Chapter 9: Hidden Scars: Chapter 8

pissed. I can’t fall back asleep so I lay here and stare at the damn ceiling.

How did I get saddled with the worst roommate? I would rather have Austin, who doesn’t shower regularly and doesn’t pick up after himself.

Shut up, brain. No one asked you.

The feel of Preston holding me against the dresser, his hand on my dick, has me hardening and my skin flushing. That’s what I’ve wanted from Brendon but never got. I wonder if he’s always like that or if it was a one time thing.

My dick stirs but I refuse to give in to the temptation. I can lust after my roommate. He’s a pompous, arrogant prick.

Sitting up, I slide my hand through my hair and rub my face. I stand and stretch before grabbing my discarded shirt from last night and pulling it over my head. I grab my phone and room key and leave the room, too irritated with myself to stay here anymore.

On my way out, I look back over the room and stop on Preston’s bed. I’ve never seen him look that rough before. Normally, he’s perfectly polished and put together, but when he got back from what I assume was the gym, he was rough. The look in his eyes was like he was running from ghosts. He passed out so quickly it was concerning, and if I hadn’t heard the whimpering, I would have checked his pulse to make sure he was alive.

The dreams were bad, the way his big body cowered was too real. Does he have any friends he can talk to?

I close the door behind me and head to Brendon and Paul’s room. Am I a dick for waking them up just because I’m irritated at my roommate for waking me up? Yes. Do I care? Nope.

I knock on the door with a smile on my face, knowing Paul is going to be pissed when he sees me and my hair isn’t on fire.

I knock and knock and knock. Continuously. Until I hear someone inside.

“All right! Fuck!” Ah, Brendon is awake.

The door is ripped open and a half-asleep, angry hockey player is standing there in nothing but boxers.

“Morning, sunshine. Wakey wakey.” My voice is falsely chipper but this was more fun than I expected it to be.

“Fuck off, asshole,” Paul mutters from his bed. Pushing past Brendon, who’s glaring at me, I jump onto Paul and ruffle his hair.

“Come on, sugar tits, time to get up!” He struggles against me, trying to shove me off of him, but stops when my comment sinks in.

“How do you know my tits are sweet? You molesting me while I’m asleep again?”

“If I was going to molest someone in their sleep, sucking on a man titty wouldn’t be my first move.” I pinch his nipple.

“Ow, fuck face!” He shoves me hard this time and I fall off the bed laughing. “And I don’t have moobs.” He sits up, rubbing his sore nipple. “Why are you in here annoying us instead of your roommate?”

I sigh and lean back on my hands. “He was up at four and couldn’t find his god damn phone to shut off the alarm.”

Brendon sits on his bed, now with PJ pants on, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“Has he said anything to you?” Brendon’s question is quiet but I hear it just fine.

“Nothing besides I need to workout more and I’m lazy.”

My face heats a bit at the memory of him telling me to shut the fuck up while he was jerking me off. Brendon doesn’t need to know that happened. He’s not my boyfriend so I don’t owe him an explanation. Right?

“Seriously, what is that dude’s problem?” Paul sits up.

“He’s intense, for sure,” I say. All of a sudden not wanting to rag on the man I share space with. He was vulnerable last night and I don’t want them to know about it. “His dad is super well known. Maybe it’s a work ethic he was raised with?”

I shrug and check my phone for the time.

“Come on, time to head down to practice.” I pat Brendon’s knee and head back to my room to get dressed.

The blast of cold as we enter the rink puts a smile on my face, but the sound of skates on the ice has that smile falling. Fucking Carmichael. Why does he have to make the rest of us look bad?

“Show off,” Paul grumbles behind me as we head for the locker room to get changed.

The locker room is full of guys changing, chugging pre-workout drinks and shoving protein bars in their faces.

“Alright, boys,” Coach starts. “Today we’re working on puck control and passes. Suit up.”

We quickly get changed and head out to the ice for warm ups. We circle the ice, every round faster than the last, making sure our muscles are loose and ready for the workout they’re about to get.

We’re lined up waiting for instructions while the coaches set up practice equipment on the ice.

“About time.” Carmichael’s snide voice in my ear sets my teeth on edge.

“Surprised you can even move this morning, you stumbled back to the dorms like you were drunk.”

“I don’t drink. Too many empty calories. But I can see you enjoy it.” I can hear the grin in his tone and I have never wanted to punch someone in the face so quickly. “Perhaps if you worked a little harder, you wouldn’t need to drown your sorrows in alcohol.”

“You don’t know anything about me.” I snap back.

“If you spent less time worrying about your dick and more time working out, you would be a phenomenal player. Instead, you’re mediocre, .” The dig hits me just as hard as he intended. Fucking prick.

“Seems you spend a decent amount of time thinking about my dick. Jealous no one wants to suck yours?”

“Hey!” Brendon whisper yells at us. “Shut up and pay attention.”

“I wonder how long it will take for you to to suck my dick.” Carmichael keeps right on talking as if he didn’t hear Brendon. I know he did, he just doesn’t care.

