Shea

If Chelsea wanted to play hockey with the boys, would you crush her dreams and say she's not allowed?

"Are you going to a party?" Chelsea asks, tugging my sweater.

My sister's voice grants me freedom from Harrison's voice. Ironic, considering they're tied together in unholy concord. Chelsea's big hazel eyes meet mine. A rush of guilt invades my body, and I have to look away. I hate to admit it, but Harrison made a valid point. If Chelsea asked me to sign her up for the boys' hockey, I wouldn't say no. It would give her a chance to develop her skills via access to more training camps, tournaments, and better funding overall. I couldn't imagine limiting my sister's passion. Especially after all this shit with our parents.

From this positioning, I can understand why Harrison took the leap.

It also makes me realize how much of an asshole I am. I rub my forehead with the heel of my hand and sigh. Manon Rhéaume broke the ice for women playing hockey at the NHL level back in 1992. By playing an exhibition game with the Tampa Bay Lightning against the St. Louis Blues, Rhéaume still stands as the only woman to have played in the NHL. Hilary Knight, Amanda Kessel, and Meghan Duggan showed their skills at the 2018 Honda NHL All-Star Weekend. Knight posted a time in accuracy shooting that challenged most men.

What makes Harrison any different?

My petty behaviour.

"Yeah," I reply, ignoring my logical side. I'll deal with this shit later. Right now, I need to convince Chelsea this party is nothing. "I am."

"Can I come?" she frowns.

I scoop my sister up into my arms. Ten days have passed since Harrison hit me. My shoulder has healed, but I'm still facing aftershocks of the concussion. I'm expecting to be back on the ice by Wednesday. Just in time for one early morning practice before my first game back. But, just like with my shoulder, I'll see how I'm feeling that day. I can't risk damage that will permanently sideline me. "No," I reply, resting my forehead against hers. Her innocent hazel eyes bore into mine. "Noah's coming over to hang with you while I'm gone. I heard he's bringing a treat."

Chelsea pulls back, staring at me as if my words are bullshit. Noah is coming over. Not to hang out, but to babysit. He's also bringing some leftover muffins from today's run at the café. So my words are only partial bullshit. Chels can tell I'm lying, though. She crosses her arms, frowning. "I want to come to a party. Noah doesn't need to babysit me anymore."

"Trust me, kid," I say, ruffling her hair. She swats my hand away. "You don't want to come." She's never attending a party. Not until she's old enough I can enrol her in a self-defence class and give her the tools she needs to kick a grown man's ass. Until she can have KJ and I pinned down to the ground and begging for mercy, I'm going to act like that overprotective older brother. "There are idiots there who drink and smoke and make bad decisions."

That's also a partial lie. Although movies and TV shows apply this cliché status to bush parties, they're far from that. Yeah, there are people who drink and smoke and do stupid shit, but they're only a handful of the population. The rest of us like to socialize and mingle with our friends and fellow peers. These parties are cheap and low-key.

Chelsea wrinkles her nose. "Ew."

"Ew," I echo, setting her down. "Noah's going to be here soon. Have you done your homework yet?"

Chelsea juts out her bottom lip. "Why does Noah have to come here when Mom's home?" she whines.

I don't comment on her changing the subject. It's impossible to force her to complete her homework. We've had this argument one too many times. If that's the way she wants to roll, then she needs to learn the hard way. If you don't do your homework and make sure you understand the concept, you will not do well. Besides, making sure she does her homework isn't my responsibility. I have my own grades and schedule I need to uphold.

"Because Mom's boring," I joke, making light of the underlying issues. Chelsea's smart enough to know something's off within Mom and Dad's relationship. What she's still too young to understand is why I've asked Noah for aid. When Dad gets home and the argument erupts between them, I want Noah to get Chels out of this house. Or, preferably, I want Noah to act as a buffer. When people are around, my parents refuse to cause a scene. "Now go work on your homework." I glance down at my joggers and loose-fitting T-shirt, wishing I could stay back and lounge on the couch. "I'll be right back."

Chelsea stomps out of the room, mumbling about her hatred for homework. I linger in the kitchen, listening for the rustle of loose leaf paper and the clattering of pencils. When I hear those noises, I smile to myself and head upstairs to my room. From my closet, I grab a pair of jeans and a crew neck sweatshirt, and then head to the bathroom. With the door locked, I change quickly, wondering what shit I must deal with tonight. No doubt I'm going to get an earful about the bet. The best effort I've put in so far is inviting Harrison to the party tonight. And... well... we know how that played out.

