The second I enter the locker room, I can sense something is wrong. 

I'm two days past the hook up with Jake, and in desperate need of a new one. Justin has been an ultimate pain in the ass, even more so than he normally is. 

I don't know what's up with that guy. Every time we have practice, he succeeds in making one of us feel bad. It's either a comment on how horrible someone is skating, or telling someone to go back to their own country as a joke (no one laughs, but some cry) or he shouts at bystanders to get a life. 

Coach is aware of it, as I, as well as other teammates, have reported these occurrences. He doesn't do anything about it. All he does is sigh and shrug, telling us that's how kids are. 

I agree, some kids are jerks. Not all of them, but there are brats among them. Though Justin isn't a kid anymore; he's twenty-two, for fuck's sake. He should grow the fuck up and learn some manners. 

". . . then tell him, he just walked in," Dante shrugs, nodding his head at me. I groan and almost turn right on my heels, if it weren't for the practice and my duty to be here as their captain. 

"What now?" I sigh, taking in my place next to Elias. I haven't forgotten what he said this morning yet— about how I would ditch Jake again, disappoint him again—but I shove it aside from now. We need to play as a team, and that won't work if I hold grudges against all my teammates. 

Against Justin, though? Gladly. He can crawl in a hole and die for all I care. 

"Barett," Coach grits. Oh, great. Absolutely great. Just what I needed on this lovely Tuesday afternoon. 

"Can I strap on my gear first, please?" I ask, trying to keep the annoyance from my voice. I don't need him getting pissed at me, too. 

"No, you can make sure you hurry and get here." 

My teammates try to hide their chuckles, I can see from the way they clasp their hands in front of their mouths and the way their shoulders shake. I flip them off before slipping through the door and meeting Coach in the hallway. "Did I do something wrong?"

His eyes are narrowed, which tells me whatever he might be thinking is not good. "Barett. Justin told me you were discussing our team dynamics with. . . ugh, what was his name again?"

Feeling confused, I frown. "With Jake? Jake Mabins? No, Coach, we're just friends. Isn't that allowed?"

"Jake Mabins, right! Now, I'm not telling you who you can and cannot be friends with, I'm just saying you shouldn't mention our strategies to them, alright now?" 

I take a deep breath, trying to even out my anger towards Justin. "Coach, you know me. I would never do that."

He nods, already disinterested in this conversation again. Now that he's made sure no one knows about his winning techniques, he can't care less about what I have to say. 

The urge to hit Justin in the face grows by the minute. 

I'm dismissed, so I make my way back to the locker room. The whole way, I try to breathe evenly and to not give in to the temptation of Justin's punchable face. It's difficult, but I think I manage quite well. 

With a sigh, I drop on the bench right next to Eli again. He pats my back, the corners of his mouth quirking up. "How did it go?"

"I'm in desperate need to murder someone," I sigh, truthfully. It's either that, or fucking someone, but since my agreement with Jake is only Sunday and I want to stay monogamous, homicide is my next best option. 

Being monogamous isn't something we've discussed, but I'd like to think Jake cares about me enough to not go around fucking anyone while our agreement stands. I know I wouldn't; this deal actually helps me. With a set schedule, I have time for other things, and I won't be dragged to clubs and parties anymore with the excuse of hooking up. 

Don't get me wrong, I love fucking, but going out on a random Tuesday isn't something that I enjoy. Now that we have an agreement, I can spend my time well. Studying, calling Mom, analyzing the team's statistics. And, atop of that, no one could overthrow my amazing Jake. 

"Alexander!" Justin catches my attention, which I immediately regret. I have no desire to talk to him after he lied to Coach about me (or ever, really!), but I guess I have to endure it. 

"What happened to Cap?" Dante mutters under his breath, putting on a new shirt. I want to tell him Justin isn't very consistent with anything, as he should know, but actually, Cap has always been my title coming from him. 

"Yeah, about that," Justin nods. "I believe I'm going to ask Coach if I can be Captain next season. You're starting to slack, no offense, and I can do better."

A dead silence drops over the locker room. Everyone is staring at the two of us, mouth wide agape and eyes bulging. 

Oh, how I wish I could slap that toothy grin off his face. He's innocently smiling at me, as if he just didn't threaten to take my spot. He doesn't look uncomfortable by the least; slacked back shoulders, a delighted expression on his face and no tremble in his voice at all.

"You wouldn't mind that, would you?" 

Someone better stop me before I—

Dante grabs my wrist. With gritted teeth, I turn to him to tell him to let go of me, but he shakes his head. He whispers, "Breathe. He's not worth it."

I do as he says. Somewhere, in the back of my mind, I know Justin's not worth my anger or frustration. All he wants is exactly what I'm giving to him right now; a reaction. As much as I try to limit satisfying him, sometimes he's just such  an asshole I can't help myself. 

"No," I tell him. "I wouldn't." I'm annoyed he's trying to get under my skin like this, but Coach won't choose him. I've been Captain for two years now, and I haven't done anything to make Coach doubt me. Justin, though, has gotten in trouble countless of times. He won't be picked over me.

A frown creases between his eyebrows. "Wait—you wouldn't?"

Another deep breath. It helps me calm down, realize this is bullshit. "No. Anything else?"

Perplexed, he takes a step back. Shakes his head. I reckon that as failure of his mission to get me riled up and am strangely satisfied with that. If this makes him frustrated, I enjoy it even more. 

