Page 18 of Famous Last Words (New York Thunder #1)
CHAPTER 18
ROBBIE
A t the final siren, we’re five for five. I scored my second ever hat trick, Dallas scored his first ever shutout, and as we skate off the ice to the roar of the home crowd, the atmosphere throughout the arena is electric.
It really feels like something has clicked. Not just between me and the guys on the team, but with everyone, everything. Coach is being less of a sullen asshole, and even Rusty seems to have pulled his head out of his ass and stepped up as captain.
Removing my helmet, I trail behind as we file into the locker room, and everyone gathers around Dallas, spraying him with water or Gatorade or whatever they can get their hands on, christening him on his very first shutout.
The merriment in the room is palpable; there’re slaps on the back, hugs, high fives, all accompanied by the sound of everyone yelling to be heard over each other. Randomly, “Baby I Love Your Way” by Big Mountain starts to play from somewhere, Dallas singing at the top of his lungs completely offkey and somehow already naked from the waist up, cowboy hat secured on his head.
I take a seat in front of my cubby, wiping the sweat from my forehead with a towel before taking off my skates, and as I look around, I can’t help but smile, because this is what it used to be like. This is what I loved about hockey. Coming back into the locker room after a win and acting like absolute dorks with the guys you just busted your ass for out on the ice, to celebrate the moment, not to think about tomorrow or the next game. It used to be like this when I first started with the Lions, but somehow along the way, the fun was lost and it became just another grind.
A hush falls over the room as Coach takes center floor, and I’m a little taken aback by the smile on his face. Well, it’s almost a smile. Probably as much of a smile as he’s willing to give, but a smile nonetheless.
Everyone settles as Coach starts talking about all the things we did right, and the improvements we can work on in preparation for our game on Monday night.
“I wanted to take a moment to call out Robbie Mason.” He points a finger at me, and the room erupts in applause. I roll my eyes at the unwanted attention, grunting a chuckle when Dallas wraps his arm around my neck and gives me a fucking noogie.
Coach continues. “Son, you’ve found your voice out there on the ice, and you’re proving to be a true leader. We’re glad to have you on the team,” he says quickly, as if the words were painful to say.
I bow my head in return, an unspoken truce seemingly shared between the two of us in that one fleeting moment.
“Now.” Coach holds the game puck in the air. “Game puck.”
The guys all cheer.
“This one goes to the backbone of our team, the one guy who goes out on to that ice every damn night and gives it his all. The mouth from the South , voted—” he pauses to roll his eyes, “— sexiest goalie, two years in a row .”
Beside me, Dallas is already on his feet, theatrically bowing like a dickhead to everyone.
“Celebrating his very first shutout, Dallas Shaw!” Coach closes the distance and pulls Dallas in for an awkward side hug.
Grinning ear-to-ear, Dallas takes the puck, looking at it with the kind of revered awe reserved for a firstborn child, and I can’t help but jump up to slap him on his back, which he takes as an open invitation to wrap his arms around me in a half-naked, sweaty hug.
“Couldn’t have done it without this fucking boss!” he yells, pointing at me, and again, I roll my eyes, not wanting to steal his moment.
The celebrations continue around the room, the social media team popping in to take a few quick videos of us for the team’s social media accounts, but my mind drifts to the one thing that’s been nagging at me all night. Keller never showed.
I texted her this morning to tell her Andy wasn’t going to be at the game tonight, that she was on her own. Her response had been laced with that smart mouth tone of hers, telling me she’s a big girl and that she can take care of herself . I rolled my eyes, maybe even laughed a little, and my dirty fucking mind might’ve even wandered to the gutter momentarily, imagining her taking care of herself alright. Naked and wet, in a steamy shower.But when we got out onto the ice for warm up, my eyes immediately went to the friends and family section to look for her, to make sure she was on time, maybe even fuck with her by trying to get her on the Jumbotron again, but she wasn’t there. And by the time the first period had well and truly kicked off, she still wasn’t there.
I’d considered texting her during the break, but there’s a strict no phone rule, and I didn’t want to piss off Coach. Now, she’s a definite no show, and I wish I could say that I’m pissed, but if I’m being honest, I’m more concerned.
I pull out my phone, staring at the last message she sent me as I consider my response; I don’t want to come across as a complete asshole.
Me: You’re not here.
I re-read my message and can’t help but scoff because that’s literally all I’ve got.
Staring at the text window, I wait for her reply, but nothing comes. She’s usually super quick with responding, but it’s crickets. Not even those dots show up to indicate she’s replying with something sassy.
I don’t miss the way my gut twists. But before I can think of a follow-up message or, I don’t know, fucking call her like a grown-ass adult, I’m stopped by Coach Bromley tapping me on my shoulder.
“What’s up, Coach?” I tuck my phone into my bag.
Coach points to the corridor that leads to the office. “Office.”
Following behind him, I know I can’t be in trouble given how stoked everyone is with our fifth win, but as I enter the office to see Coach Draper and Chris Garret, and the team fucking owner, Bob Oakley, all standing around, my heart flies up into the back of my throat. This can’t be good.
