Page 9
I waited for a while.
I could say it was only because I wanted to be a good friend to NerdGirl, but that wasn’t the only reason.
It’s Becca. It has to be.
That’s why I started dropping personal details. I figured if it wasn’t her, whoever NerdGirl is would ask some questions. Want to know where I play, what my last name is, and if I’d like to meet up. Knowing the little I know of Becca, I’m not surprised she clammed up.
If I could have willed my phone to ding with a new message from NerdGirl, I definitely would have done it. I hope it was coincidental timing. It’s the middle of the day. She’s clearly at work if she just got yelled at by her boss.
That little voice in the back of my head, however, is letting my self-consciousness come to the front. I told her my name and that I play hockey, and she goes radio silent.
I thought Becca was starting to like me.
Maybe not.
A week goes by with no messages from NerdGirl or Becca. From the moment I told NerdGirl my name and that I play hockey, I never heard from Becca again. I thought she’d at least acknowledge when I sent her the bouquet of hyacinths, considering her profile image on ChatBook is a picture of an incredibly similar floral arrangement. Hindsight, however, tells me I recognized her personality all along. Both Becca and NerdGirl are peaceful. Soft. Encouraging. Both make me want to be around them more. So why the radio silence? Am I that awful of a guy that Becca can’t fathom interacting with me in person?
I texted her good morning a handful of times, but received no response. My self-confidence took a sizable beating, that’s for sure.
Probably could also be because I talked about sex. I blame that mostly on the beautiful meteorologist who has taken up residence in my brain a good chunk of the day. Seeing how bashful Becca got when we talked about porn at dinner that night, I wanted to see if her online persona would also be shy.
I’m sure there’s an element of the chase with Becca, because I’ve never had someone dislike me so quickly. But it’s also just her. Dinner with Becca was a breath of fresh air. Puck bunnies want to talk about hockey. Money. Fame. I could immediately tell that Becca didn’t care about any of that. We talked about pizza and bad dates, for fuck’s sake.
I sent her flowers again, as well as a pizza from the restaurant I took her to. It’s as if she never received anything. Hell, maybe she didn’t.
Not wanting to bug Becca too much, I stop initiating texts. I don’t want her to forget I exist, though, so I continue to send her flowers each week. I may not be texting Becca, but I always send her a note with the flowers asking if she’ll go on another date with me. Fortunately, training camp is starting up, so I’ll have lots of things to keep my mind off of both Becca and NerdGirl.
By the third week of September, I remember why I hate training camp. It keeps me really busy, which allows me not to think about the beautiful woman I’ve had on my mind since we last spoke four weeks ago. But I’m fucking exhausted.
I try to stay active during the off season, and I continue with four to five workouts per week. But it’s nothing compared to what the coaching staff throws at us the closer we get to the regular season.
“Jesus, I’m getting old,” Grant pants as we rest against the wall outside the cardio room. “Six miles is ridiculous. We don’t go that long on the ice.”
“It’s called conditioning for a reason, dickhead,” Gabe drawls as he strolls past us. Asshole looks like he didn’t even break a sweat.
“How are you not exhausted?” I ask, taking deep breaths as my heart rate begins to slow down.
Gabe gives us a leering smile. “I get good cardio every day. Sometimes twice a day. My stamina is unbeatable.”
“Jackass,” Grant mutters.
“Green isn’t your color, Nally,” Gabe shouts as he continues down the hallway.
“The fuck does that mean?”
“It means he knows you’re jealous that he’s getting regular ass,” I explain.
Grant shrugs. “Thanks for the explanation, oh Captain, my Captain. But don’t you worry, Daws. I get it often enough. But I focus more on orgasms and less on stamina, so I can make that my focus from now on.”
I shake my head with a chuckle. I’m sure Grant fucks more than enough. He almost has a chip on his shoulder that he’s trying to erase by fucking it off. Even being a complete asshole to any woman he meets, they still line up ready to have their turn.
“Nally! Jax! On the ice in ten minutes!” Coach yells.
“Fuck,” Grant groans. “I forgot he wanted us in full gear today.”
A wave of nausea hits me. “I really think I might puke if he makes us do suicides.”
“Don’t even say that word out loud, man, or you’ll give him ideas,” Grant hisses. I’ve lost count on how many times suicides have made me puke.
They are miserable and every hockey player in the world hates them.