"Now, let's get to practice," I tell the others. Dante gives me an approving nod. He might be a little more mature than me. Still, I can read something behind his eyes, something he's not telling me. It's sadness, hopelessness, despair. I take note to ask for it after practice. 

Today's practice is not too harsh. After our game last weekend, we're all pretty angry at the official still, so Coach gives us the opportunity to play it out in a game against each other. Dante and Eli are on my team, as usual, against Justin and two of his followers. Their names are Benjamin and Thomas, if I recall it well. They're usually on the bench when we play a game, but they have a good chance of play time in the next season. 

As we play, I slowly notice something's off. Instead of going for the puck, the other teams comes for me. I can handle a few hits, those things happen, but not every time they pass me. 

"Fuck," I huff, feeling Benjamin's elbow in my stomach. Alright, I take back saying practice isn't too harsh. Lesson learned. 

Dante and Elias are smarter than me and avoid the hits, though the ones directed at them aren't as harsh as the ones I must endure. What the fuck is this bullshit?

"Hey! This isn't fair play," Dante comments on the next hit, which sends me laying with my back on the ice. I groan, already knowing I'll be sore tomorrow. 

Two heads prop up. Dante's, whose hand reaches for mine to pull me up, and Justin's, who is just smirking at me. I mock him while accepting Dante's hand, getting up again. That asshole is enjoying  seeing me go down. 

Since Coach is coincidentally not looking this way, what a timing, and I don't want to snitch, I decide to leave it behind me. Nothing good would come from it anyways. So really, what's the point? 

"Why don't you go put some ice on your arm, Cap?" Justin grins, his words coming out like venom. "It looks painful."

"Not as painful as that fucking stick up your ass must be," Dante shots back immediately. He's surprised by his own actions too, clearly, as his eyes widen quickly after. They say intrusive thoughts are mostly horrible, but this one was gold. I give him his well deserved high five.

Justin goes back to sulking, like he should. 

"One last game of ten minutes, and then we're wrapping up!" Coach shouts through the rink. I don't see why, exactly, he should raise his voice, but I suppose it adds to his reputation as heartless. 

We're gonna crush Justin's team in this one. I wouldn't be able to live it down if we don't. 

Seven minutes later, we're winning, but it seems their team is not the only thing that gets crushed today. My leg does, too. 

Since it's obvious they're not going to win (we have over double of their score), they start attacking me once again. With a brutal hit, I fall down, my leg feeling awful. It got twisted real bad, but it's fine. Or it will be. Fuck. 

"Hey, help me up," I tell Elias. He does, carefully. Fortunately, my leg is nice to me today and doesn't feel like ruining my life. At least there's that. 

Coach has finally noticed something's wrong, too. I like the man, I mean he could be worse, but how long does it take to see your player is making it a sport to get the others on the ground? 

"Barett, you okay?" he shouts. I'm literally three feet away, making my way to the locker room. There's no  way I'm playing on unsteady legs and with Justin on the ice anymore. "Fine."

The rest follows pretty soon. Dante keeps making sure I'm okay, asking if we need to go to the ER (no), if I need ice (I mean, I wouldn't say no to chocolate) and if he can do anything for me (some massage?). I tell him I'm alright. It's nice to know at least my other teammates don't want me to fail. 

Since Dante will always stay Dante, he stays the last, together with me. At first, I think he's just worried about me, but then it dawns. The guilty look before practice? It's back. Not directed at me, because suddenly he's shy and can't meet my eyes. 

His fingers tighten around the hem of his duffel bag while he looks at the ground, the walls, the showers; anything but me. I tap the spot on the bench beside me. "Dante, let's talk."

Clearly reluctant, he sits down next to me. He knuckles are white from the tightness of his grip, so I grab his hands and free his duffel bag. "What's bothering you?"

A gulp. "Idon'tthinkIcanplayhockeyanymore."

"I believe I didn't catch that," I gently tell him. I don't want him to feel bad, but he's clearly worried about something. As his friend, it's my job to help him, or if that doesn't work, listen to him venting. 

He sighs and finally looks up at me. The sadness is back in his eyes, which are red rimmed. He's close to crying, or has already cried; I'm not sure. "I can't play anymore. Dad's cut off my bank account, and now I need to work to pay off my loans. That's not possible if I keep playing. But if I don't, I'll lose my scholarship."

Shit. I didn't expect a problem this big. 

"Why don't you go talk to Coach? I'm sure you can find a solution together. He's scary in the rink, but trust me, he actually is fine to talk to after practice or a game. Do you want me to go along?"

Quickly, he shakes his head. "No, no. I'll go talk to him after you've left. Do you really think he'll keep me in the team?"

I certainly do hope so. "Of course. He'll understand, I promise. About the job thing, though. Do I need to ask my dad for a favor?"

Is—is Dante blushing? 

"Oh. Actually, Flynn's dad has already given me a job at his company. You know, Harrison Productions? His dad is the CEO, and since it's just the two of them, Flynn gets everything he wants. So now I have a pretty good job, but I'm still unable to do both the job and practice. He's already changed my hours so I can follow class, but he can't do everything."

Hm. "I didn't know you two were so close."

Another blush. "It's nothing, really. We've been friends for quite some time, even before you introduced us."

Friends. Sure.