Why did I have to open my mouth? Why do my emotions have to be driven by pettiness?

Thinking of Harrison brings back a memory I want to forget.

If Chelsea wanted to play hockey with the boys, would you crush her dreams and say she's not allowed?

Frustrated, I turn on the tap and splash cold water against my face, staring at my reflection in the mirror and watching the droplets streak down my face. My chest is tight with shame. I base every word that has come out of my mouth on my jealousy. My petty grudge. Harrison is an amazing hockey player. She has this phenomenal advantage of being able to predict how the play is going to turn out before someone starts it. She's always in the right spot, ready to block a shot or receive a pass.

This battle between Harrison and I... it's a battle between me and my self-confidence—something that depends on the approval of my dad. A cycle that continues to persist, even though I know Dad will never give me what I strive for.

It's because of that I say shit I don't mean. Yeah, I'm pissed she gets to play hockey with us. If we switched our roles, there's no way they'd let a man play on the women's team. No way in hell. But I can understand why she's done it. Not having the funding and structure male hockey does would kill me. Not being able to develop my skills to their full potential? That would destroy me.

She found a way around the limitations the girls' league was causing. The only one brave enough to take a stand to inequality—something I wish Chelsea will never have to battle.

Harrison was right.

I'm a fucking hypocrite.

If Chelsea asked me to put her in the boys' league, I'd do it without a second thought.

I rest my elbows on the counter and drop my face into my hands, groaning. I'm a petty son of a bitch. Petty as fuck. Why do I allow Dad to crawl under my skin and goad me? Why do I seek his approval? Why do I allow him to dictate how I act?

I've spent years hating Harrison's guts, believing she doesn't deserve to play in the boys' league. How am I supposed to condition myself to believe otherwise? I'm jealous of how she plays. Of the achievements she's made. Everyone knows her name. Whenever you mention Harrison, her face will pop into your mind. The girl who plays hockey.

I splash water on my face again. The picture on Brenna's wall is also haunting me. Why does she have it? I thought she hated me. If she still has that photo... Fuck. Why does she have it? 

Shutting off the tap, I grab a towel and pat my face dry. I toss the towel onto the counter when I'm finished. KJ is going to be here soon. I need to get my head out of the gutter. Just like KJ needs to stop driving me everywhere. There's no logic in me driving to West Kelowna, picking him up, and then driving back into Kelowna, though. At least I'm on his way. Besides, I make up for his gas money when we're on road trips; dinner is always on me.

From the foot of my bed, I collect my phone and jacket. We're a week-and-a-half away from Halloween, and the forecast is calling for snow in the mountains. I pull the jacket on as I'm heading down the stairs, slipping my phone in the back pocket of my jeans. KJ isn't much of a partier—unless it's New Year's Eve—so I don't think we'll be gone long, which is what I tell Chelsea when I enter the living room.

"Before ten?" she asks.

I glance at my watch, sucking on my teeth. That's cutting it a little early. We won't be out past midnight. "More like eleven-thirty," I reply. "You'll be asleep when I get home. Right?"

It's a jab at her. Chelsea is a nightmare with bedtime. "Fine," she mumbles, crossing her arms. "Noah's here."

"What?" I blink.

"He's in the kitchen."

That's the last thing Chelsea says to me before she bounds back over to the coffee table. She sits down on the couch and leans over, picking up a pencil and scribbling down a few notes from her open textbook. Satisfied, I head into the kitchen.

Noah's already helped himself to the lasagna Mom made for dinner; I catch him closing the door to the microwave just as I step inside. On the counter, there's a small white box with the café's emblem on it. I lean against the doorway, crossing my arms. "Make yourself at home," I joke.

Noah turns around, grinning. "Food is the proper payment for babysitting." He rubs his flat stomach. "I'm starving. Work was hellish today. It was just me handling the lunch rush. You now how that goes. It was too busy for me to stop and eat before class."

I rub the back of my neck, feeling sorry for Noah. The lunch rush is insane. I've handled it alone several times. Each time, I've wanted to throw myself off a cliff by the end. "I thought Dale was supposed to help."

"He was," Noah shrugs, pushing back a lock of black hair. "Didn't show up. If Mom hadn't of been there, I'd have missed my biology class."

"You could've called me," I reply. "I had the day off."

