The Wrong Picking Number

CHAPTER 22

LINCOLN

Iwas in the middle of practice, skating back and forth on the ice with my teammates. The sound of our skates scraping against the ice echoed through the rink as we worked through some drills. We'd been practicing our passes and shots for over an hour and my muscles were starting to burn.

Coach finally whistled that it was time for a break, and I skated towards the bench to get some water. I'd just sat down when my phone buzzed next to me. I usually left it in my locker during practice, but I'd wanted to make sure I didn't miss anything from Monroe.

My insides clenched when I saw that the text was, in fact, not from Monroe. It was from my father, demanding I be at the "fucking house" by five for dinner.

I let out a frustrated sigh and slammed my phone onto the bench, causing it to vibrate and catch the attention of Ari, who'd plopped himself next to me.

"Lincoln?"

I shook my head, but of course, the nosy bastard picked up the phone and read the message himself. His jaw clenched, and he shook his head in disgust. "Why do you put up with that?" he finally asked, looking at me with concern in his eyes.

I sighed, not wanting to talk about it. We'd had this same conversation a million times...and he never understood. But Ari leaned closer, his voice low. "Lincoln, when are you going to stop letting him hang—"

I cut him off with a shove, not wanting to hear my brother's name. "Shut up, Ari," I growled.

"Fine," Ari snapped, jumping off the bench and skating out onto the ice.

We continued our practice, but I was sloppy, rage and frustration muddling my movements.

"Hey, Lincoln, did you forget how to skate?" shouted Dalton, grinning when a rut in the ice almost took me down.

I rolled my eyes, trying to calm down.

I was about to take a shot when Ari's body slammed into mine. It was a hard check, and it sent me flying across the ice.

As I got back up, I saw Ari skating towards me, his fists clenched and his face contorted with anger. I knew what was coming next, and I braced myself for impact. We collided, and suddenly we were both throwing punches, trading blows as we circled each other.

I was faintly aware of shouting and lots of whistling, but my adrenaline was pumping too hard to stop as I landed a punch on Ari's jaw. He stumbled back, but quickly regained his footing and retaliated with a punch of his own. We were both breathing heavily now, our faces red with exertion and anger.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Ari yelled as my shoulder barreled into his stomach, taking us both down.

The coaches were on us a second later, yelling and pulling us apart as we struggled to keep fighting. Disgust with myself was coursing through my veins as I glared at Ari, still itching for a fight. But the coaches were too determined, and soon enough, we were dragged apart, our jerseys ripped and sweat dripping down our faces.