Page 1 of Monstrous Serpent

Chapter 1

Cody

The d in fundamentals swaps places with the m for the third time.

God-fucking-dammit.

I've been staring at this same paragraph for twenty minutes. The words keep rearranging themselves, letters sliding out of order the second I think I've got them locked down. It’s saying something about market segmentation and consumer behavior, but whatever sense I managed to pull out of it two minutes ago is already gone.

And the goddamn tutoring center is closed today, meaning I get to spend my Saturday riding the fucking struggle bus.

“—and five minutes after you left to do video review with Coach Harper, Walsh just bodied him. Full speed. Didn't even hesitate.” Doyle shakes his head as he toes off his sneakers. “Henneman hit the boards so hard I felt it in my teeth. And Walsh just skated off as if nothing happened.”

“Mhm.” I drag my highlighter across the last sentence, pressing harder than I need to.

“You're not even listening.”

“Walsh hit someone.” I flip the page, hoping the next one will cooperate better. It doesn't. The textbook might as well be written in another language for all the good it's doing me right now.

“He checked his husband into the boards.” Doyle throws a sock at me, and it lands on the textbook, which honestly is an improvement. “It's weird.”

I close the book. Not because of the sock. Because the letters are winning and I'm done pretending they aren't. “What’s weird is he was dating what’s her face, and then we come back from summer break and find out he’s married to a teammate he never said two words to last year.”

Doyle snorts, dropping onto his bed. “You think it's a real thing? Like, they actually—”

“It's none of our business.” I don't give a shit about Walsh and Henneman's situationship. I've got my own problems. Like the fact that I've read the same paragraph nine times and couldn't repeat a single word if someone put a gun to my head.

I snatch my phone off the nightstand. Forty-five minutes until I pick up Cindy. Time to get ready.

Swinging my legs over the side of the mattress, I stand, roll my shoulders, then walk over to the closet, kicking a basketball out of the way. “Think you should clean up a bit?”

Doyle glares.

I shake my head. “It looks like a bomb went off in a Dick's Sporting Goods. Your shit’s everywhere.”

He pulls out his phone and starts scrolling. “Don’t take your bad mood out on me.”

“What?”

“Dude, you’ve been giving Walsh a run for his money with the attitude lately. Especially when it comes to Cindy. Where are you two going tonight anyway?”

I open the closet and pull out a dark-blue button-down. Cindy likes the color. She says it makes my eyes pop, whatever that means. “That Italian place in Cold Spring Harbor.”

After grabbing a pair of chinos, I head to the dresser for a plain white T-shirt. Figure I can layer the button-down open on top with the sleeves rolled to the forearms.

“Didn't you guys just go there like two weeks ago?”

I shrug. “She likes it.”

And maybe this time my girlfriend will actually be present, unlike the last three times we've hung out when she looked at her phone more than me. “What about you? Hitting Vortex?”

“Probably. Depends if anyone else wants to go. You know how it is. Hockey first, everything else is just killing time.”

That's what I always say—hockey first, girls are just for fun.

Cindy was supposed to be a summer thing. She was easy and entertaining. Exactly what I needed after a season of getting my ass kicked in practice. We took road trips to Jones Beach, her legs on my dashboard, singing along to songs. She laughed at my jokes, didn't ask too many questions, and the sex was good.

Really good.