Page 18 of Call the Shots (For The Arena #1)

JUNE

brEAKING NEWS

Was the rage room the ultimate friendship bonding solution I dreamed it’d be? I didn’t know. And it wasn’t just because I ditched after my mini freakout, it was hard to judge if the guys tolerated each other any differently.

Regardless, they’d have to keep it in check because I had something to get our name out there beyond the ‘hockey team brawl - HILARIOUS’ video from the exhibition practice. That wouldn’t be our first search result anymore.

An editor on the school’s newspaper owed me a favor and I cashed it in. What I wanted was someone to write up an article about the team, something at least to remind people that the Gladiators were there. I just wasn’t expecting her most timid reporter on staff.

“Hi—hi—” She hurried to shake my hand and dropped her notebooks. “Oh, gosh?—”

I scooped them up. “How long did they give you for the interview?”

“Um…twenty minutes?”

I smiled because I thought she was joking until I realized she wasn’t. “Starting now or at the Colo?”

“Um—starting now.”

Crap. I picked up the pace, trying to make my jog look like a power walk. “I’m?—”

“I know who you are, June.” She flamed scarlet. “I’m—I’m Tallulah. I never thought we’d be breathing the same air, much less interviewing ? — ”

I squeezed in as many thank yous as I could, but I really wasn’t important enough to warrant that reaction and we only had— crap, crap, crap —fifteen minutes left of the interview by the time we arrived at the arena.

At least the boys were going through drills together, instead of Elijah poking someone with his stick, saying ‘I’m not touching you, I’m not touching you,’ while others crowded around a fight.

Tallulah craned her neck. “I didn’t even know we had a hockey team.”

“Everyone’s going to know the Gladiators now.”

“But…what about you?”

“Hm?”

“I mean…you’re June Basil. What are you doing here?”

“Uh—I needed a change of pace, and this is a true underdog story.” I resisted the urge to grimace. By underdogs, I meant rabid dogs who couldn’t help ripping each other to shreds, but Tallulah didn’t need to know that. “It’s not just about hockey, it’s?—”

Bear skated by, dark hair tousled. “Who’s this? ”

“Could you be a little nicer?” I retorted. “Aren’t you housetrained?” I stopped myself when I remembered our guest. “I mean, this is Tallulah. She’s writing a piece on the team.”

“It’s a two-hundred-word assignment on the eighth page,” Tallulah explained, her voice small.

“ Eighth page?” Bear scoffed. “What’s that—an obituary?”

I told him to leave, and Tallulah apologized. “I’m sorry, they have bigger stories on their lineup. They’re doing a report on —um— Gianna’s preservatives and they’re thinking of changing the Romans color to a slightly darker shade of blue?—”

“That’s above us?” Bear interjected. “You’re fucking kidding.”

I snapped my fingers at him. “If you don’t move, I’ll bring a spray bottle to keep you in check.”

With a roll of his eyes, Bear pushed from the rink, but Tallulah smiled. “Wow, you’re so close. It’s great to see you can joke around like that.”

“Ha. Yeah. Jokes.”

Fridge skated up, cocking his head. “Who are you?”

It was an entirely different question than the dumbfounded one that tumbled out of Bear’s mouth. It was soft as satin, a low murmur, and a blush covered Tallulah’s cheeks.

“I’m—I’m Tallulah.”

“Felix Fowler but everyone calls me Fridge,” he introduced himself, holding out his hand.

Hesitantly, she took the enormous goalie glove. “Why do they call you Fridge?”

“Want to take a guess?”

“Because…” The blush darkened. “Because you’re so big?”

“That and I’m full of deliciousness and a necessity at your place.”

My phone buzzed in my pocket— Cleo. Thank you, stars aligning, because with her in meetings, I didn’t know what I was supposed to give Tallulah. I stepped away from them, careful to keep the call quiet. “Cleo, the interview’s for twenty minutes?—”

“I have a camera man,” she barked. “I’m stealing—borrowing him from the Romans!”

“She’s going to leave?—”

“Keep the reporter there! Give me ten minutes!”

How the hell was I supposed to do that? I glanced over my shoulder to see Fridge and Tallulah. The two of them were maybe six inches apart, Fridge whispering something to her, relaxing against the rink.

Oh.

Bear opened his dumb, stupid mouth. “Fridge, aren’t we doing warmups?”

“ Bear. ” I directed him over until I could grab his jersey. “Get Montoya.”

“I’m practicing?—”

“I drove to Vernon’s house last night and went through his dumpsters. I found nothing! Do you understand this? We don’t have a way to get rid of him, we need a win!” I gestured towards Tallulah. “This interview could be it!”

“You went through Vernon’s garbage?”

“Get Montoya!” I hissed.

Grumbling under his breath, Bear brought Montoya. I basically shoved him to Tallulah. “Here! Youngest hockey player on our team, ooo! Ask him questions!”

Montoya shrank back. “I’m not good at interviews?—”

“You’ll be fine!”

After I explained the plan to Fridge, he did more than stall Tallulah. I could see Tallulah melting in real time while Fridge hovered close, his words soft. God, he was good.

Bear shook his head. “What are you doing, killer?”

