Teen half-brothers Kain and Scott Banks, who live in a small New York fictional town called Dalton. They battle each other on the hockey rink while navigating through high school romance and drama.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
"Have I ever mentioned how much I hate Wednesday's?" Myles says as we walk up to our usual picnic table.
"I think everyone hates Wednesday's, Myles. It's not just you." Luke clarifies.
I don't hate Wednesday's because these time during school is when I get little glimpses of Ayla.
Ugh, fuck. I don't fucking know what the hell is wrong with me. It's like my brain is being taken over by softness. I fucking hate it. I'm turning into a fucking simp.
"I don't mind Wednesday's. Monday's are what fucking kill me. Monday's can go suck a dick." Grey aggressively says.
"So, Kain. Are we allowed to drink at the party on Friday?" Myles asks.
I stand at the head of the table. "Uh, no." I flatly say.
Everyone turns their heads and look at me with their brows furrowed.
"What? Why not?" Grey whines.
"You guys know that we have a hockey game on Saturday, yeah?," I say with sarcasm. The boys look at each other and murmur. "Exactly. So, no. No one fucking touches a bottle of alcohol. Don't even think about it. Got it?" I point a stern finger at all the boys.
They nod in agreement.
"Boys! Come take a knee!" Clutch blows the whistle and calls all of us over to center ice.
We're right at the tail end of practice. We all skate towards Clutch and get down on one knee, creating a circle around him.
Clutch looks around at each of us, kind of like he's looking for someone. "Has anyone seen or know why Scott stopped showing up for practice?," Everyone looks around but nobody says anything. "Alright then. Line up, gentlemen. You're going to skate 'Suicides' until one of you come forward and tells me why Mr Banks suddenly decided to stop coming to practice. I'm sure he must've talked to one of you."
We groan and protest but get up and skate to the goal line. Every single hockey player knows what 'Suicides' are. Other people call it 'Bags, Baggies, Lines or Lineys.'
In this town we call it 'Suicides'. You have to start at the goal line, skate to the closes blue line then back to the goal line. Then skate to the middle red line then come back to the goal line. Then skate to the farthest blue line and skate back to the starting goal line and lastly skate all the way down ice to the other goal line and come back. All skating as fast as you can or if your coach is a dick like mine, finish in thirty seconds. If everyone doesn't finish in that time frame then we all have to do it over and over until we beat the time.
We line up, shoulder to shoulder, on the goal line.
"Ready?" Clutch yells. He brings the whistle to his lips, blows the whistle and we all take off skating.
I collapse on my bed after practice. I look up at my ceiling, trying not moving my body. Holy fuck, my legs are dead.
"Kain? Hey honey, are you ok?" Mom asks from the other side of my bedroom door.
