Shut Out

Shut Out
is a work of fiction. Names, places, and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

A Loveswept Ebook Original

Copyright © 2016 by Kelly Jamieson

Excerpt from
Top Shelf
by Kelly Jamieson copyright © 2016 by Kelly Jamieson

All rights reserved.

Published in the United States by Loveswept, an imprint of Random House, a division of Penguin Random House LLC, New York.

L
OVESWEPT
is a registered trademark and the
L
OVESWEPT
colophon is a trademark of Penguin Random House LLC.

This book contains an excerpt from the forthcoming book
Top Shelf
by Kelly Jamieson. This excerpt has been set for this edition only and may not reflect the final content of the forthcoming edition.

ebook ISBN 9781101968925

Cover design: Diane Luger

Cover photograph: Artem Furman/Dollar Photo Club

randomhousebooks.com

v4.1

ep

I didn't do it.

I'm tired of saying it so I just think it—for about the millionth time since that fucked-up night went down three weeks ago. My insides are knotted so tightly I might puke. My shoulder and neck muscles are like boulders and my hands keep curling into fists. There's so much tension and adrenaline building up inside me I feel like I'm going to explode.

This is so fucking unfair.

“So I can't play in the playoffs?” I manage to choke out.

The general manager of my Western Hockey League team regards me with sad resignation from behind the desk in his tiny office. “No. I'm sorry, Jacob.”

My throat feels like I've swallowed a hockey puck. I turn to my parents, who are with me for this meeting. I'm an adult at age nineteen, but this is some serious shit happening, and they flew here from Kamloops to help me deal with it, and to talk to Mr. Gagnon today.

“There were no charges laid against me,” I remind him.

“We know that, Jacob. But you were involved that night, and all three of you have been removed from the team.”

I swallow again.

Hockey is my life. My passion. I've always known I'm going to play in the NHL one day. I don't consider myself The Next One or another Sidney Crosby, but I have talent and I've worked my ass off. The playoffs are only a week away and I've been kicked off the team. The draft is coming up in a couple months. This was supposed to be my year. The scouts from all the NHL teams have been at our games this year and I know the buzz is out there, and it's not
whether
I'll be drafted, but rather how high I'll go.

Now that's gone. I close my eyes against the sting behind my eyelids.

Jesus. I'm six foot three inches tall, nearly two hundred pounds. I have no problem dropping the gloves to fight if the situation merits it. I'm not going to fucking cry like a baby here in Mr. Gagnon's office.

But damn…if I can't play hockey…what do I have? Nothing.

“Jacob,” Dad says, leaning forward. “It's too late to fix things this year. But there might be a way to try next year.”

I grit my teeth and open my eyes to focus on him.

The disappointment and strain on his face make my insides hurt even more. I glance at Mom, whose face wears a similar expression.

I've never let my parents down before. Well, okay, they weren't happy the first time it snowed after I got my driver's license and I cracked up the car they'd bought me. But nobody'd been hurt and the car was insured, so they got over that. And they got over the first time I got drunk and came home and puked in my bed. But this…they aren't going to get over this, and it fucking kills me.

My parents have done so much for me to get this far. Sacrificed so much. They don't deserve to be paid back like this. I'm
such
an asshole.

“Next year?” I glance at Mr. Gagnon.

He shakes his head. “Not for the Warriors. But I've been helping your parents explore some options.”

“Like what?”

“There's a college down in the States that's interested in you,” Dad says. “Actually, there are a few. But we've talked to the coach at Bayard College.”

“I know him,” Mr. Gagnon says. “We played for the Leafs together years ago.”

College hockey down in the States? I frown.

I can't do school full-time while I'm playing major junior hockey, with all the travel and practices involved, but I've done a few university courses—some of them online, a few in the summer.

“It's not guaranteed that you can play with them,” Mr. Gagnon says. “The Canadian Hockey League includes some players who've signed professional contracts, so the NCAA considers it a professional league, which makes you ineligible for NCAA competition. But there are ways to have eligibility reinstated. The school has to start the process. They're interested enough in you that they're willing to do that, but like I said, we don't know for sure if it will be approved.”

