Keeping Casey (Keeping Him #1) - Amy Aislin Page 0,75

Harkrader’s opinion on that.

Maybe. Probably. But he had bigger things to worry about. He sent April another text. I need you to drive me to Lighthouse Bay tomorrow.

No. He’ll be back. Doesn’t he have class on Monday? And besides, can you really sit in a car for three hours right now?

Damn it. It’d be more like six hours with the round-trip. He had to be back in time for the game tomorrow evening. Coach wasn’t letting him play, but he was still expected to suit up and sit on the bench with the rest of the team.

And no, he couldn’t sit for hours without stiffening up. Not right now.

“Fuck!” He shoved his phone in his pocket and stared at his food.

“Aw, what’s the matter?” Britton came down the stairs, dressed down in sweatpants and a loose T-shirt. He inserted himself between Ethan and Harkrader and stole a carrot off Ethan’s plate. “Your girlfriend leave you because you were dumb enough to get injured?”

Fuck. He so wasn’t in the mood for Britton’s brand of bullshit.

Harkrader rotated on his stool to glare at him. “Seriously. What the fuck is wrong with you? You’re the team captain. Fucking act like it.”

“What?” Britton shrugged like the asshole he was, crunching on another carrot. “Not my fault Casey’s too much of a pussy to put up with—”

Ethan punched him.

It hurt. A lot.

“Ow, motherfucker!” He shook out his hand, the pain in his fingers shooting up his arm and into his shoulder.

“I don’t think you did that right,” Theo pointed out blandly, like punching out one’s team captain was a normal occurrence.

From his sprawl on the floor, Britton wiped his nose with the back of his hand, staining it a sharp red. “What the fuck, Rain?”

Speaking of red, it filled Ethan’s vision. Who the fuck was this guy to come in here and badmouth Casey? First, he was on Ethan’s case about dating women, and now this? “Insult him again,” he growled. “I dare you.”

Launching himself off the floor with a snarl, Britton came at him headfirst, wrapping his arms around Ethan’s waist in a wrestling move. He was big and strong.

But Ethan had anger on his side. Hurt. Frustration. He got a grip on Britton’s upper shoulders and pushed . . .

Sending them tumbling through the screen door and onto the back deck. They both grunted, and it probably hurt. Ethan didn’t feel any of it as they grappled.

Not until shouting invaded his clouded mind and a pair of hands gripped his biceps, hauling him away from Britton. Theo was muttering, “Stop it, stop it, stop it,” in his ear from behind, his arms wrapped around Ethan’s chest. Harkrader stood between Ethan and Britton, arms out to keep them apart while Sommersby held onto Britton.

“What the actual fuck is going on?” Sommersby yelled over Harkrader’s, “Both of you—back the fuck off!”

Ethan jerked away from Theo, pacing away to the edge of the deck and back. Which was when he noticed half his team standing by the broken door.

“Britton?” Sommersby pushed.

“Nothing.” Britton sniffled and wiped his nose with his arm. There was a bruise blooming on his jaw and a cut on his lip.

Ethan had a feeling he hadn’t fared much better.

“This isn’t over, Rain.” Britton stalked back inside.

The fight went out of Ethan, leaving him hollow and weary. A couple of the guys took away the broken screen and tried the sliding door, ensuring it still worked.

“Sorry,” he whispered to no one and everyone. “I’m sorry.”

“Go get cleaned up.” Theo gave him a gentle nudge toward the kitchen. “We’ll take care of this.”

The last thing he heard as he made his way upstairs was Sommersby telling someone that he’d have to report this.

Right. As the House’s liaison with the owners, it was his job to report any damages.

In his room, Ethan sank onto the bed, muscles and joints protesting the movement. If he thought he’d hurt before, it was nothing compared to what he’d be feeling tomorrow.

God. He’d never gotten in a fight in his life.

All he’d wanted to do was prove to Britton that queer boys could play hockey too. Prove to the naysayers that his RA wouldn’t hold him back, that he could still do everything he’d always done.

That he was still Ethan.

Instead, he’d accomplished the opposite.

He dug out his phone, desperate for Casey’s voice in his ear. But the screen was cracked and it wouldn’t turn on.

It was the last straw. He fell onto his side, buried his head into his pillow,