“Don’t call me that. Don’t make it a thing.” I punched the air when I got Cleo’s text, confirming she was in the parking lot. “If Marrs won’t give us advertising, we’ll create some, dammit!”

From the eighth page to a small snippet on their website, it was all I was thinking about on my drive to my parents’ house. We were getting the team together, but it was such an uphill climb.

“Nothing’s ever easy, June,” I mumbled.

Frederick and Cynthia Basil lived on a sprawling estate that didn’t match how much Houston city council members made. My family lived comfortably from fortunes on both sides. My mom’s family heavy in politics, and my dad’s family in international shipping companies.

“Look who decided to come home,” my sister, December, joked, holding one of my nephews. “Mama says you abandoned her.”

It was meant as a quip, but I winced, heading inside to see my family surrounding the dining table, discussing the group photo for today.

My older siblings were talented entrepreneurs who handled equally sprawling families and careers, essential parts of Houstonian culture, while my younger siblings were acing classes, popular student-athletes, and darlings in my parents’ eyes.

And there was me. June.

Who still wasn’t sure what she wanted to do with her life, who’d been skipping a lot of family stuff since January.

“Junie!” My mother’s smile was award-winning as she arched a perfectly-sculpted eyebrow my way. “Give me your calendar.”

“Guest at the Wilder & Diamond Pavillion, Thursday photos at the Kenton Woodlands, Leone on the Green for dad’s speech,” I rattled off, counting each event I was expected to attend to support.

“And no spectacles,” my older brother, Julius, said in a classic impersonation of my mother.

“No spectacles,” my mom laughed before kissing my cheek. “That’s my girl. Where’s King?”

“I told you, Mama, he’s not doing the fake relationship anymore.”

“You didn’t talk to him?”

“I did talk to him. He has other things going on.”

My mom’s sigh was louder than mine could ever be. My parents adored King. He was silent and loyal and always made room in his schedule for them. When our fake relationship was at its peak, I stopped telling King about the events to give him a break because they practically wanted him to move in.

“I miss him,” she confessed. Most of the family left for the living room and she nodded towards them. “He knows when to keep his head down and his mouth shut. I always thought you two would…”

“Won’t happen, Mama.”

“Hm.” My mom studied me. “I love the top.”

I smiled. “I splurged for new clothes?—”

“You’re so brave,” she remarked with a smile matching mine. “It’s good to see you confident enough to wear it.”

My words faltered. I tugged at the bottom of the shirt, my fingers curling over the fabric.

It was a shirt with short, flared sleeves.

I used to wear short-sleeved shirts all the time, pre-January, but those didn’t fit anymore.

I had to buy new ones. I struggled with what to say until the screen door opened.

“Junie!” My dad beamed. “Where’s King?”

“He’s not coming, Dad,” I said, grateful for the distraction.

“What? Not coming?” He squeezed me for a hug. “I’d probably remember if you called more…”

“It’s been busy,” I said lightly.

My mom waved him to the living room and leaned in. “Junie, I want to talk about the campaign dinner dress. Do we need to get that refitted? You’ve gained a few pounds—is this look permanent? If it is, I need to tell Scott?—”

My face burned. “No. I’m going back to my same size.”

“As long as you’re doing that through the gym, ” she said, her message clear. “And only the gym. Do you need a fitness instructor? Give me your phone, you’ll love Richard?—”

“Mama, I’m good?—”

“Trust me, you’ll love him,” she assured me. Reluctantly, I passed it over. “You don’t know how hard it’s been to watch you like this—I want you to feel your best.”

My older sister, April, shouted from the living room. “ Junie? Is this you? ”

A flurry of questions followed. I didn’t understand what they were talking about until I followed my mother inside to see…me on the TV screen.

I froze as the me on the screen gestured to the hockey rink. “It’s a true underdog story and we’re such a family. I can’t imagine my summer without my boys.”

The video of me disappeared to reveal two newscasters, smiling with amusement. Houston newscasters. Official Houston newscasters.

My heart plummeted to my stomach.

“After a ten-year run of failure, Marrs University is once again trying to build its hockey team. What do you think, Sofia?”

“They certainly have their underdog story cut out for them, Keith.” Sofia offered an amused smile to the camera.

“Defenseman, Bear Moreau, known as the Canadian Bear, has quite the temper on and off the ice—” a video cut in to show Bear throwing an uppercut during a game “—Nicholas Kurosawa was involved in a controversy last year for insulting his university—” a video with Nick’s words being censored, obviously telling Minnesota to suck his dick and ‘suck it long, suck it hard’ “—Sullivan Falkenberg was a viral sensation in September for urinating on a teammate’s car when he claimed they threatened to out him for being gay—” I watched in horror as the familiar, blurred clip played of Sully, drunk off his ass, laughing and peeing on his captain’s car “—and, of course, H-Town’s own Ruthless.

Elijah Contractor.” Elijah’s grinning, bruised mugshots flashed across the screen.

“That’s just the tip of the iceberg for the Gladiators.

Marrs is looking to bring hockey back to Houston, only time will tell if they’ll be…

” Her lips twitched. “Iced out first. Back to you, Keith.”

My mom turned to me, incredulous. “ June? ”