Page 25 of His Big Bad Stick

THE PAST PART

I’m in a fucking mood right now.

There’s a laundry list of reasons, as always.

Watching Maria hang all over Lucas bothers me for some reason, even though it was just a couple weeks ago she told me I hit spots on her body that Lucas could never find.

Then again, what the hell do I care about that?

Believe me, I have zero feelings for Maria. Zero remorse when it comes to Lucas too.

They can go off and be happy.

I’m sure at some point Maria will be texting me for attention.

Which means I’ll have to sneak her through Abrielle’s bedroom.

I have to kick her ass out of that room soon too.

That’s my room.

She can go sleep on the fucking third floor for all I care. With her fucking easel and her painting and her paint-stained hoodies and messy hair.

The less I see and think of her, the better off I am.

Then again…

Nothing like coming home from the gym to find your father in his home office, on the phone with someone. Using his calm, flirty voice. That makes me want to throw up. But that voice of his. So smooth and convincing. Asking a woman that isn’t his wife to send him a topless picture. And whoever this woman was, she did it.

It makes me laugh in a way.

This farce of a marriage between my father and Abrielle’s mother has gone on long enough.

Approaching the one month mark… and my old man is already getting titty pictures from someone else.

Still, that doesn’t explain the complexity of this mood I’m in.

When Archer gets onto the ice, it’s like someone turns my Pissed Off Meter from a seven to a thirty-five.

Archer is a fucking scumbag. Archer has a reputation. Not the kind that I have. I get what I want in a way that involves consent. Get what I’m saying? Archer skates that line and uses his father’s influence to move the line where he wants it.

Now that’s not any of my business.

In fact, his father has been dealing with my old man in the hopes of getting me set up somewhere for college hockey and the pros.

Still…

Archer is on the ice, gnawing at his mouthguard like it’s a fat piece of bubblegum. He does his little circling warmup around the goalie’s net.

A whistle blows and Coach Davis starts barking his orders and beating the shit out of his aged clipboard.

I’m facing off against Archer.

“Hey, dick breath,” Archer says. “What’s happening? How’s your stepsister? Huh?” He wiggles his eyebrows at me. “You ever sneak a peek at her? It’s got to be fucking wild living like that, man.”

The puck is dropped and I go right for Archer.

He’s on the move, already forgetting about what he said.

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