Quickly heading to the locker room, we put on our gear. It may look like we have a couple pads and two articles of clothing, but that’s not the case. We’ve got shoulder pads and a chest protector. A jock strap and elbow pads. Hockey shorts and socks are put on separately, but the shin guards go on first. Depending on what our schedule is, we have different jerseys, also called sweaters. Protective gloves and a helmet finish the ensemble. It’s a whole process, and every player has a routine for getting dressed. Some weirdos even go as far as putting their skates on before their pants. But don’t get me started on what goalies have to wear.
Grant and I are the last on the ice, and Coach glares at us menacingly. I hear Grant swear under his breath, and I put up a silent prayer that we don’t cause any more physical trauma to the entire team.
“You’re one minute late,” Gabe mutters.
“Alright, ladies,” Coach says loudly. “We’ve got our first pre-season game tomorrow. Gonna do a full scrimmage today to prepare.”
Multiple groans sound from my teammates, and Coach raises his eyebrows. “Oh? Is that a problem? I guess I could have you do a hundred suicides instead —”
“No!” Levi screams. “Scrimmage. We’re all excited for a full scrimmage.”
Coach mutters something quietly, then gestures for us to line up. Grant, Levi and I are the first line forwards, with me being the center. Coach warned me after our first pre-season game he will begin messing with the lines to see who I vibe with the best. I’m frustrated because I gel really well with Levi and Grant, but I know as Captain I need to be flexible, and aid where I’m needed.
The part I absolutely love about hockey is that I’m responsible for almost all of the face offs, and I love the anticipation of the puck dropping in front of me. I’m exceptionally quick getting the puck to my teammates.
I’ve always hated sports that take too long. You won’t catch me golfing, and I definitely don’t like baseball. Hockey is quick. We’re on the ice for less than a minute each shift. The puck is constantly getting batted around, and I love the speed at which things change.
Thrilled at not having to do any suicides, I skate my ass off during the scrimmage. I know how to work hard. It sets a good example for the rookies, and also lets them know that I’m not going anywhere. We’re still two players over roster, and my spot is secure. These guys must be nervous wrecks, this close to the start of the season, knowing two are going to be sent home.
After practice, I grab a quick shower, and once dressed, I get called into Coach’s office. “You wanted to see me, Coach?”
“Yeah,” he murmurs, typing something on his computer. When he finishes, he slams the laptop shut and turns to me. “You played harder today than most of last season. What’s the deal?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. Guess I was just happy for a scrimmage instead of suicides.”
A tiny smirk appears. “I’m sure everyone thought that, but you were on another level. You know your spot is secure, right?”
“I know. Maybe it felt like a real game today, and I’m excited to be back to the daily grind and the busy schedule.”
Coach studies me before sighing. “Who is she?”
“What?”
“The girl.”
“What girl?”
“Jax, no one looks forward to the busy hockey schedule unless they’re trying to get their mind off of a woman. Tell me who she is.”
I shake my head. “It doesn’t matter. She ghosted me, so it is what it is.”
Coach chuckles. “That’s the real issue. Someone didn’t fall at your feet.”
“No, it really isn’t. I mean yeah, I didn’t know how to handle that initially. And I fucked up with her more than once. But she was also the first woman I’ve met that I truly felt like I could be myself around. I wasn’t Jax, the center for the Wolves. I was Jacob. And that was a nice change.”
Coach nods, understanding dawning on his face. “I get it. Really. Maybe she hasn’t ghosted you, or maybe she has. But I highly doubt she’s the only woman out there who will want the real Jacob Mitchell. How the hell did you get the nickname Jax? That doesn’t make any sense.”
I let out a loud bark of laughter. “My first nickname was Mitchy, and I fought that hard. Even as an eight-year-old, I recognized how fucked up that sounded. I think a little sister of a teammate when I was around eleven couldn’t pronounce Jacob or Jake, and somehow it came out Jax. The name stuck, and I was all too happy to go with that instead of Mitchy.”
“I still want to know what Levi’s nickname was. There’s no way he went all the way through his career until now with no nickname,” Coach says with a smile.
“Good luck with that,” I joke. I know Levi’s nickname, but I’ve been sworn to secrecy. I’d never do that to him.
Coach’s eyes narrow. “You fucking know the nickname, don’t you? Come on. Tell me, or I’ll put you down to fourth line.”
