Parker and Bray basically have everything they could want in life. They have the grades. They have an amazing group of friends. A promising future as a pro in the sport they love. They've got it all, well... almost. As all their friends begin to fal...
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"Bray go inside and get out of my face." Is all I need to hear to know tonight I pushed my luck.
I never fight with Ryder. Not real fights at least.
Yeah we argue about dumb shit; like me eating his favorite yogurt sometimes or him cursing me out when I have to wake him up for practice so he doesn't get kicked off the team. But in my opinion that's all brotherly banter.
That's why the second he yells at me to go inside and get out of his face I took the back steps two at a time, running into the house with my proverbial tail between my legs.
I don't stop until I am in the bathroom, a first aid kit unsurprisingly already laying out on the counter from god knows what other injuries.
I can hear my heart rapidly beating and the blood from the cut has that gross metal smell that makes my nose scrunch up in disgust. Without thinking much about it I rip my phone from my pocket and block Parker on instagram. My obsession with him has gone down a road I can't continue on unless I am willing to risk my friendship with Ryder, which I am not.
Moments later Stan walks in looking mildly disappointed with a side of I told you so written on his face. He doesn't say a word as he leans on the counter next to me and watches as I hold a paper towel to my bloody face.
"What?" I bite, pissed off for so many reasons, the least of which being the fact my face is gushing blood at the moment.
"I get screaming at him but since when do you get physical with anyone? You're a goalie, that makes you like the pacifist of the hockey world."
I ignore him because how am I get lectured at the moment while also being the one with the slice on his face mere centimeters from my eye. Does anyone want to talk about how fucked it is that Parker threw a rock directly at my face? I know I called him desperate a few weeks ago but that doesn't excuse attempting to blind me!
"What the fuck was that?" Ryder yells as he storms into the bathroom. He is ripping his hat off and aggressively adjusting it as I continue to stare at the mirror holding the paper towel.
"Bray! You took it too far!" He yells some more.
Ryder doesn't like to yell. Even more so Ryder rarely yells at the people he cares about because he knows what yelling can do to a person. But beyond all that, I have never raised my voice at Ryder. Not when I know so much. Today is no exception, no matter how pissed I am.
Instead I remove the paper towel and let the blood continue to drip down my face, staining the collar of my once white long sleeve. The cut is small at most an inch in length but the little ones always bleed the most in my experience.
"Shit," Ryder curses, grabbing my head to better inspect my injury. Stan just momentarily looks up then looks back down, probably texting one of the many nursing majors who hang around the house.
