Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 83542 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 418(@200wpm)___ 334(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83542 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 418(@200wpm)___ 334(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
“Visiting team shoots first,” Dex says.
Flashbacks of the shitty practice yesterday try to take hold, but I shake them off and do what I do best. Dex might be an expert at scoring from beside the net, but I do my best work from afar.
I skate forward and prepare for a slapshot. It moves like a bullet, right past Tripp’s head into the top of the net.
Even if I am the enemy team, the kids are good sports and cheer for me. I turn and give them an obnoxious bow, which makes them cheer louder.
Dex goes next and also scores.
“Hey!” I complain. “Clearly, that’s favoritism at work. He let his husband score, or there’d be no … cuddles later.”
Dex shakes his head. “Dude. The kids are teenagers, not five. They know you mean sex.”
Oops.
I glance at Lane, who’s in the stands, and he’s face-palming. Lucky he gave me this warm-up time before the reporters get here.
“Besides,” Dex says, “Tripp isn’t that nice. Even to his husband. When it comes to hockey, he’s in it for the W.”
“So am I.” This time, I go for a quick wrist shot and get it through the five-hole. I fist pump in the air and dance on my skates.
“Don’t count your Easter eggs before they’re snatched,” Dex says.
“You mean … don’t count your chickens before they hatch?”
“No. Easter eggs. That’s the phrase. Don’t count your Easter eggs before they’re snatched.”
“Umm …”
“Because if you do, then you get upset when your sister snatches them. So you have to wait until the next day so you know how many you really get.”
“Oh, honey.”
“What?”
“Did your sister tell you that was the phrase?”
“Yeah, why?”
“Maybe, uh, you should take your shot. The kids are waiting and all that crap.”
He gets started, but as he tries to shoot, it’s like the lightbulb goes off above him. He misses the goal and turns to me. “Phoebe stole all my chocolate!”
When he gets back, I pat his shoulder. “Sorry, buddy. But that revelation will be nowhere near as devastating as seeing this go in and you losing. On your home turf.”
I take off with the puck, fly down the ice, and try to deke out Tripp, but he doesn’t fall for it, and my shot hits his pads.
When I get back to Dex at center ice, he smiles.
“What was that again? Complete devastation I’d be feeling?”
“Yeah, yeah. You still have to get this one in.”
“I’ve got this in the bag.”
He doesn’t. When Tripp catches the puck in his glove, I take another bow to the crowd, and then Tripp tells them all to come down to the ice and try to get one past him.
They rush the ice, and I have faced many big guys in the NHL. I’ve been flattened by them, pushed into the boards, and gotten into fights with them. None of that is as scary as twenty teenagers coming at you with admiration in their eyes.
But as they pull up to a stop beside me, offering me high fives, I have to admit they’re not so bad.
“Even though you’re from San Jose, you deserved that win,” one of them says.
I’m actually impressed by their sportsmanship. I know people in the league who’d throw a hissy fit over losing a shootout.
“Thanks, man.”
The kid’s face falls. “I’m nonbinary.”
Fuck. “Sorry. Ah, thank you, awesome person.”
They light up, and offer their fist for me to bump.
We spend the next hour playing hockey with the kids, and I hate to admit it, and no way will I actually do it aloud, but … this is actually cool. It’s been a long time since anyone really looked up to me like this.
Sure, there are fans, but they come across like a hockey fan. Dex and Tripp, Ezra and Anton … Hell, basically everyone in the Collective has dedicated fans who love them. I’ve never had someone come up to me and say I’m an inspiration. Mainly because my antics off the ice are anything but inspiring.
The time goes so fast I don’t even notice the reporters show up or take photos. Only when we’re leaving the ice do I see them talking to Lane, and when I reach him, the reporter says, “You look so cute out there with the kids. I have all I need. Thanks.” Then he walks away.
“They didn’t want to ask me anything?”
“I handled it for you. Ready to go? You’ve only got two hours of downtime before you need to get to the arena.”
That’s a relief. Playing hockey with the kids, easy. Talking about it? Not so much. “I can shower back at the hotel.”
“Why bother when you’re going to get all sweaty again?”
“Is that an invitation?”
“Only if you do one thing for me.”
I groan and throw my head back. “What?”
“Admit today was fun.”
“Never.”
“I saw your face out there. You loved every second of it.”