Noah snorts. "For good reason, kid. You're looking haggard."

"Are you sure you don't mind?" I ask, eyeing the box of muffins. I'm tempted to grab one before I go.

The microwave beeps.

"Kid," Noah repeats, turning around. "You need a break." The plate is hot, causing Noah to curse and set it down quickly on the stove. He turns to me. "Got any parmesan cheese?"

Pushing away from the wall, I head over to the fridge and rummage around until I find it. There isn't much left—I make a mental note to add it to our grocery list—but it doesn't bother Noah. He thanks me and sprinkles a bit atop the browned cheese.

We spend several seconds in silence, which only gives room for guilt to claw at my throat. I'm taking away Noah's chance at living the post-secondary life. He should be out with his friends. "Look," I say, "I don't have to go. This is unfair. I'm asking you too much."

Noah rests his hand on my shoulder, squeezing it. "Shea. Quit it. I'd rather spend time with my cousins than hang out with college kids. Trust me, the parties aren't all they're cracked up to be. Not worth my time." He glances around the kitchen and lowers his voice. "Besides, all hell will break loose if someone isn't here. Chelsea doesn't deserve that."

I could kiss my cousin. But that would be way too fucking weird. "Thanks, man."

Noah snorts softly as he shoves a forkful of lasagna into his mouth. He nods at the front door. There's a smudge of tomato sauce on the corner of his mouth. "Get going. That kid is here."

A small smile curves my lips. "If KJ were here, he'd kick your ass. He hates being called 'that kid.'"

He cocks a brow. "Why do you think I do it?"

I turn around, rolling my eyes. "I'll let you know when we're on our way back." I exit the kitchen, heading for the front door. Through the warped glass, I can see the taillights of KJ's truck.

"Don't get arrested!" Noah calls.

I snort to myself, adjusting the collar of my jacket as I push the door open. Cops crash these parties all the time, but they arrest no one unless they refuse to vacate the premises. I'd be happy if the cops were already there, forcing kids to go home. It would prevent me from facing my teammates.

Closing the door behind me, I head down the pathway to the end of the driveway. A thick layer of cloud cover conceals any stars, and the air smells musky. The rain will hit soon and, up in the mountains, snow will fall. I'm thankful I grabbed my jacket.

When I open the passenger door, KJ welcomes me with a grin. "Shit, man," he says. "I'm still not used to seeing you without the sling. Glad you've finally gotten rid of it. You were smart to keep it on a few extra days."

"I agree." After the door is closed and I've buckled in, I inspect my shoulder. It feels weaker than it did before. However, I can manoeuvre it with no pain. "Those guys who fight through the pain are idiots. If you don't stop and heal, you're going to inflict irreparable damage upon yourself."

"Makes sense," KJ replies, pulling out of my driveway. "It would explain why Watt is such a meathead."

I snort, pressing my forehead against the cold window. Can't argue with that one.

Tonight's party is on Little White Forest Service Road, just past the Angel Springs Trailhead. The turnoff is about twenty minutes away from my place; we wind through several neighbourhoods before the landscape becomes more rural. Neighbourhoods turn into ranches settled on acres of land, and the light pollution dwindles. When KJ turns right off of June Springs Road and onto the service road, he shifts into four-wheel drive and gives the truck more gas. The terrain is rough, causing the interior of the truck to shake so much it drowns out the alternative music blasting through the speakers. We've still got about ten minutes to go before we arrive. Hopefully, I don't have a headache by the time we're there.

"I hate this road," KJ mutters. "It's just like Bear Main Logging Road on the Westside. My tires are taking a beating. Mom and I go up there with a few of my cousins when we dirt bike. The forestry companies are shit at taking care of the road."

The mention of dirt bikes never ceases to amaze me. I'd never get on one of those things. They're a disaster waiting to happen. I'll never understand why KJ hops on those killer machines and risks his life. That being said, his mom is fucking cool. Whenever she has time off work, she loads up the dirt bikes and takes KJ to the Upper Pits for the day. Sometimes, KJ's dad will even join in.

It surprises me how well his parents have handled their divorce. He was nine when it happened, but neither parent pushed him to go back and forth between houses. They let him choose. In the end, KJ stayed with his mom and sometimes spends weekends with his dad. His parents are still friends. I wonder what it's like to have parents that can co-exist.

A thought occurs to me.

