Shea

Staring down at my coffee-stained sweater, I chuckle and toss it to the side. It lands beside my overflowing laundry hamper. Harrison had some balls drenching me in coffee in the middle of Starbucks. I have to admit, I like her no bullshit attitude. I still don't like her playing hockey with us, though. My jealousy is still strong.

Pulling on a fresh pair of jeans and a sweater, I collect my wallet and phone from the nightstand. There's a party at Connor's house tonight. Connor and I live in the same area—the Kettle Valley—but his house is fifteen minutes away from mine in walking distance. Since my house in on the way to Connor's, KJ offered to pick me up. I regret agreeing. After today's events and the soreness of my shoulder, I want to lie on the couch and watch a hockey game. But I can't back out now. KJ's on his way here.

Tonight, it's just my dad and I in the house. Mom's at the café with Chelsea, finishing paperwork for payments. I hope Noah's there, keeping my sister company.

Dad's in the kitchen when I make it downstairs.

"Where are you off to tonight?" Dad asks, thumbing through the newspaper.

I wrinkle my nose. Who reads the newspaper? Haven't tablets replaced it? "To Connor's house. We're having a team meeting."

Total bullshit. We're getting together to eat greasy pizza and drink, despite us having school tomorrow. Plans aside, I know Dad has something he wants to discuss. Something that will act as a blow to my ego.

"Sound good," Dad replies, his voice gruff. His familiar gaze flicks to my injury. "How long until your shoulder has healed?"

Here we go. "Ten days," I reply. "Two weeks at the most. I have a concussion, too, remember?"

"You shouldn't have let that girl hit you."

I roll my eyes, but I'm surprised by my next words. "Harrison didn't mean to hurt me, Dad. She couldn't see the puck."

Yeah, I'm pissed I can't play hockey. But if Harrison can accept my apology, then I can accept hers. After we created a truce between us, working with her wasn't so bad. Where I struggle with French writing composition, she excels. Where she struggles with pronunciations, I can guide her. It was almost like we were kids again, playing on the same hockey team and wracking up the points together.

Dad's gaze flicks to mine, and I'm greeted by the same look of disappointment I received after hockey camp years ago. Dread and humiliation churn inside me as I cast my gaze away, reminding me of why I hate Harrison so much. If she would stop trying to prove herself, I wouldn't need to worry about her skills nullifying mine. Or Dad's disappointment haunting me.

Dad sets his newspaper down. "Are you defending her?"

"No," I reply, my voice wavering. "I'm telling the truth. Honesty is a trait hockey players value, Dad. Although she was aiming for a clean hit, she apologized for it being a dirty one."

His mouth forms a hard line. "You believe her?"

I know Dad wants what's best for me. He wants me to tune my hockey skills and play to the best of my abilities. But I'm tired of his games. He builds me up to bring me down. Last time we talked, he complimented me on scoring a goal, promising he'd come to a game soon. Today, he's telling me I'm the one at fault for Harrison's hit.

I cock an eyebrow at him. "Do you believe your fights aren't affecting Chelsea and I?"

Dad flinches. "Shea. Your mother and I's relationship is different."

"Save it," I reply, shaking my head. "If you and Mom have any respect for your kids, you'd get a divorce already. Or attend counselling." I run a hand through my hair and expel a deep breath. "Seriously. The least you and Mom could do is privatize your arguments. This atmosphere isn't healthy for Chels. When I'm the only one home, have a full-out brawl. Leave Chels out of this. She's too young."

Before Dad can try to justify his position in this, I spin around and head for the front door. KJ is going to be here any minute. Besides, I need some fresh air before he arrives. If I don't calm down and prepare myself for Connor's narcissistic personality, I'll end up starting a fist-fight.

Outside, the air is chilly. We're halfway through September. The promise of a rough winter can be felt in the evening air. I tug the drawstrings of my sweater, wishing I'd grabbed a jacket. While I'm waiting at the end of my driveway, I lean against my car and sigh. I should've backed out of this when I had the chance.