I stand up with a chuckle. “No, you won’t.”
“God dammit. I won’t.”
Whistling, I head out of his office, ready to get home.
A cacophony of squeaks and squeals hits my ears as I open the door to my apartment. “Alright, alright! I’ll get you your treats.”
Heading to the kitchen, I pull open my fridge to grab a smattering of fruits and vegetables for my girls. Today, it’s blueberries, strawberries, watermelon, broccoli, and cauliflower. Their favorite is spinach, but I’m out of that. The squeals they let out when they hear the bag of spinach opening is pretty comical.
As soon as my foot hits the carpet in their room, my guinea pigs start squealing. All six of them.
Rose, Lily, Daffodil, Bluebell, Daisy, and Dahlia.
Yes, I have six guinea pigs. And I have a pet sitter that comes twice a day to make sure they have everything they need when I’m out of town.
My newest girl, Dahlia, hides in one of the huts. She’s still unsure of me, as well as the chaos around her. I’ve set up one of my secondary bedrooms as their space. Multiple cages are connected by tubes. I even had someone 3D print special stairs that lead to tubes and slides halfway up the walls. As often as possible, I put them in their exercise balls and let them roam around the apartment.
I first became obsessed with guinea pigs in middle school. A kid at my school had one, and I immediately fell in love. I liked that they were bigger than hamsters, but could still be caged. For some reason, the thought of a dog or cat scared the hell out of me. Probably because I figured my mom would kill it and scar me for all of eternity.
So, when the NHL adult money started rolling in, I got myself some guinea pigs. Teammates bought cars or houses, and I bought myself a small rodent. Hardly anyone knows about the half dozen vermin with their own bedroom in my apartment, and I plan to keep it that way.
Rose, Lily, and Bluebell are my most outgoing pigs. They’ll eat out of the palm of my hand, and Rose will even sit on my shoulder. I found out Lily likes to eat hair, so she doesn’t get a chance to be close to my head. Daffodil and Daisy seem to have imprinted on each other, and will only cooperate if the other is involved. I found an extra-large exercise ball for them to use together.
After filling all of their food dishes with the fruits and veggies, I turn down the lights and quietly relax into the plush, cozy oversized chair in the corner of the room. Watching my pigs inhale their treats is so peaceful to me. They don’t have anxiety, or concerns about the future. They eat, sleep, play, and poop. That’s it. Basic necessities of life.
I smile as my eyes drift closed. I wonder what Becca would say about my pig room. As NerdGirl, she would probably find it humorous, and expect me to regale her with humorous tales of their antics. I find myself thinking Becca would probably want to come see them. She’d be curious, asking a ton of questions, but be apprehensive about touching, or holding them.
The thought of having Becca in my apartment, in my space, brings a wave of peace across me, and I fall asleep thinking of her.
“Right there! Right there!” I scream as I charge toward the boards. It’s a rare afternoon game in Indianapolis, two weeks into the season. We’re tied late in the third period, but as I point toward Shears, he manages to snatch the puck away from the Hawks defensemen. He flips it to Billings, who passes it to me, and I’m in perfect position. Settling my weight on my back skate, I swing my stick, smashing the puck into the air. It soars right over the goalie’s left shoulder, and the red goal light turns on. Red is my favorite color.
“Let’s fucking go!” Billings shouts as the guys jump on me. Looking up at the clock, I see there’s only thirty seconds remaining. All we need to do is keep the puck on this side of the ice, and we’ll get our fourth win of the season. We lost our home opener, which was humiliating. None of us even went to our favorite bar after the game. Charlie’s Pub has long been a staple for the Wolves players. With a back room that only some people are allowed to enter, we can relax and unwind after a game. But not after that first one. Nope, we all went home to sulk in private.
Coach switches out the defensemen, but leaves me, Shears, and Billings on the ice. We’re typically not on the ice for this long, but I’m sure he’s thinking we’re his best shot at preventing a goal. I’ve learned that Shears has ridiculous skills with his hockey stick. Billings, in turn, is honestly half defenseman, and will run over anyone. I’m the quickest on the team.
“Goalie! Goalie! They pulled the goalie!” Gabe shouts from behind us. Shit. Now it’s like a fucking power play, with the Hawks having four forwards to our three. We can’t let our guards down for even a half second. Fortunately, the Hawks get their communication lines messed up, because one forward sits back, far enough that Shears swoops in to steal the puck. The crowd groans as he swiftly heads down to score in an empty net, right as the horn blows, signaling the end of the game. We win, with a final score of four to two.