"Why did you use your mom's address for school and your dad's for hockey?" I frown. Until now, the question never occurred to me.

KJ's mouth curves into a smile. "I prefer Boucherie over KSS—do you know how much the college students hate high school kids overtaking their cafeteria? Jokes aside, the Westside has always been my home. As for hockey... I wanted to stay on your team. You moved to Kelowna, and I saw an opportunity."

KJ ends that sentence on a note that makes me suspicious, but I don't question him. I snort, amused he's calling me a kid when we're the same age. "You're a suck," I reply. Though, his comment strikes a chord. KJ is loyal to a fault. I appreciate that. "But thanks for sticking with me."

KJ punches me in the arm. "We're the McDavid and Draisaitl of our team, bro. Without us, they'd be nothing."

I can't argue with him there. When KJ entered the locker room, I was ecstatic to have him on my team. He eased the tension of being the new kid, despite years of playing against Jayden, Connor, and the rest of the team.

"I'm obviously McDavid, though," KJ continues. "I can skate circles around you."

His comment about McDavid makes me think about Harrison. To be specific, the opening game of the season. It appears I'm a professional at contradicting myself. Although jealousy dictated my comments that night, I complimented her at the same time. What player doesn't want to be compared to Connor McDavid? He's phenomenal.

If Chelsea wanted to play hockey with the boys, would you crush her dreams and say she's not allowed?

I shove the unwanted thought away. Stupid Harrison. Why did she have to make a point? A point that is detrimental to how I want to feel. To how I want to view her. Goddamn her.

Wrinkling my nose, I say, "Why can't we be a different duo? I hate the Oilers. Besides, you're a Habs fan. Can't we be Gallagher and someone else?"

"Right," KJ replies, rolling his eyes. "You're a Canucks fan. A stubborn bastard who can't appreciate good duos when he sees them."

"Damn straight," I mutter, despite not having anything against McDavid.

I don't dare talk smack about the Habs. KJ can dish the smack talk regarding favourite hockey teams, but he can't take it. He'll construct an argument about why they're the best team in the league. About why I'm cheering for the wrong team.

We come around the final corner, our headlights focusing on the party before us. The logging road is lined with different vehicles. Ahead, we can see the smoke and glow of the bonfire. When KJ turns the music down and pulls into a parking spot, the noise pollution is intense. I suppress a groan, wishing I could go home and watch a hockey game.

KJ kills the engine and hides the keys in the console. "Quit complaining, bro. We're not staying long. Maybe a few hours. Smile. It'll help."

I paste on a sardonic grin. "Better?"

He exaggerates a flinch. "You look like you're about to murder someone."

Unbuckling my seat belt, I say, "Well, the night's still young, Jones. Let's see where it goes."

"That doesn't concern me," KJ mutters.

I chuckle under my breath. "I'm kidding around, KJ. Get that stick out of your ass."

He doesn't believe me—I can tell that much.

I slam the passenger door, shaking my head as I view the gong show before me.

God, I can't wait until I'm out of here.

If it ever happens, that is.

*  *  *

There's nothing wrong with having one drink. Ever since we arrived, I've been nursing a bottle of beer. Every time I take a sip, I feel like throwing up. It's not sitting well with me tonight. I'm not sure why, and I'm tempted to toss it in the fire. If I do, however, someone's going to shove another drink in my hand. Which is something I don't want.

I'd rather be anywhere but here.

Especially now that Harrison, Tucker, Wright, Charette, and Catina Torsney have arrived. After our conversation, I didn't think Harrison was going to show up. She's been here for a few hours, mingling with the members of her team. She's exchanged a few words with Jayden and KJ, too. One thing I've noticed is how uncomfortable she looks. The girl can't sit still. She's always shifting her weight between her feet. Her eyes flick back and forth. I run a hand through my hair, wondering what her problem is.

I wish she wasn't here.

If the guys weren't pestering me enough before, then they sure as hell are now.

Brody nudges me in the ribs, jerking his head in Harrison's direction. "Have seen little action tonight."

I grunt, taking a sip of beer. It's warm and almost makes me gag. The alcohol isn't hitting right tonight. "I'm planning. Harrison isn't an easy person to deal with."

Brody snorts and nudges me again, practically pushing me over. The kid is shit-faced already, and he smells like a distillery that brews beer and cologne. "Yeah," he slurs. "You're fucking stupid, bro. Good luck." He climbs to his feet and stumbles in the opposite direction.

