Page 23 of Wicked Serve

Right, we’re in the same economics class. I didn’t think it was so bad, but I just make a noncommittal noise. “Full pads, right?”

“Yeah. Today won’t be too intense, though. Ryder likes to ease into it.”

As the rest of the guys filter in, I work on sorting through my gear. Cooper nods at me shortly when he enters, continuing his conversation with one of the other guys on defense, Evan Bell. He claps Evan on the shoulder before settling next to me. He’s clearly comfortable with everyone on this team, and meanwhile, my choices are to pretend I can hold a conversation with him, complain about economics class with Mickey, or sit in silence and listen to everyone else’s laughter. I miss John and the rest of my old teammates. We’ve talked since I left UMass, but it’s been uncomfortable. I don’t know what to say to make things go back to the way they were.

Cooper nudges my side. “Hey, Abney. You want to talk to them today?”

Say what you want about Cooper Callahan, but he’s been good about remembering what I said about my last name. Calling me by my father’s name anyway would be an easy way to get a shot in, and he hasn’t gone there.

It’s almost enough to make me feel bad about accosting his sister in the library the other day.

Almost, but not quite.

At least I kept myself in check, in the end. She looked so goddamn pretty in that white denim skirt. The moment she left, I leaned against the door and jerked myself with my slick hand until I came into my fist, thinking of the way her voice broke around my name.

Now that there are more guys in here, I can’t help but notice the stares. A gangly kid who must be a freshman nudges his friend, and both of them give me a quick look before putting their heads together and whispering. I know I have a reputation that extends throughout Hockey East and beyond—most guys with a pro player for a father get at least some attention, even when said player didn’t have an illustrious NHL career—but it’s always weird to see it in action.

“Hey, Volkov,” someone else asks from across the room. “Is it true that you knocked both of Emerson Hull’s front teeth out with one hit?”

“What about Coopy?” Evan asks. “He wouldn’t admit if you chipped him up.”

“That’s inconclusive,” Cooper says, a hint of amusement in his tone.

I definitely made him swallow a tooth sophomore year, but he did it to me first. I went a little too far with my insult—something about getting back to the football field, I could hear his daddy calling—and he clocked me in the jaw. I punched him right back, and the resulting fight led to twin suspensions.

“What about that hit on the Vermont goalie, what’s his name,” another guy says. “Right into the net. I saw the tape.”

“Worth the penalty,” I say, since half the guys in the room are staring at me—and especially the scar, I’m sure. I scrub my hand through my hair. People assume that I got it thanks to a hockey injury, a skate to the face or something, and I never correct them.

Starting on a new team sucks under normal circumstances, but this is particularly awkward. I played against most of these guys for at least one season, if not more, and looking around, I can recall plenty of tense moments. Every team has instigators; it’s not like my style of play is unique, but it’s one thing to fuck around with your opponents to knock them off their game and another to skate on their side of the ice.

“It’s so cool that your dad played pro,” the skinny freshman says in an eager voice. “Too bad the Penguins didn’t stick with him.”

“Did he coach you?” his friend asks.

Caught off guard, I nod. “Um, yeah. When I was younger.”

“That’s sick. You’re so lucky.”

I almost snort, but keep myself in check. Lucky. That’s one way to put it. I stand, tugging off my T-shirt.

“Whoa, man,” Mickey says. “Did you fuck a werewolf?”

Cooper whistles. “You must’ve been doing something right.”

Oh, fuck me. Isabelle left marks on my back, and I forgot about them until this moment.

“Yeah, well, I’m settling in.” I force a smirk. “Have to find a way to occupy myself until the season starts.”

“Amen to that,” Mickey says. “We should go out sometime. Callahan’s gotten boring since he fell for Ryder’s daughter.”

Cooper just shakes his head. “I feel sorry for you.”

“Yeah, totally,” I say, even though the thought of intimacy with anyone other than Isabelle sounds about as appealing as drinking paint thinner.

“I’ve definitely heard more about you off the ice than on, man,” another guy says, to everyone’s laughter. “You’re a legend.”

You get caught hooking up with a chick in the locker room before a playoff game one time, and suddenly everyone in the conference thinks you’ve got game. I mean, I know I do, I’ve never had trouble finding hookups, but the chatter about it is ridiculous. It’s just sex, and as long as everyone involved has a good time, it’s no one’s business but theirs.

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