Forked Tongues and Blades

HUNTER

Tristan Reeves looked like he just saw a ghost that shit itself.

That look on his face would have been funny as hell if the joke wasn’t on me.

I, Hunter Beaumont, am a new student at Raven Hill High School.

Since he wasn't taking the hand I offered him, too busy gaping at me, I dropped it to my side.

Three weeks ago, I wouldn’t have believed I’d be standing here either.

Then again, three weeks ago, I still had my fucking life. The IRS hadn’t locked my father up for some unbelievable financial crime, and my mother’s worries only included what color Prada shoes went with her Louboutins or whatever.

Now?

Those bastards had taken everything they could get their hands on.

The cars, my father’s properties. Accounts. Anything they could connect to the investigation.

Even the expensive diamonds and designer shit Mom had managed to squirrel away before everything went to hell had somehow ended up being dragged into the legal mess.

To make matters worse, our first attorney had just been as fucking useful as a screen door on a submarine.

He’d spent weeks bleeding us dry while promising he was building a case that would get Dad out.

Cole finally caught him in enough lies a week ago that we fired the asshole.

Unfortunately, firing a thief didn’t magically put our money back into our accounts.

We were dead broke and in need of a new attorney. So guess who had to give up his tuition fees and drop out of his private school.

ME.

Someone wake me up from this fucking nightmare.

I white-knuckled my bag straps as I slid my gaze over their podgy-looking coach. Morrison or whatever his name was.

His office looked like crap, smelled like it too.

This was where my life had brought me. A public school full of kids who’d scratch my car just because I won them in a game.

And I was supposed to finish my senior year here.

The only reason they’d even agreed to take me this late in the year was that I could play hockey.

Apparently, that was enough to make me worth accepting.

How fucking generous.

I dragged my gaze back to the captain standing across from me.

Tristan Reeves.

Of all the people in the world. The universe really had a twisted sense of humor.

My gaze moved over him slowly, taking him in now that we were standing in the same room instead of separated by several dozen angry hockey players.

I’d never actually been this close to him without trying to mock the shit out of him or trying to beat him on the ice.

Had he always been this taller than me?

Bitterness settled heavily in my stomach.

How unfair was it that he looked exactly the same while my entire life had been turned upside down?

He looked comfortable, like he belonged here. This shitty little school and their shitty little team were enough for him.

How could someone with so little be so self-assured?

It had always amused me in the past, making me eager to get under his skin and rile him up.

But now, with the hell my life had become, it just pissed me off.

“Reeves,” Coach’s voice dragged me back as Tristan’s eyes flicked toward him. “Beaumont.”

I looked at Morrison. There was now a smile on his face. 

The fuck was so funny?

“As the saying goes,” he says, glancing at me. “Pride goes before a fall.”

Seriously?

Ever since I’d met the man this morning, he hadn’t bothered hiding his low opinion of me.

Which, fine. I hadn’t hidden mine either.

I’d maybe said some things over the years about how much he sucked and how he was probably the reason their team played like shit.

He probably heard me say those things even..

But he was the adult here. Couldn’t he be less petty about it?

“Hunter, as you know,” he continued. “This is the captain of the Raven Hill hockey team, Tristan Reeves.”

Yeah.

I knew.

“The history between you two needs to be put behind you both now. As he’s your captain, you’re going to respect him.”

Respect?

I couldn’t even hold back the laugh that left me.

But Coach clearly didn’t share in my humor because his gaze sharpened. “Whatever nonsense you were allowed to get away with on your old team doesn’t fly here, got it?”

Even though i made some noise to show that i ‘got it’, I stopped listening.

My attention had already returned to the guy standing next to me.

After three years of beating him, now I was supposed to share a locker room with him.

Play on the same line, maybe even pass him the fucking puck.

The thought made my stomach twist.

“Are you even listening to me, Beaumont?”

I blinked up to find Coach Morgan glaring at me.

“Yep.” I lied, and his eyes narrowed at me. But I simply gave him my most innocent smile.

