A symphony of pops fly through the air, followed by loud bangs as paint balls burst against wood. Goddammit, we just repainted that shit. I’m going to fucking kill them. All we can do is take cover while we get totally fucking ambushed, and thank the hockey gods they didn’t use rubber bullets this time. But I take a hit to the shoulder that Luke’s not gonna like.
Later, paint-soaked and licking our wounds, we meet at the Alpha Kappa Epsilon round table to regroup.
“Fucking Beta Sigma,” Lars says.
“They wish they were us,” Huddy says.
“Will you let us get paint guns yet?” Shep asks, jaw tight.
“Yeah. We need to end this,” Bender agrees.
Luke’s right, if we retaliate, we’ll escalate the problem. But I’m finding it hard to care right now. I want revenge.Wewant revenge.
They all look to me for answers. For direction. The need for retaliation burning in their eyes. I can’t let them down.
“We ride at dawn, boys!”
The house erupts with cheers.
By the next day, I’ve got an emergency shipment of paintball guns and supplies coming to the house that I paid out of pocket for—well, out of Dad’s pocket. But I’ll totally pay him back when I’m a rich hockey star. It should arrive sometime this afternoon. It’s best we strike quickly, because they won’t see it coming. My only issue is getting out of the office hours I have with Luke. No idea how I’m gonna do that. If I tell him I’m not feeling well, he’ll come for me.
Which, not gonna lie, that would be so nice. Him pulling the truth out of me and saving me from this catastrophe. It’s not that I don’t wanna give those Beta Sigma weasels exactly what they deserve, but I’m not prepared to deal with the fallout. A better president would.
I’m in the middle of class, a business class I actually don’t mind, when Coach shows. He whispers to the professor, she nods, and then he hails me with a hand.
“Get your ass down here, McKinnon. You’re coming with me.”
There are a bunch of “whoas”, and a few whistles from the rest of the class. My stomach churns. Coming to collect me personally? If our last private conversation was any indication, I’m about to be frozen in carbonite. I follow him to his office. He gestures for me to sit, closing the door.
“Sorry to pull you out of class like that, McKinnon, but I needed you now, and I figured it best that I talk to the professor to get you out.” He tosses The Shadow Gazette down on his desk. It spins, landing with a flutter. “What’s going on?”
Do my ears deceive me, or did he just apologize to me? Coach VanCourt is fucking Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde this season, I swear to fucking god. What are the chances Luke has something to do with his less-murderous attitude?
I take a look at what he’s tossed in front of me. The title is “Frat Wars” and I’m on the cover, staring at the fucking ruins that used to be our frat house. We haven’t had time to repaint. The first time they ambushed us, we hired out for the repaint, but that’s gonna kill our budget, so this time, we’re gonna have to find time—somehow—to do it ourselves.
I huff. “Fallout, Coach. That, uh, that girl trouble I had. It’s escalated to this.”
My stomach twists and churns with all kinds of disappointment in myself. I remember the stern-as-fuck lecture he gave me. I take a breath, waiting for the hammer to fall.
“That article makes a fool out of you, which means it makes a fool out of everyone on the team. A team that won’t exist next season if this shit keeps up.”
Um … huh. Not even a typical VanCourt grunt, just a mild scolding—one that’s more than fair considering the circumstances.
“I understand, sir. I’m sorry.” It all feels fucking unfair, though. I make one mistake—one little, tiny mistake—and it turns into this.
“I want to show you something else.” He hands me an iPad, and a video plays. Security footage. Me in the rink the other night, getting wasted all by myself. My soul leaves my body. If he saw this, he saw me with his brother, too. Jesus. That means hesaw his brother spank me and fucking cuddle me after. He saw him putting me in my place and loving every minute of it.
“Um … how much did you see?” What are the chances the camera battery died at some point? Is that a thing?
“Everything, McKinnon. We’ll talk about your liaisons with my brother in a minute. Lucky for you, no one checks these unless there’s a reason to.”
That means he had a reason to, but I’m in some hot fucking water, so I’m not gonna ask what. I’m just fucking glad it looks like I’m getting out of this with a mild warning.
“And you must have had horseshoes up your ass. Other than one of your friends coming to check on you, no one else was there that night.”
I have the best friends.
“The Shadow Gazette is sent out to potential donors, what if they saw the captain of the hockey team’s drunk ass drooling over a tequila bottle on the front? You have a target on your head, you need to be careful.”
