Page 55 of Twisted Needs

“Cap,” he laughs, reaching out to grab my forearm. “Come look at this. It’s fucking hilarious.”

“I don’t trust you when you say that.”

“You shouldn’t,” is all he says before he drags me anyway.

The younger guys are crowded around a corner booth littered with empty baskets of wings and sweating beer bottles. Vandy and Graham Livingston are shoulder to shoulder, both staring down at a phone like they’re dissecting classified government files instead of hockey Twitter.

They’ve barely tolerated each other since Livingston got traded to us three weeks ago.

“You should see what people are saying about your fight,” Vandy says, grinning as he shoves the phone toward me. “Everyone fucking hates Grady now.”

“Wonderful.”

“There’s already edits of you breaking his nose,” Rogers adds.

“You children need hobbies.”

Vandy snorts into his drink.

I hand the phone back. “Anyway. Bed.”

“No sleepover?” he asks dramatically. “C’mon, Cap. We’ll watch movies. Malloy bought popcorn. Rogers wants to show you Shrek because apparently he thinks you’ve never seen it.”

“You haven’t seen Shrek?” Livingston asks, genuinely horrified for the first time since joining the team.

“I’ve seen Shrek,” I say.

“He’s lying,” Rogers says immediately.

“I am not.”

“You asked me if Donkey was the horse.”

“That was taken entirely out of context!”

The table erupts. For a second, the tension loosens. Even Livingston laughs a little under his breath before catching himself.

The conversation spirals for a minute after that, bouncing between chirping and arguments the way hockey locker rooms always do. Half-affection, half-psychological warfare.

Then Livingston makes the mistake of opening Twitter again. “Oh my God,” he groans suddenly. “Can’t catch a fucking break.”

Malloy immediately starts laughing.

Vandy actually claps his hands together. “Pull it up. Lemme see.”

“I already apologized,” Livingston argues. “What else do people want from me?”

“You posted a notes app apology,” Rogers says.

“It was PR’s idea!”

“Damn. That somehow makes it worse,” Malloy snorts.

Livingston drags a hand through his hair. “Can we not do this tonight?” he says sharply.

“Or what?” Rogers presses. “You gonna repost that red pill shit again?”

I close my eyes briefly. Of fucking course.