Five minutes have passed before I see the headlights of KJ's truck. It's an old, battered thing, but it holds character. I respect the vintage feel of his truck. If he ever decides to sell it, I might buy it off of him.

"How was the coffee date?" KJ asks once I'm buckled in.

"It wasn't a date," I mutter.

"Right," he replies, looping around the cul-de-sac. "How did it go? You're alive, but is Harrison?" He pauses. "No, wait. Don't tell me. I can't defend you if I know you killed her."

"Hilarious," I drawl, rolling my eyes. While Harrison and I hate each other, we wouldn't consider murder. "It was fine. We formed a truce. Not sure how long it'll last, but we got a fair amount of work done today. After she doused me in coffee."

KJ chokes on a laugh. "You must've been acting like a dick if she threw coffee in your face."

"I was," I sigh, rubbing my sore shoulder. Why does pain act up at night? "It's just difficult to not act that way when I'm near her."

KJ presses his lips together and nods. He guides the truck to the right, turning up Chute Lake Road. "Just because your dad said Harrison was a better hockey player doesn't mean she is. Everyone has a different skill set, Shea. You're letting him get to your head."

I press my forehead against the cool glass of the passenger window, ignoring KJ. He doesn't understand my father. He's a workaholic who strives for perfection. Unless I'm the best player in the league, he'll never acknowledge my skills. Fuck, he hasn't been to a game for years.

After we've passed Kettle Valley Coffee & Scoops, KJ takes a right onto South Crest Drive, and then a sharp left onto Killdeer Road. When we come to the next intersection, passing by a mishmash of houses, we take another left.

"Dude," KJ says, "what's going on? You don't seem happy."

I stare at Powerline Park, wondering why the hell a city would consider a grassy area around obtrusive, ugly power lines a park. There's nothing nice about it. The name implies everything: a segment of power lines between rows of houses. Oh, and don't forget the grass.

"Just stressed," I reply. "With school and work and missing out on hockey."

At the corner of Seon Crescent, KJ turns into Connor's driveway. It's filled with several cars, telling me KJ and I are the last ones to show up. I suppress an eye roll.

"That's understandable," KJ replies, cutting the engine. I can tell he wants to press for more information, but I'm glad he doesn't. He knows how much I hate Connor. I'm volatile around him. He presses my buttons to where I can't handle it. "Ready for this shit show?"

"Ready as I'll ever be," I reply, unbuckling my seatbelt. If worse comes to worst, I'll drink until Connor's comments don't bother me. I'd rather face a hangover than be mentally available around him.

KJ and I let ourselves in and head downstairs to the man cave. I'm not sure where Connor's parents are or what they do for a living, but he always throws parties when they're out of town.

The man cave, a room large enough to be considered a living room, already reeks of stale alcohol and sweat when we enter. It's painted a dark grey and is decorated with old hockey sweaters. I've been down here so many times I can name all of them. Howe, Gretzky, Orr, Lemieux, Crosby, Richard. A large flatscreen TV sits on the far wall. On the coffee table, there are empty bottles of beer, bottle caps, and several bags of chips. The sight of such processed food makes my stomach flip. Aside from drinking every once in a while, I'm a health nut. I don't want carcinogenic foods like that in my body.

We're greeted by a round of hellos, but no one seems to care we're late. Instead, they coax us inside. Jayden hands each of us a beer. I'm hesitant to drink it, but when I hear Connor make a comment about our upcoming hockey game against Rutland, I toss back a sip. We lost the last one against them. If I have to listen to Connor blame our losses on us as opposed to his developing goalie skills, I'll need a buffer.

I toss back another sip, wishing this night was over.

*  *  *

"For the last time," I say, "Harrison and I didn't go on a date. That girl is a piece of work. I would never date her."

Five hours have gone by, and I'm turning loose-lipped. I'm losing my filter because of the buzz in my head. Lucky for me, it's drowned out Connor's voice for most of the night. I'm feeling pretty good.