“Robbie, you know Bob?” Chris Garret says, pointing to the imposing billionaire.
I clear my throat, stepping forward and holding out my hand. “It’s an honor to meet you, sir.”
Bob grins behind his Fu Manchu mustache, shaking my hand with gusto. “Son, the pleasure is all mine. I’m glad to have you on board.”
I smile tightly, eyes flitting about the men in the room, still unsure what I’m doing here.
“Robbie, take a seat,” Coach says, pointing to one of the chairs.
I do as I’m told, stiffening a little when Bob takes the chair right next to me.
“Okay, so I know you’re probably wondering why you’ve been called in here, Robbie, and we’ll just get straight down to it,” Chris begins, glancing at the other men. “We’re really impres sed with just how well you’ve fit into the team. You’ve more than proved that you’re here for all the right reasons, and your determination is rubbing off on a lot of the younger guys.”
“Yes, sir.” I nod, unsure what else to say to that.
Chris grins. “Robbie, I understand Coach Draper gave you permission to go out with the guys after the win on Wednesday, but you didn’t.” He cocks his head to the side. “Why is that?”
I shrug a shoulder. “I don’t like to go out after a game when I’m out of town.”
Chris nods, staring at me for an uncomfortably long moment.
“Is there something wrong?” I ask, confused by what the hell is even happening.
“No, nothing at all.” Chris shakes his head. “In fact…” He glances at Bob and Coach Draper, “We’ve discussed your contract and the terms, and we’ve decided that we’re going to relax some of the stipulations made prior to signing, specifically your curfew.”
My brows climb higher because I sure as shit wasn’t expecting that. “Oh, really?”
Chris nods.
“We understand it’s only been a week, son, but you’ve more than proven that you can be trusted.” Coach Draper spears me with a steely look, “But… know that we will be watching you closely, and if we need to revert back, we absolutely will.”
“Unfortunately, we have no jurisdiction when it comes to the additional terms set by Player Safety, so we can’t do anything about those,” Chris adds reluctantly.
“You’ve been keeping up with your piss tests?” Coach asks, one brow quirked.
“Yes, Coach.” I nod.
“Must be that girl of yours.” Bob grins at me.
I quirk a brow, confused, and a little uncomfortable by the look in his eyes.
“Met her at game one,” he answers my unspoken question.
I didn’t know Fran met Bob Oakley.
“She must be doing something right,” Bob chuckles.
“Uh, yeah,” I say, shifting awkwardly because old men insinuating shit about my sex life is all kinds of gross.
Thankfully, Chris interjects. “Why don’t you go back out there and celebrate with the rest of the guys, Robbie. Maybe go out and have a beer.”
I smile tightly, pushing up from my chair. And I mean, sure, I could tell them that I’m currently sober, that I haven’t touched a drop of the stuff since August, but what’s the point?
“Thank you.” I nod at my coaches and Chris. “Mr. Oakley, sir.” I turn to the owner of the team and hold my hand out once again.
“Mr. Oakley was my father, son. Call me Bob.” The man shakes my proffered hand.
“I’m afraid I can’t do that, sir. My ma raised me right.” With another tight smile, I wave at the men and turn quickly, hurrying out of the office.
The locker room is still utter chaos, and I try to slip between Dallas and our right winger, Logan, but I’m stopped by an arm wrapping around my neck.
“You’re coming out tonight, huh, Mason?” Logan asks.
“I don’t know. Maybe,”I murmur.
“Franny outside?” Dallas asks.
At the thought of Keller, my smile falters before I can catch myself.
“Uh-oh, trouble in paradise,” Dallas teases.
I roll my eyes, shrugging out of his grip. “Na, she never showed,” I explain, glancing back at my locker. “She was supposed to.”
Dallas straightens, and for the first time since I’ve known the guy, I witness firsthand his playboy charm make way for seriousness, brows lowering as he leans in a little closer. “Everything okay?”
All I can do is shrug as I make my way back to my locker.
Retrieving my phone, I check my messages. Still nothing. I know we’re not really together, but it doesn’t mean I’m not worried.
As I sit down on the bench, elbows on my knees, I rack my mind over the possibilities as I stare at my phone. Even if she’d been called urgently into work at the bar, she’d have told me. She wouldn’t just not show up.
“All good, man?” Dallas wobbles in front of me as he struggles to take off his bulky pants.
Sitting up a little straighter, I glance up at him. “Uh, yeah. I might pass on drinks tonight.”
His gaze flits down to my phone clutched in my hands. “She okay?”
I puff air from my cheeks, raking my fingers through my sweaty hair. I shake my head. “I can’t get a hold of her. I need to go check in.”
Dallas’s eyes flare with concern. “Shit, of course, man. We can go get beers any time.” He nudges me in what I assume is an attempt to keep things light. “Plenty more wins to celebrate.”
I manage a smile, but it’s forced. Because I’m still fully aware that Fran hasn’t messaged me back, and I’m more worried than I even care to admit to myself.