Ares

I don’t want to watch.

Sucks balls to be on this side.

Thrusters better win.

Game starts in two minutes.

Chase and my sister are basically making out in the chair in the corner. I keep throwing Cheetos at them. Loki helps. Sniffer, a forward who’s out for most of the season while he recovers from a knee injury, and The Bear, our hairy, big-ass spare D-man who didn’t make the cut for traveling and suiting up for this west coast trip, showed up and are making me an Ares sandwich on the couch. Felicity’s friends are here too—the smart one and the one who can play boy band music on her cello, though she got here too late to do more than two songs—scattered on the floor to watch the game.

Felicity’s acting weird.

Has been since we were singing, which should’ve been more fun, but wasn’t, because Z isn’t here with us.

And now her phone’s blowing up.

“Is he still texting you?” the smart friend—Maren—whispers.

“I’m blocking him, okay?” she whispers back.

“You need to do something more than block him,” cello-girl—Alina—replies.

I glance at Chase.

Fucker’s got his hand up my sister’s shirt. Fuck the Cheetos.

I fling a can of beer at him. Loki screeches in my ear.

“Ouch. Dammit, Ares.”

Since I can’t glower at anyone on the ice tonight, I settle for aiming my I will kill you glare at my best friend. “No touchie.”

“Ares, we talked about this,” Ambrosia says. “I can kick him in the balls myself when I don’t want him to touch me anymore.”

“Your sister’s scary,” The Bear mutters.

“Yeah, she is,” Chase agrees.

And they’re happy, Chase and Ambrosia.

I should be happy for them. Their crazy works together.

But I’m pissed.

Felicity’s got a problem. I’m a fucking gimp. And Chase is too busy sucking face with my sister to pick up on the signals.

Z wouldn’t be any better.

Not if Joey was around.

The three of us, we used to finish each other’s sentences. Now, they got their own lives. Their own girlfriends.

And I’m the leftovers. The leftovers who can’t even get his fucking foot in a skate and got read the riot act today about checking in and staying the fuck off my foot.

Talking about extending me on the IR if I don’t do what they say.

Need to heal, Ares, and you have to stay off it to heal.

Fuck that.

Dudes on the TV are talking about me while Lavoie, Frey, and the rookie who took my place line up on the ice.

Berger could be out for the season, Bob. Gotta wonder what’s going through his mind.

Probably socks, Gary.

Chuckle snort, chuckle snort.

Felicity mutes the TV. “Assholes,” a cheerful tone that sounds like one of her puppet voices mutters.

The cameras pan to the goaltenders, and we miss the face-off because of the talking heads.

Fuck, I need to be on the ice. See what’s happening. Not what one view can show. I’m leaning left and right and forward, but I can’t control the fucking camera.

I hate being here. Can’t see. Can’t play. Can’t help.

“And the Thrusters take the puck, with Manning Frey on the breakaway,” Felicity says with that fake cheery voice she does without moving her lips. “Prince on the ice and off. Wonder if he has his balls with him tonight, or if he left them behind in Alabama with that woman who’s gonna be his princess someday?”

“Quit talking about his balls, Lucy,” she replies to herself in a deeper, grumpier voice. “Hockey uses pucks, not balls.”

“I know, GrumpaHaroldamus. Oh, and lookie, Frey and Lavoie and Jaeger are digging it out of the corner! And—whoa, that looked like it hurt. Take that, you LA bully dude.”

“What the fuck?” The Bear mutters next to me.

“Who is that?” Sniffer wants to know.

“That’s Lucy,” Felicity says in her deeper resigned voice, which is different from the grumpy voice. “She’s a fucking optimist. I’m an optimist too, and I’m fucking optimistic Lavoie’s gonna put that biscuit in the basket, because that’s why he’s paid the big—aw, fuck.”

Sniffer’s snickering until the aw, fuck.

LA took possession. They’re charging the defensive line.

Felicity’s adding commentary. She talks a lot.

A lot.

But it’s better than listening to the boneheads on the TV talk about me being out for the whole season.

I can tune out a lot—it’s my job on the ice—but I can’t tune out the voices saying I’m done.

LA takes a shot, Murphy blocks it, and the three women on the floor erupt in shouts and cheers.

“Fine, fine, nice save by Murphy,” Felicity says in her grumpy voice.

Maren shoves her. “Quit it. He rocked that save.”

“Holy fuck, she’s a ventriloquist,” Sniffer says.

“And a really bad one at that,” Felicity answers in her Lucy voice. “But we love her anyway.”

