Total pages in book: 144
Estimated words: 136296 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 681(@200wpm)___ 545(@250wpm)___ 454(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 136296 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 681(@200wpm)___ 545(@250wpm)___ 454(@300wpm)
“Did you get her name?”
“No. But I think she hangs out with Bethany.” Lavender’s eyes slide Kody’s way for a second.
None of us are surprised when he purses his lips and grumbles, “Can we treat her like Voldemort and never say her name again?”
“You, of all people, should know you can’t run away from your past,” Lavender says. “Anyway, like I said, I’m done with my assignment, so you’re allowed back in my room whenever you’re done bromancing.” She makes a circle motion to the room and spins around, heading back the direction she came from.
“Now that the entertainment is over, I gotta head home.” BJ pushes out of the chair, pats Kody on the head, and gives my shoulder a squeeze. “See you guys when I run out of food or I get bored, whichever happens first.”
Kody’s phone pings. He glances down at the screen and gives me a sheepish look. “Sorry about that.” He motions to the space where Lavender was standing.
“Eh, it’s Lavender. She inherited the same faulty filter as I did.” I let him off the hook. “Why don’t we take a raincheck on the beers. I need to work on an assignment anyway.”
“Maybe we can go for a late lunch after practice tomorrow or something?” He gathers his things and unfolds his legs.
“That works.”
“Cool. See you in the morning.” He rushes up the stairs, leaving me alone.
I put the beers back in the fridge and head for my room, glad my sister’s is on the third floor, in the attic, and that it’s not directly over mine.
Now that I’m home and not in quite the same panicked state, I realize all over again how bad my situation with Professor Sweet could be. She has every right to report me.
My dad will 100 percent shit a brick if I get expelled. There will most certainly be lectures. That will suck, but it won’t be nearly as bad as his disappointment—not to mention the highly negative impact it could have on my career if word gets out that I was in the women’s locker room of all places.
I know better than to take risks like that. Even after hours.
For a split second, I entertain what that would look like: an expulsion, or worse, the NHL future I’ve been preparing my whole life for slipping through my fingers.
What would it be like to have a normal life? To not have a dad who’s a hockey legend. To not follow in his footsteps. To not have the pressure. To be like my older brother, Robbie, who’s a brainiac. Or like my younger brother, River, whose mission in life seems to be stewing in a pit of rage and anger he made for himself and hiding who he really is because he thinks . . . I don’t know what he thinks, but he seems pretty determined to be miserable.
And more than my brothers, I wonder what it would be like to be Lavender. Traumatized, yes. Forever changed by what happened to her as a kid, definitely. But strong, resilient, and the most forgiving, compassionate person I’ve ever met.
She’d be so disappointed in me right now if she knew what I’d done tonight. That I hadn’t taken into consideration the impact my actions might have on someone else, especially being where I was.
I open the door to my room and want to turn right back around. It’s a fucking mess. The bed is unmade because I had to rush this morning. Clothes are strewn all over the floor and draped on my chair. It smells ripe in here, like my sheets need to be changed and there’s probably a pair of running shoes that need airing out.
My room seems to match my internal mental state: chaos and filth.
I spend a few minutes cleaning up and then jump into the shower. Despite the cluster of today, as soon as I step under the spray, my body responds by giving me an annoying, persistent hard-on. This is my preferred location for such activities, and my bedroom shower elicits a Pavlov-like response.
Normally, I wouldn’t have a problem taking care of my situation. Most days I fantasize about Professor Sweet telling me she needs to see me after class to discuss extra credit. But tonight, that feels wrong. Instead, I turn the temperature to cold. That does the trick.
I cut the water and nab a towel, drying myself off roughly as I cross to my dresser. I find a pair of clean boxers and some sweatpants, an old T-shirt that used to belong to my dad, and a hoodie. Then I sit my ass down at my computer and try to come up with two thousand more words. I’d start over entirely, but I’ve already got more than half of it done.
It’s closing in on two in the morning by the time I’m finished. I’m sure I’m going to get crap marks on the grammar, but at least I made the word count.