Page 13 of Iced Out

He’s reckless, but notthatreckless.

“Look, I’m just glad the captainship is in the hands of someone who actually fucking deserves it now. Think about that instead of a shithead who might not even see ice time for the rest of the season,” Braxton says, finishing off the beer and setting the empty can on the table behind the couch.

I glance between him and the three girls, all of whom are nodding in agreement.

“Okay.” I blow out a long breath. “Okay, thanks.”

He waves me off. “No need to thank me. You know I got your back.”

And there it is again. The nagging feeling that I’m missing something. Though I was ready to put the subject to rest and enjoy the rest of the evening, there’s something about his words and the tone he says them with.

It doesn’t sit right. Like he knows something I don’t.

“What’re you talking about? This was all on Quinton. How did you have my back?”

A sly smile creeps onto his face, but he simply shrugs and plays with a lock of Kinsley’s hair.

But my nerves are set completely on edge; a cool prickling feeling taking over every inch of my skin as dread fills my gut. Because hedefinitelyknows something. Or worse, maybe even played a part in this whole fucking mess.

“Brax. Spill,” I demand slowly. “Did you do something?”

His eyes lift to meet mine. “I didn’t do shit.”

The thing about being friends with Braxton as long as I have—I know when he’s being a bold-faced liar. And I’m damn near positive he’s being one right now.

“Braxton,” I hiss, this time a little more harshly. “What. Did. You.Do?”

“Look, man. You’re captain now. You need to keep your hands clean.”

Oh, Jesus Christ. Keep my hands clean?

“How is it possible the more you talk, the less you actually say?”

He keeps grinning. “God given talent, obviously.”

My teeth grit, the sinking feeling in my gut stirring and swirling unpleasantly. Because I’m pretty sure I know what happened.

Braxton somehow fucked with Quinton’s test to get him suspended. Maybe even kicked from the program. And I’m willing to bet Braxton didn’t think about that beinghisfate if this gets out.

It could too, depending on what de Haas’s second test results are. My bet is they’ll come back clean this time, because why would anyone who is guilty ask to prove they’re more guilty?

Which leads to a whole new problem. Him coming back after all this happened.

Shit.

I didn’t think about it when Coach told me about Quinton’s second test, but now it’s the only thing in my brain. Which means I need to see where his head is, if only to make sure when he comes back after this garbage, he’s not even more explosively violent than he is now.

That’s the last thing the team needs.

Braxton’s stare is hard as he watches me mentally work through all the loose ends of this hairbrained plan heprobablyset into motion. I can tell the moment he sees I’ve caught on to enough, because he removes his arm from behind Kinsley and leans toward me, clapping me on the shoulder. He holds my gaze as he does, a warning look in his eyes. The kind telling me to stop asking questions before I find something out that I can’t unlearn.

Which is all the confirmation I need.

I don’t need the words, and I sure as hell don’t need the details of how he pulled it off. All it does is make me more of an accessory than I am right now.

“I took care of you, bro. That’s all you gotta know.”

Five

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