Page 14 of Wicked Serve

“UMass kicked me out.” I keep my eyes trained on hers as the back of my neck heats up. It’s one thing for my family to find out—you can’t lose approval you never had in the first place—but admitting this to her is embarrassing. I don’t regret what I did, even as the reality of it sinks in, but that doesn’t mean I feel good talking about it. “I just transferred here.”

“Oh, Nik,” she says, voice soft. “What happened? Are you okay?”

Even though I spent the summer with her, I’m surprised by her immediate empathy. She’s sweeter than anyone deserves, me especially.

“I’m fine.”

She takes my hand in hers and squeezes. “But you loved it there. You told me.”

“Yeah. I did.” I swallow, glancing at our interlocked fingers.

She presses her lips together, but instead of asking about the details, she shakes her head. “I can’t believe you did this.”

“What?”

“Why here?” She pokes me in the ribs, hard, as she pulls away. “You can’t just show up here, talking about the Hamptons. Acting like—”

“I didn’t have a choice.”

“Oh, I’m sure,” she says, a flinty note in her voice. “A family like yours, and you couldn’t wrangle a spot at one of a dozen other fantastic hockey schools. You had to come here and make it that much harder for me to move on.”

“You don’t know the situation. My grandfather—”

“You can’t leave and then show up and ask if I miss you,” she snaps. She swipes at her cheeks, messing up her glitter. “That’s not fair.”

“Izzy?” someone calls. “Where’d you go?”

“Here!” Her voice is perfectly cheerful, as if she didn’t just spear me through the chest.

The moment my feet hit the sidewalk outside her building, I regretted it. But I couldn’t bring myself to say goodbye, and part of me thought it would be better for both of us if we didn’t have a chance for emotions. Yet it hurt her. I hurt her. I can see it in her eyes.

A girl with pin-straight black hair walks over, a frown on her glitter-covered face. Her dress is a similar style to Isabelle’s, tight and bright, but green instead of yellow.

“Um, what’s going on?” She looks at me, then Isabelle. “Is something wrong?”

“No,” Isabelle says. She links arms with her friend. “Let’s just go, we have early practice tomorrow.”

“Isn’t that him?” her friend says in a stage whisper. “You know?”

Isabelle just starts walking. “Come on, Torie. Let’s go.”

Before they get too far, I call her name. She turns, biting her lip.

I should have kissed her when I had the chance.

“We should talk.”

“I don’t know.” Something flickers in her gaze, too quickly for me to catch. “You’re the one who left without a word.”

Chapter 7

Nikolai

Meeting a new coach is always stressful. Meeting a new coach and the guy whose sister you slept with all summer? After you chirped at him about his girlfriend, no less? That’s nightmare fuel.

I tap my fingers against the arms of my chair as I wait in Coach Ryder’s office. I can’t stop fidgeting. It’s a nice space—albeit very purple, like everywhere else in this hockey facility—and under other circumstances, I’d want to take a closer look at the trophies and awards behind the desk. Larry Ryder is a Harvard man, which is about the only thing Grandfather approves of in this whole clusterfuck of a situation.

I refuse to let my last season end with anything less than me holding up the national trophy, so here I am. Waiting. Hyperaware of the fact I’m back in Isabelle’s vicinity. After she left last night’s party with her friend, I got smashed enough that I could almost forget what she told me. Eventually, I dragged myself to my dorm, and to my first class this morning.

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