1. River

one

River

" I 'm getting too old for this shit. That's why I'm sending the three of you to my sons' team in Iowa." Coach Davis glances from me to Kyson, then finally to Bowen.

Our team, the Minnesota Norse, is first in our division. I can't believe Coach would risk losing that spot by transferring us to a different team. It helps that the Iowa Poseidon is second in our division standings, but it still sucks that the three of us are the only ones being punished.

"That's bullshit, Coach." I spit out. "What about Billings, Hove, and Hill? They're just as bad, if not worse." My blood rushes through my body, making me want to hit someone or something. But I can't exactly do that since fighting on and off the ice is what got us in this mess, to begin with.

"River's right, why do we have to go to Iowa, of all places? There's nothing there but cornfields." Kyson jumps into the conversation. "How are we supposed to entertain ourselves when not playing hockey?"

Of course, that would be Kyson's first thought—needing to be entertained has always been high on the list of his priorities. That need has gotten us into more trouble than I care to admit. The last straw with Coach Davis must have been four nights ago when Kyson convinced Bowen to challenge our teammate Holden Hill to an arm wrestling competition at Valhalla Sports Bar.

The arm wrestling wouldn't have been so bad, but it turned ugly when they reached a stalemate. After ten minutes, neither had gained an edge over the other, which led to an all-out brawl, complete with glasses getting smashed and chairs being broken, not to mention the black eyes and bruising between teammates, which didn't go over well with the media.

Numerous customers at the bar had been filming the fight. By the following day, we might have forgotten about it, but the video of the fight had gone viral. To make matters worse, our social media manager, Britt, had to work endless hours to fix the damage our little fight caused. She happens to date the Hayes Triplets, who play on the team.

The triplets were so pissed that we had made extra work for their girlfriend that they decided to take it out on us on the ice. If they weren't slamming us against the plexiglass, they were intentionally not passing the puck to us.

"That's just it, Kyson—maybe it's time the three of you learn to control your impulses. And what better place than helping my niece on her goat farm in Iowa to keep yourselves entertained when you're not playing hockey."

"Oh, Hell no. I'm not living on a goat farm." Bowen swears, anger flaring in his eyes.

Instead of getting angry, Coach shakes his head with a laugh, "The three of you have just proven my point. You're itching for a fight. You need to calm down and learn to focus—center that anger into something good for once."

Impossible.

Anger is all I've ever known. The same goes for Kyson and Bowen. I wouldn't exactly call us friends, but we have a trauma bond that most people will never understand. It's not something you go around announcing to everyone, but the first time I met Kyson and Bowen last year, all I had to do was take one look into their eyes to see the years of anger hidden from the outside world but evident to someone who's been down that road, lurking in their depths.

"There has to be another way," I ask. "Is it even allowed to transfer us this far in the season?"

"I received special permission from the commissioner. And since both teams are agreeable, there wasn't an issue with trading you with three players from the Iowa Poseidon. The commissioner decided it was an equal trade with neither team gaining an unfair advantage." The coach's office is filled with a combination of our anger, but from the stern tone in his voice, there's no way to change his mind.

"How soon do we leave for Iowa?" I concede, knowing there's no way out of this mess we created.

"My youngest boy, Tate, is driving up from Iowa today. He'll be taking the three of you back with him in the morning."

Great. Not only have we been banished to Iowa, but we have to drive there, with nothing but cornfields on either side of Interstate 35 as scenery.