Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 88646 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 443(@200wpm)___ 355(@250wpm)___ 295(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88646 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 443(@200wpm)___ 355(@250wpm)___ 295(@300wpm)
I checked but didn’t see it. I always check when we’re all in the house together.
You never know when one of them will jump you.
Reece laughs as he holds up a puck that has The Best Puck written on it in white paint. “This is yours now, bro. It was in my hand.”
The puck is from a game last season where we kicked ass. Of course, we saved it and created a game of tag with it. The holder of the puck can only force it on another player if they’re touching his head and saying, “I pass the puck”. The three of us must be in the same room to witness the pass, and there’s no passing while someone is sleeping or trashed.
I come back down the stairs and take it out of his hand. It’s mine now. “You could’ve done that to Boone at any time. He’s a sloth. He’s literally on the couch, eating his way through junk food. He’d trip before he got past the trash.”
Reece grins. “But it was more fun waiting on you. No passing it for forty-eight hours. The puck belongs to Eric.”
“Concur!” we say together.
Maybe it’s a stupid game, but it builds brotherhood. One night, Reece and I waited in Boone’s closet for an hour while he got ready to go on a date. He had his hair perfectly gelled and styled when he opened his closet and I jumped him. He actually fell to the floor and screamed like a girl. He said he peed a little. The memory makes me chuckle.
Glancing around, I notice a familiar red flier stuck to the refrigerator. I’ve seen them posted all over fraternity row. Rush Kappa, it says with a pic of the frat house with all the brothers in suits on the porch. My jaw clenches.
“What’s this?” I ask Boone. I know it’s not Recce’s. He’s been around me long enough to know how I feel about Kappa.
Boone shrugs. “Just considering . . .”
I frown. “Hockey players don’t pledge. The team is all you need.”
He gives me a look. “There’s no official rule against it. And why wouldn’t I?”
“Because—”
He cuts me off. “You might not want to be a Kappa. You don’t need to be. You’re gonna be the next billionaire hedge funder. The rest of us . . .”
I sigh. “Yeah, but—”
“Being a Kappa opens doors in the business world. Even our dean is Kappa.” He turns back on his video game, ending the discussion.
Yeah. And so were my brother and dad. Without Kappa, my father wouldn’t be where he is today. And if Boone wants to get into a good business school, there’s probably no better way than to use Kappa connections.
Fuck it. It’s been a long night and I still haven’t slept.
I trudge up the stairs, concrete on my chest. I should have stayed home last night and crammed. I planned to. The angel on my shoulder said it was the right thing to do because my scores from this summer were dismal. But the devil on the other shoulder decided to take a break and have a beer, maybe find a hook-up. Next thing you know, I’m your friendly neighborhood dude saving damsels from drunken embarrassment, thieves, and mobsters.
My stomach swirls. This is my last chance to salvage those hopes of going to law school.
Which is what I want.
I think.
I used to want to fulfill that family dream, but the closer it gets, the more I want to punch a wall.
After we won the championship and Z went pro, I floated the idea of pursuing the NHL to my dad.
Don’t be stupid, he said. You have the potential to make the kind of green Wayne Gretzky would shit on a Canadian flag for.
My hands clench. Whatever. I was passed over for three years in the hockey draft.
It’s not even an option.
At the top of the steps, I find Lucifer, the house ferret, a freaky thing Reece bought this summer because he thought Hockey House needed a mascot. He said it was just like a cat. It would use a litter box and catch mice.
I’m convinced he mostly shits in Boone’s room.
“I don’t have any food for you,” I mumble, wondering why the animal has taken a liking to me. It’s usually curled up with its furry tail in front of my door. I haven’t been nice to it since the day it made me do a nut-plant over the railing when I was moving in boxes.
The thing just stares at me, head tilted.
“Go on!” I motion it away.
Not even a twitch from the thing.
Stepping over it, I open my door.
It slips in with me.
Fucker.
“A cat would eat you in one bite!” I yell as it disappears under my bed.
My LSAT prep books are sitting on my night table, uncracked. I stare at them, then collapse onto my mattress and stare at the ceiling, rubbing my eyes with the palms of my hands.