"Thank God," I mutter.

Glancing around the bonfire, I dump the rest of my drink out and toss it into a blue recycling bag. The guys make fun of the environmental students who distribute these bags, but I appreciate the effort. When someone's willing to clean up a mess they didn't create, you should put in the effort to lessen the mess.

I rest my elbows on my knees and lean forward, rubbing my temples. KJ said as soon as it started raining, we'd book it. However, the weather has been stubborn; the clouds linger above, leaving us guessing. I hope Noah isn't too annoyed with having to babysit Chels. Whenever I go to parties, I feel like I'm taking advantage of him. No matter how many times he insists I need to live the life of a teenager.

"Is this typical for you?" she asks. "Looking like a loner beside the bonfire?"

I straighten my posture and look up, meeting her bluish-violet eyes. She's dressed in tight skinny jeans and an eggplant-purple rain jacket. Her hair is tied up in a bun.

I don't have the energy to fuel an argument, so I nod along. "Parties aren't my thing." I gesture to the space beside me. Sitting on a log isn't comfortable, but it's better than standing and being forced to mingle. If she desires isolation like I do, she's welcome here. "Want to sit?"

Harrison is surprised by my invitation, but she nods and takes the seat. As she sits down, I catch a hint of lavender. "I wasn't going to show up," she says, staring at the fire. The shadow of flames flicker across her face as she speaks. "Hunter made me tag along, so don't flatter yourself, Smith." She glances at the group. They're by the fence. Jayden, Tucker, KJ, and the rest of Harrison's friends are there, mingling and laughing. "Jayden and Nick work together. He invited us."

Ah.

Now it makes sense why Boucherie students are at a Kelowna Secondary School party. Jayden's also a social butterfly. He has this unnatural talent of making everyone feel like they belong. It doesn't surprise me he invited them. "So, how come you're not over there?" I ask. "It looks like they're having a good time."

"They are," she sighs. "I'd rather be doing something productive, though."

I snort. Harrison's always been stellar with completing homework before it's due. She used to tease me about my late assignments when we were kids. "Come on, Harriso—Brenna. I don't think one late assignment will destroy your chances of getting into college."

She shifts uncomfortably, her knee bouncing up and down. A crease forms between my brows. Does she not have the ability to relax? I knock my knee against hers. "Calm down," I say, keeping my tone light. "I was only joking. There's nothing wrong with getting your homework done early."

Brenna sighs. "I missed out on the gym tonight."

Although it's impolite to stare, my gaze rakes over her body. If anyone says Brenna Harrison is out of shape, they need to get their eyes checked. She's nothing but sinew and angles. Combine that with the curve of her hips? Yeah, even I have to admit she's stunning.

Still, I don't understand why missing the gym is such a terrible thing. The human body can only take so much. Rest is needed—even if you don't want it. "So?" I ask. "It's good to take a break every once in a while."

Her sharp gaze connects with mine. "What do you even care?" she sneers. "You hate me."

I frown at her outburst. Christ. All I did was comment. I don't think I said anything rude. Human bodies need a break from physical activity—we're not bionic! The next comment that comes out of my mouth isn't related to her outburst, though. "The only reason we hate you is because you kick our asses."

Brenna snorts. "Like I'm going to believe that. Maybe for assholes like Connor and guys like Jayden and KJ, but not you. You're something special, Smith. Why do you hate me?"

Resting my elbows on my knees, I stare into the bonfire in front of us, breathing in the hint of smoke and stale alcohol. With Connor and the rest of the guys watching, I need to try. They're all listening and watching, waiting for me to slip. If being honest with Harrison can gain me some brownie points, then so be it. I need the money for post-secondary school. I need those assholes off my back. "Do you remember the training camp we went to? The one in Penticton?"

Harrison frowns as she combs through her memories. "Yeah," she replies, the frown fading. "I do. That was years ago. Why are you bringing that up?"

My hand itches for a beer. Admitting my reasoning behind being against her playing hockey with the boys is embarrassing. It's petty as fuck. "After the camp was over, my dad made some comments about you being better than me. He degraded my game and made me feel small." I exhale, feeling a familiar pain in my chest. "He said... He said you were a better player than me, and that it was shameful to let a girl win." I pick at my cuticles. "I've never gotten a genuine compliment from him."

It feels good to get that off my chest. KJ and Noah know of my insecurities, but no one else.