"She can be difficult," Jayden admits, "but I'd kill to be her partner. I'm wishing I was the one who got kicked out of KSS. She'd guarantee me an A in my French class."

"So you can live under a mountain for eight hours a day?" KJ snorts, tipping his drink back. "What world are you living in?"

"The sober one," Jayden laughs.

It's true—Jayden, out of everyone on the team, is the only one who refuses to drink. There's no judgement coming from me. It's just a shame he'll never know the mind-numbing effects. I am, however, grateful KJ and I have a ride home. Jayden's someone you can count on. 

"How was it, though, man?" Brody asks. "It must have been hard to keep your eyes off of her ass. I've seen her in leggings before." He loosens a low whistle.

Several other voices chime in agreement.

My grip tightens around my half-empty bottle of beer. I may not like Harrison, but if I ever heard someone talking about my sister like this, I'd lose my mind. Why should Harrison be treated any differently? Those kinds of comments are meant to be kept behind closed lips. Though, I will admit, Harrison is nice to look at—and not just her ass.

"Come on, guys," KJ says. "She has more qualities than that. I've gone to school with her since kindergarten. She's wicked smart and has a mean spike in volleyball. She also made it onto the boys' hockey team. I'd call that impressive."

I tilt my head back against the cushions of the couch, closing my eyes. My mind is numb, but I could add several more characteristics to KJ's list. Independent. Confident. Feminist. Strong.

Brenna is everything I want my sister to be when she grows up.

"Dude," Connor says, giving my bad shoulder a rough nudge. "Don't fall asleep on us. We want details. What happened when she arrived?" He averts his gaze from mine, a sardonic smirk on his face. "Personally, boys, I'd rather see her assets than her ass."

With both hands, he makes a grabbing motion above his chest. Then he nudges me again.

I grimace in pain. Asshole. I'm trying to mend my shoulder, not worsen it. When I look down at the drink in my hand, I feel a rush of guilt. Alcohol will not help me. I sit up and set the bottle down, heading over to the small fridge for a bottle of water.

"Calling it quits already, Smith?" Connor calls.

I flip him the bird. The plastic water bottle is cold against my skin. I crack the lid open and take two gulps before returning to the seating area. "I've got a shoulder to heal," I say as I sit down. "After she arrived," I continue, "she bought me a coffee, and we got to work. We both want a good grade, so we settled for a truce."

The only person who knows I'm lying is KJ. When I glance at him, there isn't a dent in his poker face. His trustworthiness is one reason we're friends.

Connor glares at me. He's not happy with my response. If he's looking for a way to degrade Harrison, he must find another source. I deserved to have coffee thrown at me. I will not let Connor have the satisfaction of judging her actions and calling her names. She's a piece of work because she's confident. Being confident can piss people off, but that's not an excuse to call them names.

"Jones," he barks, directing his attention to KJ. "How's Ella?"

KJ picks at the label on his bottle. "Don't know, man. I haven't talked to her for a while. She broke up with me, remember?"

"Man," Chase says, punching KJ in the arm. "You can do so much better than Ella Taylor."

"Not likely," Connor snorts before my friend can respond. "He's pussy whipped by a whore who doesn't even love him."

KJ recoils against the couch. When he's sober, he knows how to defend himself. With the addition of alcohol? His emotions are volatile. Especially right now, when the break-up is still fresh in his mind. While I still think he should've listened to me and avoided committing to a relationship, this is unacceptable. Not only because Connor's goading KJ, but he's talking smack about Ella. This is how rumours start. 

Seriously, fuck Connor.

"Connor," I grit out. "Knock it off."

Connor shoots me an innocent, mocking look. "Why? You're the one who always says relationships are a waste of time. We're trying to teach Jones your words of wisdom."

I sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose. He's right. I don't support relationships. That's not the point, though. "You're right," I shrug. "I'm not fond of romance, but KJ is. Quit bringing up Ella. The break-up hurt him. You're also degrading Ella, which isn't right."

I sound like a fucking hypocrite. I haven't been very supportive of KJ and his break-up, and I'm ashamed it's taken me this long to realize it. 