“That’s what I’m talking about!” Coach shouts as we pass him on the way to the visitors’ locker room. There’s a palpable energy as we cool off and unwind, especially after a win. Coach gives us a pep talk. He chooses the guy who essentially wins ‘player of the game,’ and that player gets a ridiculously large wolf medallion on a very heavy gold chain. Not surprisingly, Shears gets it this time, and gives us a few words.
“Nice game, boys. Let’s keep it up,” he says shortly. Nodding at everyone, he takes the obnoxious wolf necklace off and turns away from everyone. Shears may take the prize from Levi for quietest on the team. Levi has never been much for crowds, and he definitely hates when it’s his turn to speak to the media. He just wants to play hockey, and not deal with any of the other bullshit.
Once everyone is showered and packed up, we make our way to the team bus. We’re staying overnight at a hotel a few minutes from the arena before heading to Cleveland tomorrow for another game. I’m one of the first on the bus, and I pull up social media as I settle in to my seat.
I jump up as soon as I read the Denver news stories, including one about how chief meteorologist Becca Stephens is taking time off to be with her family due to the death of her father. “What the fuck?”
Opening up my texts, I immediately ask if she’s okay.
Me
Are you okay? I just saw the news about your dad.
I’m definitely surprised when she immediately responds.
Becca
No, I’m not okay. It’s awful. My family is so horrid.
Me
What? How do you mean they’re horrid?
Becca
It doesn’t matter. I’m only here because I’m expected to be, but they’ve made their opinions of me very clear. I hate it here. I wish I’d never come back.
Me
Where are you from again?
Becca
Indiana. A small town outside Indianapolis.
Me
No shit? I just got done playing a game in Indianapolis.
Me
Send me your location.
Becca
That’s not necessary, Jacob. I’ll be fine. I’ve survived them for over thirty years. A few more days won’t kill me.
Me
Send me your location.
Becca
Jacob.
Me
Becca.
Becca
I don’t have much extra time. I’m at my parent’s now. There’s a stupid dinner thing, and I still have to change.
Me
A dinner thing? When is the funeral?
Becca
Tomorrow morning.
Me
Isn’t the night before a funeral meant for something like a wake, or a viewing?
Becca
Not in my family. It’s all about presentation and appearances. My mother is hosting all of my father’s bigwig investors and country club buddies. She actually doesn’t care that he’s dead. She can use it to build up her social standing.
Me
I’m sorry, Spitfire. That sounds hideous.
Becca
She told me I have to stay silent. Even if someone addresses me, I’m only to nod, or shake my head.
Me
What the fuck? You’re not a fucking child.
Becca
To her I am. And my brother too. I’m an abomination. The black sheep. A waste of space. My dad died over a week ago, and they just called me two days ago. They weren’t going to tell me, but people asked where I was. I’m only here because of that.
Me
Alright, Spitfire. You can send me your location right fucking now, or I’ll find it myself. It’ll just waste less time if you give it to me. I’ll be damned if you’re going to some stupid funeral party alone, like you’re walking the plank. Nope. Not on my watch.
Becca
A funeral party. I literally snorted, and my mother just told me I sound like the help. Women of good standing NEVER snort. We must not show emotion. We are robots. My mom looks like a robot with all the damn Botox she’s got in her face. She won’t show emotion because she CAN’T.
Becca
I may have gotten into my father’s bourbon.
Me
I have a feeling I’m going to like drunk Becca.
Becca
I kinda like drunk Becca too.
Me
Send me your location, baby.
Becca
Only if you promise that you’ll be my pretend boyfriend for the night. Having a hot hockey player as a boyfriend will be good.
Me
You think I’m hot?
Becca
You know you’re hot, Jacob.
Becca
Also yes.
Me
I’d be honored to be your pretend boyfriend. Does that mean I can kiss you?
Becca
For pretend?
Me
Sure. We’ll go with that.
Me
Looking forward to seeing you, Spitfire.
Becca
Don’t tell Jacob, but I’m looking forward to seeing you too.
Me
Don’t tell Jacob?
Becca
Yeah. My fake boyfriend keeps all my secrets.
Me
Alright. I won’t tell him.