She stays silent for several seconds. "While I'm sorry your dad is a total asshole, that doesn't give you a right to treat me like crap. You are aware society wants you to think women are of lesser value, right? My intention was never to embarrass you or any of the boys. I just wanted to play hockey like you and Jones."

Her words from last week play over in my head, and I have to look away. Why do I impose such derogatory standards on Brenna when I'd rip someone's throat out if they ever disrespected my sister? I'm realizing how terrible it makes me look. I don't want to be an asshole like my father—I want to be an entirely different person. People can say I look like him, but I don't want them to say I'm anything like him personality-wise.

"I'm aware," I sigh. "I'm—"

Our conversation is interrupted by a broad figure.

It's Connor.

He sits down next to Brenna, sidling up nice and close to her. He even has the audacity to fling an arm around her shoulders. "Well, well," he grins, ruffling her hair. "It looks like Harrison isn't such a stick in the mud after all. Fancy seeing you here, sweetheart."

Brenna's body stiffens, and she scoots over until her side is pressed against mine. She's so close I can feel the heat of her body through my jacket. I can smell the potent scent of lavender. It's intoxicating.

Connor's arm falls from her shoulders. She wants as much space between her and Connor as possible. I can't blame her. Connor scares me. I'll never admit that aloud. I've seen him take on men twice his size and face the wrath of his temper. If things don't go his way, he'll fuck you up. Aside from the money, I also didn't want to end up in the hospital. That's partially why I agreed to the bet.

"I don't recall inviting you into this conversation," Brenna says. She's leaning away from Connor, pressing her body against mine. I rest my hand behind her, halfway down the wooden log we're sitting on. With the positioning of my hand, my forearm is pressing against her lower back.

Connor tosses back a sip of his beer, his dull green eyes swimming as he glares at her. "I don't need an invitation from you, sweetheart." He reaches out and pinches her cheek.

My muscles tense.

Condescending fuck.

She jerks back, her hard body hitting my chest. My free hand flies to the log, steadying myself. "Knock it off, Watt," she snarls. "Don't make me kick your ass again."

A cocky smirk appears on his face. "That's right. You enjoy beating men up, don't you? Feminism, right?" He leans in closer, his breath reeking so badly of alcohol I can smell it. "Fair warning, sweetheart, if equality is what you want, I'll give you a fair fight."

He slides his hand across the space between them, reaching for her thigh. Anxiety is thick in my throat as I watch his hand inch closer and closer. What am I supposed to do? If I intervene...

If Chelsea wanted to play hockey with the boys, would you crush her dreams and say she's not allowed?

Brenna's words from earlier reverberate through my head, fuelling my next actions. If Chelsea were in Brenna's place, there's only one thing I would do.

"Connor!" I snap, swatting his hand away. "Leave her alone."

He glares at me. It make my gut feel uneasy. If we weren't enemies before, we sure as hell are now. He's part of the game and he wants to play with the pieces. He wants to taunt Brenna and make her squirm. With me shutting him down, he's losing out on the fun. At some point, he'll seek revenge.

I keep my gaze locked with his, refusing to look away. Thank God it's dark or else he'd be able to see the sweat forming on my brow or the way I'm chewing on my cheek. I'm hoping the fire doesn't provide too much light.

"Never thought I'd see the day," Connor chuckles. "Shea Smith, standing up for Brenna Harrison. You're losing your touch, kid. I thought punching Harrison would turn you into a man."

I cringe as though I've been slapped. Not because I'm offended by his comment. Although I apologized, I still don't like that I punched Brenna. Even if was accidental.

Brenna gets to her feet and shoves Connor backwards. Because he's drunk, he doesn't have time to react; he tumbles over the log, landing flat on his back. His half-empty beer goes flying, and he lands with an oomph. Laying amongst the dirt and shattered glass, he looks comical. I have to admit, I feel a rush of satisfaction seeing him like this. The asshole deserved it. I'm just sorry it wasn't me who shoved him.

"Shea didn't mean to punch me you dimwit," Brenna says. Her voice is so calm it's scary. "He apologized, and we made amends. Stop trying to create drama."

When Connor realizes what's happened, his face changes from shocked to angry. I stand and grip Brenna's bicep. She could probably handle Connor, but the bastard is a cheater. He'll use her long hair to his advantage or something worse. Either way, he's going to retaliate. I glance around the bonfire, relieved to see Jayden and KJ heading over here. Tucker and the rest of Brenna's friends aren't far behind. Connor wouldn't dare pitch himself against a crowd.