"This sounds like some kind of feminist bullshit," Preston Kline, one of our defensemen, says. "Why else would Ella break up with him? She was probably seeing someone else. She deserves to be labelled."

I'm ready to bang my head through a wall. Why do I surround myself with people I hate? If I had my way, Jayden, KJ, and I would ditch this party and head back to my place. We'd order sushi and play cribbage or some video games. Maybe discuss strategy for hockey, despite me being injured. 

"Stop it, guys," Jayden says. "We're supposed to be bonding." He locks his gaze with Connor's. "Shea's right, man. Stop talking about Ella like that. Treat her equally, like we do with Brenna." 

Connor snorts. "If we were to treat her equally, we wouldn't refrain from beating the shit out of her. Someone needs to put that bitch in her place. Coach always tells us to treat her no different. So why are the rest of you such pussies?" He leans over and claps me on the shoulder. Again. "You all need to be a little more like my man, Smith."

I'm going to fucking kill him.

My mouth curls into a sneer. He's one reason I don't allow Chelsea near my hockey team unless there's plexiglass between them and her. The only players who have met her are KJ and Jayden—I know I can trust them. KJ's babysat her, for God's sake! Connor is a special type of man. Although I don't agree with mixed gender teams, Connor believes woman shouldn't be allowed to play hockey at all. "My intention was never to hit Harrison," I argue, setting my water down. "Tucker was picking a fight with me, and Harrison stepped between us. I apologized to her after the game."

He snorts again. "Sure you did."

My jaw clenches.

"He did," KJ pipes up.

I shoot him a grateful look.

Connor looks exasperated. It's something that happens when people gang up on him. He covers his anxiety with a snort, though, and says, "Why do you take advice from Smith? He wouldn't know romance if it smashed him into the boards."

His comment pisses me off. "Fuck you, Watt. If I wasn't fully committed to hockey, I bet I could draw any woman in."

Connor sets his drink down and studies me. I reach for my water bottle and open it, taking a sip. After several seconds, he glances at the guys. "What do you say? Should we document this bet Smith has made?"

Everyone, except KJ and Jayden, nod.

"All right," Connor says, tapping his chin. He grins at me, his eyes swimming from all the alcohol he's consumed. I watch with caution as he removes his wallet and pulls out a hundred-dollar bill. He places it on the coffee table.

"You think you can pull in any woman?" he mocks. "Then I bet you one hundred dollars you can't get Brenna Harrison to go out with you."

I nearly choke on my water. I'll defend Harrison and other women, but I will not date her. Working on our French project and playing hockey together is already punishment enough.

Connor's fucking daft.

"I second that," Preston says. He follows Connor's lead and places another hundred on the table.

Soon enough, every player except KJ and Jayden have thrown money onto the table. There's just over two thousand dollars on the table. Almost the whole team has contributed money. 

I lick my lips and stare at the money. I could do a lot with two thousand dollars. It could cover my textbooks for two semesters! I could even leave this money behind for Chelsea and whoever's looking after her (if it comes down to that). This money would be beneficial. 

"I'll double that amount if you can get her into bed," Connor clarifies.

He's hanging the opportunity over my head. I rub the stubble along my jaw, thinking about how I would react to someone playing Chelsea like this. I would be livid, but my situation is different. I need that money. It will give me a push I need towards my post-secondary education goals, as well as hockey. Even if what I'm saying makes me a hypocrite, money is tight. Maybe... Maybe there's a way I can get through this without hurting her. 

I expel a deep breath, the buzz of alcohol numbing my brain. "Fine," I reply, shaking Connor's hand. "I'll take the bet." 

Connor grins as if he's already got me beat.

I ignore his grin.

Nothing matters more than money right now. I'm desperate to make it to Boston University. While doubling the sum is tempting, I decide here and now that I will not sleep with Harrison. Some other man can do that with her. This money, the original sum, will be my safety net. And my main goal. 

I'll make her fall in love with me...

As long as that money is in my pocket by the end.