Bus trip -1
803 Words
SLOANE
“Back off, bitch.”
The words leave my mouth before I can stop them.
Not that I want to.
Elara's eyes narrow instantly as she stands at the entrance of the team bus, a designer knapsack hanging from one shoulder while her arms remain crossed tightly over her chest.
The bus engine is already running.
In twenty minutes, we'd be leaving for regionals in the neighboring state.
Six weeks.
Six whole weeks.
Two weeks of pre-tournament training and qualifying matches, followed by four weeks of competition
I still couldn't believe I agreed to this.
Or rather, I still couldn't believe I got emotionally manipulated into this.
Luna Elise deserved jail time for how good she was at guilt-tripping people. Or maybe I deserve to serve the jail time myself. With Mom.
“What are you doing here?” Elara asks with a sneer, c*****g her head as her gaze drags over me from head to toe. “Lost your way?”
I don't answer.
Mostly because talking to Elara for more than thirty seconds usually lowers my IQ.
Instead, I shoulder past her hard.
She stumbles half a step to the side as I walk past her.
“Excuse me?” she snaps behind me.
“Move faster next time,” I mutter without looking back.
A loud offended gasp follows me into the bus.
Good. Maybe she'll choke on it.
The moment I step inside, however, my confidence immediately evaporates.
Because the bus is full.
I mean, completely full, every seat already occupied by members of the Halcyon Ice Kings.
Players.
Assistant coaches.
Support staff.
Medical volunteers.
And every single head turns toward me.
Oh s**t.
I stop walking.
For one horrifying second, it feels like I've accidentally walked into the wrong classroom after being late.
Heavy awkward judgemental silence settles across the bus, making my stomach twist.
My eyes move across unfamiliar faces before finally landing on the triplets.
Zion sits near the center of the bus, one arm resting lazily against the window while his expression remains unreadable.
Zayden is beside him looking irritated at life as usual.
And Zeke—
Zeke is already watching me.
Of course he is.
I swear that boy notices everything.
The silence stretches. Then somebody finally breaks it.
“Wait,” a guy near the back says. “Isn't that Barehide?”
The word hits exactly the way it always does.
Not enough to hurt anymore but just enough to remind me.
Another player leans forward slightly.
“Why's Barehide here?”
Before I or anyone can answer, Zeke's head snaps to the back to the guy who spoke recently.
Just one glance and the entire bus immediately goes quiet again.
The player visibly straightens.
“Sorry, man,” he mutters, his voice roo low for me to hear properly but I can see his lips moving.
My brows raise in questioning and I make a mental note to question that later.
For now though, I pretend none of it happened.
Because drawing attention to myself sounds exhausting.
So I continue down the narrow aisle.
My duffel bag feels heavier with every step while dozens of curious eyes continue tracking my movements.
Eventually, I spot an empty window seat near the front, two rows behind the driver partition.
I slide into the seat and immediately drop my bag beside my feet before settling against the window.
The cool glass presses against my shoulder and for the first time since arriving, I finally exhale, closing my eyes.
Okay.
Maybe this won't be completely terrible.
Then the seat beside me dips suddenly and my entire body freezes.
Oh hell.
Please don't let it be Elara.
Please don't let it be Elara.
Please don't—
“Well,” a not-so-familiar male voice drawls beside me. “This should be fun.”
My eyes snap open and I turn slowly.
Dirty blond hair. Brown eyes. Annoyingly friendly dimpled smile.
I give him a look that quite clearly asks:
Who the hell are you?
His smile doesn't drop. If anything, it widens.
“I'm Carter,” he says easily. “Carter Hayes.”
Oh.
Hayes.
I know the Hayes family. Everybody does.
They're one of the noble werewolf families that moved into our pack years ago and quickly established themselves as important enough to attend every major pack event.
I've seen his parents before.
His uncles too.
Him?
Not so much.
Then again, I spent most of high school avoiding hockey players for obvious reasons.
“Okay,” I say. “Congratulations?”
His grin somehow widens further, revealing an annoyingly perfect set of white teeth.
“I play defense for the team,” he says.
I stare.
He stares back.
Then he points at the seat beneath me.
“And you're sitting in my seat.”
- Writer
