Page 23 of Breaking Point


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where there’s smoke there’s fire

Logan Johnson

I second that

Theo Irving

it’snot always me

Jack Lewis

you demanded a pet mascot and then lost it within six hours

Logan Johnson

what about the time you were caught screwing two puck bunnies in the locker rooms?

Theo Irving

you’re the reason we have beef with the Chicago Satans

Hudson Mitchel

you drove a woman insane enough that she trashed the facilities to get back at you

Grayson

you screwed his niece in the bathroom during his sixtieth birthday party

Theo Irving

point taken

“This is bullshit,” Theo spits, his blue eyes blazing, his nape-length blond hair rustling as he shakes his head in disgust.

Asher mirrors Theo as he shoves the ball cap down on his shaking head. “Can’t believe I’m saying this, but I agree with Irving. This is bullshit, Crawford.”

“I’d take offense, but I’m too fucking pissed off to focus on you,” Theo retorts, pushing off the locker bench.

My best friend comes up beside me and claps me on the shoulder. “Told you none of them would take it well,” Kieran gloats, his smug smirk doing nothing but getting on my nerves.

“As if we’d take it any other way,” Hudson fires off, his tawny skin glistening with sweat as he points a finger in my direction. “I respect Coach, but this is stupid. I refuse to acknowledge anyone else as my captain.”

Heat crawls up my cheeks as the locker room explodes with cheers of agreement.

Logan strolls in, his large hulking frame taking up so much room everyone takes a step back to give him space. “What’s goteveryone’s panties in a twist?” he drawls, dumping his bag next to his closest teammate, Asher.

“Coach revoked Crawford’s captaincy.”

Logan spins, shocked. “You’re fucking joking. Why?” he spits.

“Why?” I blurt, silencing the team I’ve adored since day one. “Guys, I love you and the support you’re showing me right now, but we all know why I don’t deserve the title of captain.”

Logan shakes his head. “That’s bullshit. If anything, we all knowwhythis is such a colossal fuck-up.”

“Cap—”

“Crawford or Grayson,” I correct, earning a glare from Asher that somehow makes me feel smaller.