Page 138 of Wicked Ends
I waited until we were in the hallway to talk.
“What the hell was that?” I demanded, standing in the very same place as Ari when she’d asked me a similar question a few hours ago.
“Parent-teacher meeting. Weren’t you paying attention?” Cole smirked at me.
“Seriously. You’re blackmailing the dean to get me back on the team? Why? I thought you wanted me to become a Hound and forget all this hockey bullshit?”
It was the same recurring argument we’d had time and again when I was younger.
“I thought you didn’t want me to play? I thought I was wasting my time?” I reminded my brother.
Cole sighed and leaned a shoulder against the wall, taking a cigarette out of his pocket and lighting up. The “No Smoking” sign winked at me over his shoulder.
“You think I’ve sacrificed all this… not to have my brother make the NHL?” He blew out a long plume of smoke. “Fuck, no.”
“Excuse me, but there’s no smoking in this building, or on campus at all, actually, FYI.” The tart voice carried along the hall.
Fucking Isabelle.I didn’t know what she was playing at trying to get an introduction to Cole, but it wouldn’t end well for her.
She walked toward us, completely ignorant of the fact that her checked miniskirt and cardigan made her look like a preppy snack for my brother.
“FYI, I don’t care,” Cole said, taking her in from her loafers and knee-high socks, up to the ends of her long red waves.
“Well, will you care about lung cancer?” she attempted.
Cole chuckled. “Not a bit. Everyone goes sometime, sweetheart, and for some of us, sooner is preferable to later.”
She blinked, unsure what to say to that.
“Get out of here.” I shot her a warning look. I wasn’t nearly finished talking to Cole about what had happened in the dean’s office.
“As a prefect, I could write you up.” She stared at Cole again, who was failing to hide his amusement.
“Go ahead, sweetheart. Write me up, book me… I have a special collection of citations, and this one might just be the lamest.”
Isabelle’s eyebrows climbed her forehead, and I could tell she was about to lose it.
“Come on,” I called to Cole and strode out of the building.
He took his time leaving, tossing his unfinished cigarette when we reached his bike.
“I’m serious, you want me to join the NHL now? Did you switch personalities when you got hurt? Is this a brain transplant thing, or the result of a traumatic brain injury?”
Cole sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “You remember when Dad told you not to bother coming hunting because you couldn’t shoot for shit and you were never going to improve? Unteachable, remember?”
I nodded. Yes, I fucking remembered.
“You went out every day for a month to do target practice. You became so much better than both of us. That aim and eye coordination, don’t try and tell me it didn’t help you at hockey.”
“So, what?”
“So, as soon as you’re told not to do something, that’s the thing you excel at. You work off spite, Marcus, and I get it, because I’m the same way. Fighting against my plans for you pushed you tobecome the player you are today, the one who has a real shot at the NHL. Thank me one day, brother, when you’re holding the fucking Stanley Cup.” He jabbed a finger at my chest. “I better be ice-side at that game. Your family tickets are reserved for me, period.”
“I—fuck, I don’t know what to say,” I managed and stared at my brother like I’d never seen him before. The thought that he had always been on my side, wanting the same things as I did, and trying to hijack my fucked-up brain into making sure it happened, was something I could barely wrap my head around.
“Oh, Dad lost his appeal,” Cole said casually, like it wasn’t important information, stacking shock upon shock.
“What? I meant to go to the hearing. I promised?—”
