11. Shane

The celebratory cheersaround me are infectious. One hurrah leads to another round of claps. Since early October we”ve played six games and won them all. It’s the best start the Valencia Suns have ever had in the team”s history.

”Hell yeah!” my teammates cheer, patting each other on the back and flicking bottled water at each other.

Back in the locker room, Coach gives us our usual after-game speech but I don”t process much of anything he”s saying because all I can see in my head is Lorenzo whispering in Kennedy”s ear half the night and her smiling at something he said.

It’s like a horrible movie clip repeatedly playing in my head.

I can”t unsee the shit.

I give her pretty ass two comp tickets and she invites that goofy baseball player to sit in them?

Neo taps me on the shoulder. “Are you listening?

“What?”

“Coach said there are some boosters here to talk to us.”

“Now?”

“Yeah, now.”

“I’m wiped. I just want to take a shit and a shower. I don”t want to talk to any damn VCU alumni right now.”

“Do you think any of us feels like doing it? But Coach made it sound like it wasn”t optional, especially for you, me, and Bass.”

I wanted the recognition and to prove myself on the ice, but the cost of standing out is that you’re often singled out to do other things. Neo, Bass, and I work so well together in games that we’ve emerged as the team’s new stars. I don’t know who said it first, but they were right when they said to be careful what you wish for.

Begrudgingly, I remove my protective gear and slip on a fresh practice jersey. Then, the coaching staff leads us all to a small conference-style room on the second floor of our sports complex. The only time I’ve been in this room was with my mom and coach when we finalized the terms of my acceptance to VCU, and I had to sign on the dotted line.

I’m surprised to see that they’ve gone all out for whatever this is. There’s a huge spread of hors d”oeuvres and beverages, and I’m almost a hundred percent sure that’s the president of the university standing among a small group of men who look just like him in their office slacks and matching black and gold ties.

“Damn, is that prosciutto?” Bass drools over the food.

“Please help yourself to all the food and drinks you want,” one of the catering staff greets us.

My teammates and I are excited to eat after expending so many calories during the game. Some people don’t understand just how rigorous the sport is, especially at a high level. Normally, we’d eat at the cafeteria after a home game because it’s free for us, but this looks a hell of a lot tastier.

After piling a load of grilled teriyaki chicken breast, veggies, and some sort of fancy pasta salad on my plate, I sit next to Neo and Bass and try to pay attention. However, my consciousness is still on a Kennedy and Lorenzo loop.

“Great game, boys!” A man wearing an alumni sweater says. “I know you all want to celebrate tonight, so I’ll make this brief. I’m Dustin Reynolds, class of ’05. Back when I attended VCU, there was no hockey team at all, so I’m excited to see how the program has grown in just a few short years thanks to President Harmon’s leadership.”

The president nods proudly in recognition of the compliment as Mr. Reynolds continues.

“A few of my classmates and I got together and decided that we wanted to find a unique way to support the team. We like your style of play on the ice; powerful and skilled. And we like who you are off the ice, tough and united. You’re like the conference’s little ice mafia, or at least that’s what we hear some of the students call you on campus.”

Low chuckling fills the room.

“We think you’re going to disrupt the sport in a big way this season, and we want to be a part of that disruption,” he continues.

A few people in the room applaud.

“Having said that, an elite team needs elite housing, and it’s just not in the university’s budget to give you that right now, but as independent donors, we can, so we’d like to purchase you all your own house.”

“Holy shit,” we all excitedly mutter.

“We think it would be an excellent way for you to continue building team community without distractions from other dorm athletes.”

Like the baseball team.

Probably a smart idea.

“Our own house?” someone else says in disbelief.

“Of course, any house we purchase will not be able to accommodate the entire team as you grow unless you double or triple up in the bedrooms, so let me add that living there is optional. If you prefer to stay in the comfort of your dorm room and visit the house for team meetings and such, then that’s up for you all to decide.”

I notice the president is grinning hard. He is clearly proud that an alumnus is donating such a generous gift and that he had some hand in making it happen.

“In addition to the house, my group will be donating ten thousand dollars earmarked specifically for the marketing and promotions department of the hockey program. We want everyone to know who you are and that you’re special. You’ll be household names on campus in less than six weeks.”

My teammates hoot and holler, and even Neo cracks a pleased smile, which isn’t his normal reaction to anything. I understand why, though. This means that the university believes in us, and that’s a great thing—hell, it’s everything. We’ll be unstoppable now.

“This is a generous show of support, Dustin. The boys and I are speechless,” Coach Dixon says. They exchange a handshake.

“You”re running a damn good program here, Coach, and raising the profile of the university in such a positive way. It’s a fantastic thing for all of us who love our beloved alma mater.”

“Are there any questions?” Mr. Reynolds asks the group.

“Where will the house be?” someone asks.