My teeth ache from clenching my jaw so hard. It’s going to be a long fucking day.

We break up into offense and defense then run drills until we’re huffing and sweating. Muscles are definitely warmed up and we’re feeling good.

“Water break!” Coach yells out and we skate over to the bench to grab a drink. I unsnap my chin strap and spit my mouth guard into my gloved hand. Squeezing the water bottle left out for us, I fill my mouth with water. Someone slams into my back, making me choke as I attempt to swallow the cold liquid. I stumble forward into the bench, going head first over it onto the floor, my mouth guard going flying. My helmet comes off as my face meets the floor.

“Fuck,” I snap as I try to get up and face whoever hit me.

I’m stuck between the bench and the wall, my pads and gloves keeping me from getting up on my own.

“What the fuck was that?” Brendon yells as a couple of the guys lift me up. I’m wedged in such a weird position, there’s no way I can get out by myself.

“Slipped.” The deadpan voice of my roommate sets my anger off.

“No, you didn’t! I watched you run into him!” Brendon is in Preston’s face but Preston isn’t fazed or concerned. He’s watching me like he can see through me. That look has me wanting to snap, to pop off and fight him, but that’s what he wants. He wants to push me into making a stupid mistake and losing ice time. I have twin brothers. If he thinks a little ribbing and manhandling is going to get to me, he’s wrong. I’ve had years of practice putting up with little shitheads.

“Albrooke, you good?” Coach asks once I’m on my feet again.

“Yeah, I’m all right.”

Paul hands me my mouth guard and I shove it back in, snap my chin strap, and head back onto the ice. I can’t let him see that he’s bothering me.

The rest of practice is exhausting. Our new head coach is kicking our asses. Everyone is exhausted except the damn golden boy. Coach finally calls the end of practice when Paul throws up on the ice.

We all limp back to the locker room, leg muscles threatening to give out. Paul is given a water bottle and sits on a bench close to the entrance. I slap him on the shoulder pad as I hobble past him. My body is beyond exhausted, my muscles crying for a hot shower and sleep.

I get my jersey off, pads hung up in my cubby to dry out, and my skates put up. My base layer is soaked with sweat and clings to me like a second skin.

Water bottles are passed out as we’re getting ready for showers.

“Albrooke.” Coach stops next to me. “Stop by my office after showers.”

“Sure thing, Coach.” I nod to him as dread drops into my stomach like a lead weight. Anxiety and fear send ice through my veins at the prospect of getting benched or losing my spot on the starting line.

“What did you do?” Brendon asks as I pass him to drop my base layer into the laundry on the way to the showers.

“I don’t know but I have a feeling it has to do with Carmichael.”

The steam of the showers is suffocating as I wash the sweat of practice off. Did Preston say something to Coach about me? Make up some lie to get me into trouble? Did I break some rule I don’t know about?

Once I’m done taking the quickest shower of my life, I dry off, get dressed, and head to Coach’s office, every step heavier than the last.

I raise my hand to rap my knuckles on the door when it’s jerked open, Preston Carmichael filling the doorway for a second before he raises a lip at me and shoves past me. I watch him stalking away from me, freshly showered and dressed, his black hair hanging in his eyes giving him a bad boy vibe that’s normally hidden behind his perfect exterior. The jeans he’s wearing cupping that amazing ass hockey players are known for is a fucked-up reminder that he’s hot as well as being a pretentious dick.

“Albrooke, come in and close the door.” Coach’s voice has me turning away from my infuriating roommate and swallowing past the lump in my throat.

The door closes behind me with a and I wait for the yelling, holding my breath and shielding my features to show nothing.

“Have a seat,” he waves to the old chairs with wooden arms and upholstery that may have been new in the 90s. My ass has barely hit the seat when he starts talking.

“Have you noticed anything off with Carmichael? You’re his roommate, correct?”

My mind goes blank for a second and I blink a few times as I process what he’s asked.

“Uh yeah, he’s my roommate.” My eyebrows pull together in confusion. Anything off? Dude is crazy, seems to have some kind of superpower that tells him when I’m trying to get laid, and hates me for some unknown reason. But I doubt that’s what Coach wants to know.

“You notice anything weird? Quick mood changes, stumbling or appearing out of it?” he clarifies. Should I tell him about last night? What’s he getting at? We’re drug tested regularly.

Now I’m really confused. “Drugs? No way. He’s rarely in our room but he’s always in his right mind. He won’t even go out for a beer with the team. That dude lives in his routines for hockey. Up at four, to sleep no later than nine.” I shake my head. “There’s no way he’s strung out or anything.”

Coach purses his lips and nods, obviously thinking about something. “I’m concerned about him. We received a call about him stumbling around and looking .” He holds my stare for a moment. “Just send me a message or call me if you see anything odd.”

“I’ll see you in the morning for workout.” He dismisses me and I stand, shoving the card in my pocket with a heavy weight on my chest.