Page 54 of Wicked Games

Again.

Again.

Again.

My lungs are on fire by the time he pauses, but no one complains again.

“Not bad,” Coach says. “Take two minutes, then we’ll get started. Asher, Alistair, with me.”

Theo and I trade a look, but we follow Coach to the bench. I grab a water bottle and squirt it through my cage into my mouth. Beside me, Theo does the same.

“I’m making Theo your alternate,” Coach says without preamble.

I lower the bottle. “Why?”

“Because your head is up your ass,” Coach answers. “I got a call from your uncle yesterday. He thinks you need a little incentive to pay more attention. Besides—you’re still suspended, and the team needs a leader.”

I grimace.

Theo shakes his head. “I don’t want it.”

“You take it or I’m picking Ian—and he won’t be an alternate, he’ll becaptain. Period.” His gaze switches to me. “Attitude adjustment, or I’ll strip that ‘C’ off your chest faster than you can say sorry.”

Fuck, he’s serious.

Theo looks at me, then slowly nods. Yeah, it’s a blow to my ego, but I can suck it up. I would rather have Theo in my corner any day over Ian fucking Fletcher.

“Back to your sprints, Asher,” Coach says. “You’re not out of the doghouse yet.”

Naturally.

While the rest of the team works on passing and shooting drills, I skate back and forth until my legs want to fall off… and then when they don’t, it’s because I’ve completely lost feeling in them.

I make it back to the goal line for what feels like the seven millionth time, and Coach stops me.

“Coach?” I question. Sweat pours down my face, drenching my undershirt. I take my helmet off and slick my hair back.

Gross.

“Practice is over, Asher.” He appraises me. “Tomorrow we’ll be back to normal.”

I glance around, only to discover the rink completely empty.

How did I miss that?

“Where’s your list of schools?” he asks. “We discussed this the other day.”

Fucking hell.I’m so tired I can barely think—and that’s probably why he’s chosen to bring it up now.

“Did my uncle call to ask about that, too?”

He glares at me. “I mean it, Caleb. Get your head out of your ass and think smart. Deadlines are approaching.”

“That it?”

Sometimes I make him mad enough that I think he’s going to take a swing at me. Now’s one of those times. The flippant attitude… I mean, it doesn’t matter where I want to go to school, does it? My uncle is going to put me wherever he thinks I need to go.

My mother apparently wants me to go to Harvard… but why the fuck would she want that, unless it’s something my uncle spoon-fed her?

---