“Great question. We”re looking at properties that are within walking distance from the rink. We’ve identified a few properties near Waverly Road that are large enough to accommodate most of you.”

The group is more excited about the house’s location. We already know that anything built on Waverly is new, big, and expensive—nicer than any house in my neighborhood back home. Now that I’ve heard the good news and my stomach is full, I’m ready to leave. At this point, I’m anxiously tapping my foot. The more I think about it, the more I can”t get Kennedy and Lorenzo out of my mind. I’ve got questions.

Is she attracted to him?

Is she already seeing him?

Was tonight a date for them?

Did I just unwittingly hand her over to him?

After a few obligatory handshakes and pats on the back, the team is free to leave, and I can’t get out of there fast enough.

I need a long shower to shake off the recurring list of questions generated in my head before I allow my imagination to run away from me. If I keep it up, I’ll have the two of them married by an Elvis impersonator at a small wedding chapel by midnight.

Even if she was on a date with Lorenzo tonight, what the fuck can I say about it? The girl barely likes me as it is. Plus, I gave her the tickets to use as she pleased.

It’s just…I really thought I was in.

As I mope on my way to the dorm, it’s just my luck that four baseball players are in the lounge, having the time of their slacker lives playing ping pong in sweats and pool slides. I recognize them all. Three of them were part of the melee on the yard over the summer. The fourth is Lorenzo. The bane of my existence.

Keep walking, Shane.

But instead of heading straight for the elevators, I can’t help myself and stop and stare through the room’s glass window. Lorenzo notices and throws a hand up in acknowledgment. I stand still for a moment, contemplating what I will do next. I could simply wave back and keep it moving or ask to speak to him. When he comes out of the room and walks in my direction, my decision has been made for me.

“What’s up, Sullivan,” he says.

“Hey,” I respond casually, knowing I have an audience of his three teammates.

“Did you win your game?”

“Weren”t you there?” I sneer.

His lips turn up into a smirk, and I have a strong urge to smack the look off his smug face.

“I left before it ended.”

“Kennedy invited you, and you left?”

“I had a team meeting,” he says in a bristled tone.

A team meeting my ass. He’s playing ping pong.

I decide to cut right to the chase.

“We need to talk about Kennedy,” I tell him.

“She’s pissed that you keep missing project meetings,” he tells me as if its something I don’t already know.

“I’m taking care of that,” I reply.

“Then what do you want to talk about?”

I consider for a moment what I’m going to say. There’s already so much bad blood between us and the baseball team that I don’t want to add fuel to the fire, but I have to get this off my chest if I’m going to sleep through the night.

“I know you”re attracted to her. That”s obvious. But if you”re not serious about her, which I can”t imagine you are, I’d appreciate you leaving her alone and keeping things platonic.”

Lorenzo’s posture stiffens.”What do you mean you”d appreciate it?”

“Just what I said.”

“So you speak for Kennedy now?”

“Of course not. This is me speaking.”

“Then how is what I say or do with her outside of the group project any of your business?”

“You”re making this more difficult than it needs to be, Perez.”

“Yeah, how’s that?”

“You and I know you play around with a different girl every week.”

“And you don’t?”

I ignore that half-truth.

“You’ve had girls on rotation since you came for training camp. You”re not a serious person, not when it comes to relationships, and I’m not saying you should be. But what I am telling you is that Kennedy shouldn’t be part of that rotation. She’s off-limits. She”s not one of the ones you fuck around with ever. Period.”

“Is that right?”

“Yeah.” I puff up my chest.

“That’ll be a little difficult when we”re working on a class project together.”

“Then make it not difficult. I promise you, Lorenzo, you don”t want to make this an issue between us.”

“Is that a threat, hockey boy?”

We’re at a point in this conversation where I didn’t want to go when his teammates file out of the game room. If one of them even motions to clench a fist, I’m chopping throats.

“Is everything all right over here, Enzo?” the biggest one of them asks.

“I don’t know,” Lorenzo glares at me. “Is everything all right, Sullivan?”

I can’t believe the balls on this asshole.

“I said what I needed to say,” I tell him. “The next move is up to you.”

Not that I needed them to back me up, but I feel much better when a few of my teammates stroll through the door and find us all standing here.

“What are we talking about over here?” Bass asks when he approaches, always ready for a fight. “Baseball shit?”

“Well, if it isn’t the corny Valencia ice mafia,” a guy I think is a short stop on their team says mockingly.

“What did you say?”

Before things escalate, I jump in. “It’s just a personal matter between me and my project partner, Lorenzo. We’re good.”

“Yeah,” Lorenzo agrees hesitantly, probably sizing up my teammates and deciding they might not fare well in a physical altercation with us. “We’re good.”

I lift my duffle back on my shoulder and give him one last warning look.

“See you in class,” I tell him.

“Or at your next home game,” the fucker smirks.