“You are not bad,” Alina says. She turns to look at all of us. “Felicity does open mic night at The Laugh Track, and she kills it every time. You should see her puppets. Lucy’s this adorable cat with a bent ear and a missing a tooth and always wears a hockey jersey. Tim’s a very proper and very resigned goat who lives with Lucy. He has a monocle. And Harold’s a grumpapotamus. We love Harold.”

“We need to get Harold back,” Maren mutters.

“High sticking called on that LA douchebag and it’s a Thrusters power play!” Felicity croons in her Lucy voice.

But Chase is catching on. He shoots me a look.

I ignore him, because the game’s on and Felicity’s phone has gone silent.

Except I can’t ignore him for long. Like not more than a few seconds. I give him a nod. Yeah. The ex.

Murphy’s mom talks as much as his sister. We all know about Doug the dick. So smart. Owns a little company. Hangs with the mayor. Handsome too. She just doesn’t understand why it didn’t work out. Felicity finally moved on from the sports jocks to the mature, responsible businessmen, and she still can’t find herself a good husband.

That’s her type. Smart, rich, worldly, handsome.

Normal.

Even the puckheads she dated were probably normal.

Chase is frowning at me.

He’s a regular-size dude who works out, smart enough that he made a billion bucks before we all hit thirty—suck on that, Doug the douche-dick—and he’s got that I Own The World attitude.

Also got the Murphy’s sister has a problem attitude.

Ambrosia catches on, and she adds a Berger scowl to the mix.

She’s scary too.

I got this, I silently tell them both.

Is Felicity annoying? Yeah. Talks too much. Too bossy about my ankle. Dates losers who take her stuff.

But Murphy told me to watch his sister.

Which makes her the same as my sister. No matter what that twitching in my junk says it wants.

It says it wants whatever was going on in her head when we took that break during Rock Band earlier. When she looked at me.

Really looked at me.

Fuck.

She’s getting her shit back.

And I’m getting the barriers back.

She’s Murphy’s sister.

Doesn’t matter what else she is.

The Bear nudges me. “You need help, you let us know.”

Sniffer nods.

I grunt.

Don’t fuck with my family. Or my family’s family. And my team is my family.

Even if my last family gave me up. You’re perfect on the ice, my agent—Z’s agent—told me—but Chicago wants the whole package. Don’t worry though. Copper Valley doesn’t expect anything other than for you to kill it with the puck.

Yeah.

I do that good from here on a couch. Across the whole fucking country from where my team’s playing.

When Coach is talking about getting me in to work with the PR department.

Practice interviews.

Just in case, he says. Giving me an opportunity to grow, he says.

The world gets Dumb Ares.

The world doesn’t get my heart.

We’re all on the edge of our seats by the end of the first period. Score’s tied. Murphy got pulled for Klein, our second-string goalie. I’m pissed. Loki’s pissed because I’m pissed. Throws a Cheeto at the TV. Murphy’s fan club on the floor is pissed. The Bear’s glad.

He and Klein are tight. Likes seeing him get ice time.

TV switches to a commercial break, and everyone sags.

If the Thrusters were at home, I’d be there in the arena. Me and The Bear and Sniffer. Moral support. Fist bumps. Pranks.

Normal.

The dumbass commentators come back on the screen. Felicity keeps it muted. Someone bangs on the door.

It’s eleven o’-fucking-clock.

Felicity scrambles to her feet. I’m halfway to mine when my sister tackles me.

“Stay,” Chase orders me while he moves to the door behind Felicity’s friends. Sniffer’s eyeing me like he could take me down despite his knee, which is bullshit and we both know it. Would take three of him.

Or one Ambrosia, who’s got a death grip on a pressure point. Thanks, Ma.

“You need help keeping him down, you let me know,” The Bear tells Ambrosia.

I flip them all off, even though it makes Ambrosia press harder.

Loki screeches and throws a Cheeto in her face.

Despite her friends telling her not to, Felicity opens the door.

“Where the fuck were you?” a dude growls. “When I say meet me for dinner, I mean meet me for dinner.”

I surge up. Loki screams. The Bear grabs me, Sniffer grabs me, and Ambrosia hangs on me like a monkey.

Experience talking.

Monkey hangs on me nearly every day lately.

“Sit down, Ares,” Ambrosia hisses at me.

“You don’t get to issue orders,” Felicity says to the douche-dick. Low. Menacing. Sexy as all fuck. Not in a fake voice. In her voice. My junk twitches again. “We’re over. Give me my shit back and leave me alone.”