He didn’t buy it, turning back toward Reeves after shooting me a warning glare.

Again, I didn’t hear whatever they were talking about, too deep in my grief to listen.

Finally, Reeves spoke up. “I won’t disappoint you, Coach.”

I scoffed, but he didn’t spare me so much as a glance as he walked straight past me, out of the office.

Honestly, that was expected, even though annoying.

“You’d better go with him, or else you’d wander around until graduation trying to find the locker room.” The coach’s stern voice came from behind me.

Muttering a response that would get me benched under my breath, I shoved my hands into my pockets and hurried after Reeves.

The guy walked really fast.

By the time I caught up to him, I was a little out of breath.

Panting lightly, I pushed through the set of double doors but stopped as the entire room went quiet and every head turned toward me.

Nobody said anything. It was as though even the room held its breath as they all gaped at me.

Well.

Welcome to Raven fucking Hill.

Suddenly, a tall guy stepped away from the lockers, his eyes narrowing into thin, hateful slits as he looked me over.

“What the fuck is he doing here?” At the sound of his voice, it suddenly dawned on me that it was the same douchebag who’d keyed my baby that day.

My teeth clenched, and I stepped deeper into the room.

But before I could do anything, Reeves finally glanced at me.

It was the first time he’d looked directly at me since we’d met in the Coach’s office.

A slow, mocking smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth, and it rubbed me the wrong way.

“Oh, you haven’t heard?” he asked casually, dark eyes locked on mine.

The guy frowned. 

“Hunter Beaumont will be playing with us this year.”

There was a chorus of what the hells? And are you fucking with us?

But that dangerous, mocking look on Reeves’s face never for once faltered. “Apparently, the golden boy lost his crown, and this was the only school he could afford.”

My entire body went rigid.

How dare he?

I knew the news of my family’s financial state would be revealed to everyone soon enough, but not now.

Especially not by that jerk.

He was gloating. I’d never seen Tristan Reeves fucking gloat. That was my thing. MY THING.

The tables have turned, and I fucking despised being at the tail end of it. 

Staring at every one of their idiotic faces, I wanted to tell them that my family wasn’t broke, and this was temporary.

My father was innocent, and once our attorney was able to prove it, it was fucking hasta la vista.

“So how’s it feel coming into the real world after living in your little bubble, assmouth?” someone snickered, breaking into my thoughts.

A few of the guys laughed as I looked at him slowly.

Wow.  Assmouth. Even my five-year-old cousin could come up with better.

The insult sounded just as stupid as he looked.

“Don’t worry, Beaumont. We’ll teach you some real hockey here. None of that faggy shit you Lice Reapers play over at your fancy school.”

Again with the stupid nicknames.

“It’s Ice Reapers, dumbfuck,” I finally responded, allowing a smile on my lips. “Also, YOU GUYS…are going to teach ME…how to play hockey?” 

I couldn’t hold back that laugh tickled the back of my throat because what the fuck? 

“What? You think you’re better than us?”

“I don’t think so.”  I tilted my head. “I know so. If I have to play next to you losers, I’ll probably spend the entire season fixing your fuckups.”

The room erupted, and everyone started talking at once, but  I couldn't even hear half of it over the rush of adrenaline flooding my body.

I’d spent three weeks swallowing humiliation, watching strangers pack up my fucking house, listening to lawyers discuss my father’s life like he was just some case file.

And my mother…all she does is cry. Christ, I knew she was attached to her luxury items, but who the fuck sobs when having to give up their fur coat for their husband’s freedom?

And now these fucking assholes wanna laugh at me because I lost my school.

Fuck that.

“If any of you actually think you’re going to teach me how to play hockey, maybe start by teaching yourselves how to fucking win something.”

That one landed.

In hindsight, I should have let them be after I said the first thing, but you know me, I always had to stab the pitchfork in.

Anyway, the room went dead silent. I didn’t even get to enjoy the look of rage on their faces because in the next moment, my head snapped sideways and pain lanced through my mouth.

Fuck. Why did they always have to go for the mouth?