenty of time for assholes. Literally.”

  I laugh hard. I was not expecting that response. “I take it you’re cool, then.”

  “You won’t get any trouble from me.” But there’s something in the way he says it that makes me not so sure. It’s almost teasing. And not in a bad way. Asher’s broad smile has completely taken over his face, and he almost looks like a different person.

  I could see Katey being attracted to him instantly.

  Luckily, I’m smarter than that. It takes more than a pretty face to draw me in.

  We reach a corner, and Asher slows. “That’s me down there.”

  I’m about to say goodbye, when he drops to his knees and scoops Hades up into his arms. My dumb dog barks excitedly in his face as Asher squeezes him tight and scratches his head furiously.

  “Ah, shit,” Asher says. “He peed on me.”

  I catch my laugh. “He does that when he’s excited.”

  “Thanks for the heads-up.” Asher eases Hades off his lap. “Anytime Hellhound wants a pissing post, you let me know.”

  “Will do.” I drag my gaze from the dog up to Asher and find him watching me. This close, I can make out the bright shade of green in his eyes, and when he’s not scowling, he seems like someone I could be friends with. I hesitate over offering him my number, because while he’s okay now, I sense that overall, he’s not. I’ve come to learn that offering guys your number after letting them know you’re gay can be taken the wrong way. Asher seems cool, but I really have no idea of his sexuality, and most people still think straight is the default—so when he didn’t offer up details on his preferences, it makes me lean toward that assumption. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  I watch him leave before walking the three blocks home.

  Dad’s in his office when I first walk in, so I let Hades off his leash to run outside and throw myself in the armchair across from Dad’s desk.

  “You’ll never guess who I just ran into.”

  “Oh, yeah? Who?”

  “One of your players. Asher Dalton. You’ll be proud. I’m being nice already.”

  Dad stops whatever he’s reading and rubs his wide jaw. “Asher, huh?”

  Uh-oh. I know that tone. “Yeah. He was looking for his kid brother at the park.”

  There’s silence for a moment, and I know Dad’s trying to work out what to say. “The Daltons are … they’ve been through a lot. I like that you’re being nice to Asher, but keep it at that. Nice. Professional.”

  “Nice? You made him throw up at practice.”

  “That’s hockey, that’s not personal.”

  Hockey. Of course. Everything is just hockey like I wouldn’t understand. “He seems okay to me.”

  “Well, deep down I’m sure he’s a good kid. But he’s troubled. He’s got a lot on his plate. And so do you. Being premed, you don’t have time to take on another pet project.”

  “Pet project?”

  Dad waves his hand. “You know. There’s always someone, or something, that needs saving. I love that about you. But you’ll do that as a doctor, and Asher … leave this one. Trust me.”

  Great. Because that will help with me telling Coach Dalton I’d keep an eye on him.

  I knew bei
ng the team narc wasn’t in the job description, but that now has me curious.

  First Coach Dalton, then Dad. Why is everyone acting like Asher is a lost cause?

  The pet project comment pisses me off. Though I know Dad doesn’t mean it to be offensive, it’s rooted in the type of deep-seated toxic masculinity that says a man shouldn’t care about things.

  Well, I do.

  I like making people happy. I like helping them. It’s why I want to be a doctor.

  The fact Dad’s told me not to give Asher a second thought has the rebellious side of me awakening. It doesn’t happen often. Only when it’s something I feel strongly about, and not turning my back on people who could use help is one of them.

  Quitting hockey and being true to myself, also one of them.

  People are wrong about Asher. I have no idea how I know that, but even watching him during practice gave me that feeling, and then tonight cemented it.

  Asher isn’t who he pretends to be. He just needs to prove it to people.

  Except the next afternoon when I get to practice early and start to haul the equipment out onto the ice, Asher seems determined to prove me wrong.

  I pause on my way into the locker room when I overhear voices. I have no idea who’s talking, but it’s about me.

  “Why do you reckon Coach hired his son this year? Think it’s to keep an eye on us?”

  I tense as the locker room quiets down. When the voices start talking, I can’t work out who is who.

  “You think that’s what it is?”

  “Why else?”

  “Fuck. Think Coach knows about the puck bunnies we smuggled into the hotel last year?”

  Jocks are not smart. Dad could walk in here at any moment, and they’re barely keeping their voices down. He doesn’t need me to snitch when they’re doing it themselves.

  “Why don’t you guys shut up already?” That voice, I know. It’s not that Asher has a distinct sound, but it’s definitely him. “Don’t worry about the coach’s kid. He’s just a bag bitch who got his job because of daddy. Worry about yourselves. You’ll all look pathetic out there if you can’t keep up with me, and if any of you are hoping to score NHL contracts, you better up your game.”