“You want your shit back, you’ll do what I—ulp!”

Chase steps between them, shoves something—or more likely someone, namely the douche-dick—outside, and blocks the screen door. I hear his voice, but not his words.

Felicity sighs. “This really isn’t necessary,” she grumbles.

“It’s more than necessary,” Maren says. The smart one. Clearly.

Alina nods.

“Sit down, Ares. Chase has it.” Ambrosia twists my nipple, and I let her think that’s enough to make me behave, because she’s the type to kick me in the ankle if I don’t do what she says the first time. Plus, she’s being a fucking monkey—but heavier—climbing all over me to make me sit.

She’s more flexible than I remember.

Probably Chase’s fault.

I growl. I’m growling a fuck-lot tonight.

But Loki’s upset because I’m upset, so I sit.

He leaps on my shoulder and pats my head. I give him a chocolate mint from my pocket.

Vet friend would probably yell at me.

Loki swallows the whole thing without taking it out of the wrapper.

“You’re teaching that monkey bad habits,” Ambrosia says to me.

I flip her off again.

She rolls her eyes and looks at Felicity as Chase steps back into the room, alone, and bolts and locks the door. “When did you break up?”

“Couple weeks ago,” she says, grumbling more.

“Felicity has terrible luck with men,” Alina says.

The house creaks.

“Terrible taste,” Felicity corrects. She looks at the ceiling. “Yes, yes, Gammy, I know. I’m done with men, okay?”

“You need to tell Nick,” Alina adds.

“That I have terrible taste in men? Believe me, he knows. The whole entire world knows.”

“She needs to tell the police,” Maren replies.

“You know, that’s probably a better idea.” Alina nods. “Not your first stalker. And then when you consider what Nick usually does…”

Felicity sighs again.

“Stalker?” Chase repeats.

Felicity waves a hand. “I was his first girlfriend. He was inexperienced with letting go, I was inexperienced with recognizing that he wasn’t entirely normal…”

“He was crazy,” Maren corrects.

“He operated outside social norms, but he got the message soon enough.”

“And that wasn’t even the ex who wrote a terrible story about her and published it on Amazon.”

“That was not about me.”

“It was called My Crazy Ventriloquist Bitch Ex-Girlfriend.”

“And the character was nothing like me.”

“I’ll give you that, but he named her Felicity Murphy. He was clearly trying to make a point.”

“Nick got him back,” Alina offers. “He wrote a story called Chad the Turd is a Douchebag and published it on Amazon too.”

“I remember that,” The Bear says. “Horrible book. Dude’s a great goalie. Can’t write for shit.”

“The Churd threatened to sue him, so Nick threatened to sue him back and somehow got the guy to take the book down, then used all the money he made in royalties to start a website called Dickhead Boyfriend Support Group.”

“Nick’s fucking awesome,” Sniffer says.

“Not if you’re his sister.” Felicity’s back to using her puppet voices. I don’t know if that’s good or bad.

“Been there, got the T-shirt,” Ambrosia says, still trying to hold me down.

She’s even more annoying than when she was a kid.

Chase is watching the two of us wrestle, with Loki occasionally bopping Ambrosia, while he blocks the door. He smirks, but he’s leaning too hard on that door.

Doesn’t trust the fucker to not leave.

Felicity has a problem.

“I need another glass of wine,” she announces. She’s a little wild in the eyes. Like she needs to know the windows are bolted and the door’s guarded.

Makes me feel better knowing the window in the kitchen’s fixed.

One Google search and three texts was all it took.

People will do anything for the right price.

“Wine won’t interfere with you commentating, will it?” Ambrosia asks. “Because I was enjoying that.”

“She’s even better when she drinks,” Maren says.

She steps into the kitchen, and I stare at Maren until she meets my gaze. “Address,” I say.

Her eyes narrow. “Not on your ankle.”

I glare.

She glares back.

So I turn my glare to Alina. I’ll go to the vet friend if I have to. Know where she works.

“All right, all right.” She covers her eyes. “Just don’t look at me like that anymore. You’re terrifying.”

“He’s a teddy bear until he has a reason to throw a guy off the top of the bleachers at a baseball stadium,” Ambrosia offers. “Then you don’t want to fuck with him.”

“Or with his sister,” Chase offers.

Fucking right.

That’s experience talking too.

The house creaks again while the commentators laugh at themselves on the TV.

Dumbass talking heads.

Fucking glad the sound’s muted.

Got enough problems.