Page 68 of Need You to Choose Me

I stop chewing my fry for a second. “No. I don’t want to do that.”

He watches me before nodding once. “Maybe one day you will.”

I steal his ranch. “I wouldn’t hold your breath, Hoffman.”

All he does is chuckle, but the sound is off.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Alex

“O’Conner!” Coach Pelfreyyells, blowing his whistle as I push off the boards that I was slammed into during a basic drill. “What the hell was that? You were five seconds behind that play. You should have been able to pass that easily to Clarkson before Nelson and Moskins got to you.”

I clench my eyes closed and nod once gingerly. He’s right. I’ve executed that play plenty of times before, but I was too slow passing the puck to our captain.

One of the guys pushes me back into the boards with a laugh and skates off, making me grind my teeth down. When I see my reflection in the glass, I can’t help but remember a time not so long ago when Sebastian Henderson was the one pinning me there.

“What the fuck did I say?” Henderson growls from behind me, his arm pressing me against the boards.

Coach blows his whistle. “Henderson! Get off O’Conner before I bench your ass for the game. You can’t afford that right now.”

Henderson slams into me again before backing off. “Stay the fuck away from my sister, dickhead. I saw you talking to her earlier.”

I flash him a grin from over my shoulder. “Since when is talking illegal? I said hi in passing to be a gentleman. Is that so wrong?”

Just as he rushes for me again, someone grabs his arm. “He’s not worth it,” Able tells him.

Chuckling at our teammate, I taunt the overprotective big brother. “Yeah, Henderson. I’m not worth it. Don’t worry about me or your sister. You’ve got people to impress.”

Able sighs, shaking his head. “You’re really going to instigate when I’m trying to help you?”

When Sebastian shows his emotions so clearly, it’s impossible not to do. “He’s acting like I whipped my dick out in front of his sister.”

Henderson all but growls at me as someone else comes and pulls him away.

Able takes Sebastian’s spot in front of me. “I don’t know what is going on with you but leave his sister out of it.”

I roll my eyes. “I said hi to her. That was it!”

As he skates away, I shake my head.

Now that they’re both telling me not to, I’m even more tempted to cross the line he drew.

Because fuck Sebastian and everybody else who tells me I can’t do something.

“Henderson,” Pelfrey calls out again, snapping me back to reality. “Head in the game.”

“Sorry, Coach,” I call out, blowing out a frustrated breath.

I’ve been on edge since I woke up to a call from Logan’s Hospital. The message didn’t seem urgent, but I could tell it was something I needed to deal with before I came to practice. By the time I finally got ahold of my mother’s nurse to hear about her latest outburst that nearly hurt one of the aides, I was already running late. Coach chewed me out, which only intensified my foul mood when I was told Mom’s visitation privileges would be delayed by another two weeks.

Paul Berkley, one of the team’s defense, silently pats my back and skates over to the others. He’s one of the few players who doesn’t seem to find me completely unimpressive. Maybe because he’s not that much older than me—barely two years. Theage gaps and experience differences between me and the rest of the players seem to make it harder to connect with them.

I know I can be an evasive asshole sometimes, but I usually find some common ground with the people I play with after this long. It was never difficult in Lindon, but it’s damn near impossible to get more than a few bleak stares or raised eyebrows from a majority of the guys. Even after helping Moskins get his shit together after Clarkson’s party, he’s siding with the others who’ve decided to ice me out again this preseason. Do I suck that goddamn badly?

Rolling my tight shoulders, I skate over to where the others are. When Coach Pelfrey comes over, his eyes are hard as they meet mine. “I need all my guys to be on top of their game whether they’re new or not. O’Conner, you’re going to work drills with Clarkson for two hours after we’re done here until you can catch up. You clearly need the extra help if you can’t execute a simple play like that. We don’t need a repeat of the last game if we’re going to make it to championships.”

A few of the guys whistle under their breaths at the coach’s sharp tone. He’s right, though. I suck today. I’m tired as hell. Stressed. It’s clearly distracting me.

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