Page 12 of College Hockey Bully

Roy shrugs. “I’ve never seen him before. Kinda stocky, wearing a baseball cap. That’s all I remember—come on, let’s get out of here. They don’t pay me overtime.”

Without waiting for my reply, he moves briskly down the hall and I hurry after him, a cloak of confusion wrapped around me. Who was that guy? Was it the owner of those sneakers I saw under the door? Why would he stand there and say nothing, but still sought help for me?

Roy and I part ways at Melissa’s office where I find her packing up to go. “Where have you been?” she exclaims. “If it wasn’t for your backpack in the locker, I’d suspect you’d walked off the job.”

“I got stuck in the supply closet,” I explain. “Roy came and got me out. I think the hockey—”

“Holy crap, I forgot to warn you about that door. It has this thing where it sometimes slams without warning, locking you in. Next time just put a weight behind it. That’ll do until we get it fixed—I’m sorry, what were you saying?”

I shake my head. “Nothing.”

Clearly, it would be my word against the Wolves if I tell Melissa what I suspect. I know what I heard. The door did not slam shut. Someone slowly and carefully closed it, trapping me inside. To prove it, now that’s a different story.

“I’m thinking you didn’t get a chance to complete your assignment, right?” Melissa enquires.

Do I dare tell her that it was already done, and the Wolves messed it up? “No, I didn’t.”

Her expression deflates. “Such a bummer. I’m sorry, Scarlett, but I can’t sign off on these hours today. You know the rules.”

Biting back my disappointment, I nod, grabbing my backpack from the locker. I keep my expression neutral while I bid her goodnight and head toward the door. The dam of pent-up anger and frustration finally burst as I step into the night, crying all the way to the bike stand. I’ve always known Aiden was an asshole, but tonight, I finally saw him for the monster he truly is.

Hats off to whomever ruined his chance of making it to the semis last year. I hope their vendetta is still alive and well. As a matter of fact, I’d love to know who’s after him. Even without asking, I’d be willing to give them a hand with sending him right to hell where he belongs.

Chapter 6

Scarlett

Wait a minute.

What is that?

I peer down at the brown stain on the hockey jersey, then cautiously lift the garment. A disgusting, pungent scent hits my nose and I drop it.

Oh my God.

My entire body jerks from a sudden gagging as I back away from the offending pile of clothes I should be gathering for the laundry room. The scent wafts past my nose again and my entire lunch flies from my stomach, splattering on the floor. Barely recovering, I wipe my mouth and run from the locker room. Of all the things I expected on my second day, a bunch of shit-stained uniforms wasn’t one of them. This is sick.They’re sick.

I run into the nearest bathroom and douse my face with water, then gargle my throat, but it’s not enough to cancel the disgust from what I just witnessed. Like last night, all it does is trigger flashbacks from five years ago, reminding me this is just like high school. They’re just like those mean girls who bullied me because of how I looked and where I came from.

Easing up, I stare at my determined reflection in the mirror. If I can survive being the brunt of every fat joke for three years, I can survive all this.

Eyes on the prize.

Yanking a sheet of napkin from the dispenser, I debate on how to handle what just happened. Now that I have proof, I can report the incident to Melissa, but something tells me that would only worsen the situation. I will fight my own battle. The Wolves will have to do better than locking me in a room and shitting on a pile of clothes.

Marching to the utility room, I brace the door with a weight, grab a fresh pair of gloves and a cloth mask, then make my way back to the locker room. I make quick work of gathering the uniforms and dumping them in a trash bag, then leaving them with a warning for the poor attendant in the laundry room. Ten minutes left in my two-hour-long workday and all that’s left is to collect the trash. They’re not going to rob my hours this time. It was a rough, nerve-racking afternoon, but lucky for me, the assholes are nowhere around.

Almost done, I’m making my way to the last trash can in the locker room when sudden footsteps make me stop abruptly, breathing out a disappointed sigh.So much for small mercies.

Noah Wilson comes sauntering in, wearing a smirk. Another guy follows behind him, looking just as cocky and pleased with himself.

“Hey there, traitor. Did you like my little gift?” Noah greets me.

Without a word, I resume my chore, emptying the trash in the bag as quickly as I can.

“I don’t think she liked it, Michael,” he goes on behind me. “Do you reckon I should’ve spread it around a little more?”

“Maybe we should’ve pissed on it, too,” Michael suggests.

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