"Is everything okay over here?" Jayden asks, exchanging a glance with me.

"Peachy," Brenna replies. "Just fucking peachy." She looks like she's about to spit in Connor's face.

"Fucking bitch," Connor spits, stumbling to his feet. He's bent over, gripping the log while dizziness caused by alcohol grips him. "I'm going to—"

"What?" KJ snorts. "Trip over the log and fall into the fire?" KJ steps over the log and locks his arm under Connor's shoulders. "Come on, man. Let's get you some water."

As KJ is turning away, he makes eye contact with me and shakes his head. I suppress an eye roll. He's not allowed to pin this incident on me. I did nothing. But that's a conversation we can have later.

"Bren?" Tucker asks. "Are you okay?" He reaches up to rest a hand on her shoulder.

Brenna swats his hand away. "I'm fine. Can we leave now? I didn't want to come to this stupid party." While trying to zip up her jacket, she mutters a string of profanity. Then, after every curse word in the book reaches my ears, she turns around and stomps toward the parking area.

The rest of us stare after her.

"Man," Jayden says once she's far away. "What the fuck did you do?"

"I did nothing!" I exclaim. "She sat down next to me, we talked, and then Connor showed up." KJ is still helping a stumbling Connor across the property, over to where our teammates are hanging out. My friend practically shoves Connor toward them, and then turns around, heading back to us. "That stupid fuck caused this mess."

"As if," Wright replies. "God knows how much you poke her. I'm surprised she didn't shove you into the dirt."

I tug at my hair, feeling singled out. Okay, yeah, there's bad blood between Brenna and I. But tonight was going decent until Connor showed up. "Whatever, Wright," I reply. "You can shove that assumption up your ass and choke on it."

"Hey!" Charrette says, giving me a shove. "Don't speak to my teammate like that."

"Oh, for God's sake!" Catina exclaims, shoving Charrette and I apart. "There's too much testosterone at this party. Drew, Hunter, and Nick—let's go. The boss has spoken, and she wants to leave." She glances at Hunter. "Why you forced her to come is beyond me, so you're dealing with her during the drive home."

Tucker rolls his eyes, and it pisses me off. If Brenna didn't want to come, why bother making her? She wouldn't have missed anything by skipping. Parties are overrated.

The guys listen to Catina, which is a blessing. I'm tired of this shit. I want to go home. The only people who say proper goodbyes are Jayden and Wright. Jayden tells Wright he'll see him at work tomorrow.

After the West Kelowna boys have left, Jayden turns to me.

"You shouldn't be doing this to Brenna," Jayden spits. He pokes me in the chest. "She doesn't deserve it. And you know damn well. You're just too much of a wimp to stand up to Connor."

I grind my teeth. I fear Connor. But something else scares me even more. What I'm terrified of is being singled out amongst my teammates. If I stand up to him, the rest of the guys will ostracize me. They'll refuse to pass me the puck on the ice. They'll make sure I don't have a chance at the spotlight. I need the spotlight if I'm going to make it to Boston. "If you're so adamant about protecting Harrison, then why didn't you stand up to that fucker?" I demand. "You could've ended the bet yourself!"

Jayden's gaze flicks to the ground, ashamed.

"That's what I thought," I snort.

"You're going to regret hurting her," Jayden says.

"Why do you even care? You hardly know her!"

Jayden pressed his lips together and glances at the bonfire. It snaps and hisses as sparks fly up into the air. "She's a good person, Shea."

Before I can respond, KJ joins us. "Whatever the hell you did to Connor has him riled up. We need to leave before he loses control. Do you want a ride home, Jayden?"

"Nah," Jayden replies, glaring at me. "I'll clean up the mess."

He turns on his heel, stirring up a cloud of dust and residual ash as he leaves the bonfire area. I'm pissed at Jayden. I don't think he understands the precarious situation I'm in. I don't want to go through with this bet. But if Connor hears a word about me wanting to back out, he'll make sure my reputation is destroyed. And, after tonight's commotion, it wouldn't surprise me if he tried to bring down Brenna, too.

I turn away, shaking my head. I can blame whomever I please. In the end, it's my fault this bet was set in motion. My lips formed the word "yes." I shook Connor's hand.

"Let's go," I mutter, feeling nothing but disappointment.