“They also have a strict policy about their school athletic programs,” Dad says. “Athletes have to maintain certain grades and they have to stay out of trouble. But…” Dad hesitates. “Well, not to be crass, but they need funding and they need to win. Their NCAA hockey program is big there. You have talent and they're willing to take you on.”

“Go to school?” My eyes widen at Dad. “Full-time?
And
play hockey?”

I'm not stupid, but I never planned on getting a university degree. My path to the NHL was clearly mapped out by playing in the Western Hockey League, getting drafted, and possibly spending a year on a farm team—although I'm goddamn determined to give my first NHL training camp everything I have in an effort to prove I can play in the big league right away. I have a plan. Or at least, I
had
one.

“Yes. You have to keep at least a C average. Also, they have a Code of Conduct that you absolutely cannot violate. And you're going to have to participate in a new training program they have for freshmen and transfer students.”

I scrunch my face up. “Which is…?”

Dad glances at Mom. “It's a Sexual Assault Prevention and Awareness Program.”

I draw in a long, slow breath as heat rises inside me again. I've already had this conversation with my parents and they insist they believe me, but once more I want to tell them,
I didn't do it.
I meet Dad's eyes. “You believe me, don't you?”

“Yes, son. We believe you.”

My throat tightens up again. I'm not entirely sure if I buy that, but they've stood by me through this mess, and I fucking love them so much for it I could weep.

“They're piloting this new program as part of their orientation.” Dad stares at a paper in his hand and reads from it. “ ‘To promote healthy relationships, teach nonviolence and equality, and advance a respectful, consensual, and safe environment for all members of Bayard College.' ”

I nod, letting this all sink in. It sounds like some kind of sex offender rehab program. Jesus Christ. I cover my eyes with one hand. Can my humiliation get any more painful? But apparently every new student has to go through this training.

“Um, where is this college?” Maybe somewhere sweet like California or Florida…?

“Upper New York State. Ridgedale. Not far across the border, actually.”

Great.

“More and more NHL teams are drafting NCAA players,” Mr. Gagnon continues. “Last year's number one draft pick played NCAA and now plays for the Oilers.”

I'm aware of this.

“If you play well and stay out of trouble, teams will be interested in you.” Mr. Gagnon pauses. “This scandal will die down.”

“Last year, guys who played for the Coyotes got suspended because of something like this.” I meet Mr. Gagnon's eyes. “
They
didn't get kicked off the team. And two of them are in the NHL now.”

Mr. Gagnon nods. “Yes. And I'm not gonna lie to you. There were a lot of people outraged they got off so easy. You know it's been in the news, the talk about rape culture in male sports. The police didn't find sufficient evidence in this case to press charges, but it's been a big enough deal to hit national news, so we can't sweep it under the rug.”

Hell yeah, I know it's been in the news.

“If you think this isn't hard for me, you're wrong,” Mr. Gagnon adds, his shoulders drooping. “We supported your career, Jacob. You had—
have
a bright future.”

Great. Not only have I disappointed my parents, I've let down the entire team.

“We had a chance at the league championship this year,” he continues. “Maybe we could've even won the Memorial Cup. Without you…probably not gonna happen. There's been pressure from both sides, on the one hand to somehow make this go away so we can win…on the other hand…”

I get what he's saying. Loud and fucking clear. They're making an example out of Crash, Ace, and me. Just fucking great.

American college hockey. I have no clue what I'd be getting into. A million fucking questions blast through my head. Where will I live? I won't know a soul there. I have a brain, but do I really have what it takes to pass a bunch of college courses? I'll be playing for a whole new team and won't know the coach or any of the players either.

I rub my forehead. What fucking choice do I really have? I'll have hockey. And that's all that matters. “Okay.” I swallow once more past that puck lodged in my throat. “If that's the only way I get to play hockey, then I guess that's what I have to do.”