Page 29 of Hockey Halloween
Palmer
I regret ever picking up a hockey stick at this exact moment. Maybe that’s what I want, subconsciously. Since this sport cost me every damn thing. Since, for the hundredth time in my professional career, I feel like giving it up.
“Come on, Huddy!” Theo Richard barks at me.
He's annoyed I'm lagging behind and being generally slow.
Well, too bad. I feel like an absolute moron in this get-up.
I tug at the skin-tight polyester one-piece suit.
I try to loosen the tie, but it's not a real tie, so it doesn't budge.
I sigh, and he rolls his eyes and adjusts the headband in his dark brown hair, which holds up his enormous, fuzzy brown dog ears.
He's very proud of them. He made them himself.
He also painted the dark brown nose on the tip of his and the other face paint that makes him look like Scooby-Doo.
"Chill out," he says. "It could be worse. I originally wanted you to be Daphne, but they don't make little purple dresses that fit your obscenely wide shoulders. Also, you're the only one with blond hair."
"If only I had wider shoulders," Evan Matheson mutters as he falls in step beside me and tugs on the ends of the very short, very purple dress he's wearing.
He's our Captain on the Las Vegas Vipers.
He's also not a redhead. In fact, he's got a shaved head, and it's so short I'm not exactly sure what color his hair is, but I guess the shaved part makes it easier for him to wear that hideous orange wig he's got on. Lopsided.
"If one of you losers had a girlfriend, two of us wouldn't have to be in drag to pull this off," says Garrett Choochinsky. He's a rookie forward and was given the Shaggy costume because the dude is all long, awkward limbs. He's somehow coordinated on the ice, though.
He’s in a plain green t-shirt and brown pants. His already long hair is messed up and hanging in his eyes.
“I’d rather wear a dress than have a ball and chain again,” Tyson Michaels announces and fluffs his wig. “Besides, I have great legs.”
He does a very clumsy spin in front of all of us, because he may have decent legs, but he's as graceful as a drunken bear. His antics do manage to pull my lips into a small smile. He’s not as coordinated as you , I remind myself. He’s our goalie. One of them. I’m the other.
Two months ago, if you'd asked me to be more specific, I'd have said I was the starter and he was the backup, but now… I'm not sure.
“We better win this thing,” Evan grumbles.
Theo's dark eyes land on him, and he grins.
Theo's got this grin that is pure trouble.
You don't want it directed at you, especially on the ice because it probably means he's about to knock you on your ass.
Off the ice it means he's about to make you do something you might regret.
"We will, honey. Just smile and look pretty for me. "
He winks and lets out a woof before he walks through the doors to the massive ballroom.
The place is packed. Who knew so many Las Vegas locals loved Halloween?
This event is being held at the Bellagio by the mayor of Las Vegas herself.
It's filled with heads of companies, celebrities, affluent locals, lucky tourists with enough money to afford the $250 ticket prices, and us, members of the local sports team.
Our team owner and the General Manager are also attending, so I've been told.
The event is for charity and includes a silent auction, but there's also a take-home prize for best group costume.
You needed at least two people to enter .
The room is hot, and it makes me hate this costume even more.
Polyester doesn't breathe. Also, for some dumb reason, it's a very tight one-piece thing where the white shirt turns into the blue bell-bottom pants, with a thick polyester tie sewn on the front and a belt sewn around the middle.
A zipper runs down the back to get me in and out of it, which Theo had to zip for me because I obviously can't reach.
And I had to go commando because there was simply no room for underwear.
As soon as we walk in, I'm panicked everyone is looking at the outline of my dick.
I tried to tuck it away, but I'm ridiculously self-conscious, especially after two women dressed as Marge and Lisa Simpson raise their eyebrows and grin as I walk by.
I promise myself that as soon as they announce the winner of the contest, I'm out.
I'll go home and peel out of this stupid thing and try to figure out answers to all the what-ifs that cycle through my head every day.
What if I keep under-performing? What if I get pulled again in our next game?
What if they trade me? What if I'm just done?
I beeline for the bar and Theo follows. No surprise there, he’s the team’s biggest party animal.
We pass Mario and Luigi and Princess Peach, a bunch of girls dressed like the Pink Ladies from that old movie Grease , and a bunch of guys dressed like Minions.
At least, I think that's what they are since they're covered in yellow body paint and wearing jean overalls.
“Smile, Huddy,” Theo says after he orders us both beers. “We got this in the bag.”
I give him a half smile, but I’m really not feeling it. I’m not feeling anything right now except mildly itchy because of this stupid costume.
He hands me my beer and he clinks the neck of his bottle against mine before taking a long sip. “You can’t let work go even for a second, can you?”
“I’ve never heard anyone call hockey work,” I reply and pause to take my first sip. “Not a player anyway.”
Theo seems to think about that as he takes a long pause and his mouth turns downward in a rare frown.
Kid is always upbeat and the life of the party, even when there is no party.
I’ve seen him frown maybe a handful of times in the year and a half I’ve been playing with him.
Even now, after a moment of reflection, he says, “It’s my family’s business after all. ”
Right. He's the son of a hockey player. A great one. Unlike me, who was disowned when I told my family I was skipping college to enter the draft, his family wants him in the sport.
“Part of the reason I wanted to do this was to get your mind off things,” Theo admits.
“A shitty costume party is not going to get my mind off the fact that I turn into Swiss cheese the minute I share the ice with the fucking San Diego Saints,” I reply and scowl. “Or that I’ve been shaky at best since the start of the season.”
"First of all, we've all been shaky. You're not responsible for all our losses.
We need to score and we haven't been. Plus, we're taking too many penalties.
And it's not the Saints that mess with you, it's just Ryan Moore," Theo corrects and smiles like I should thank him for the clarification.
The minute I hear Ryan's name, my scowl deepens.
Theo turns and reaches up and presses the pad of his thumb between my eyebrows.
I jerk my head away. "Sorry, bro, but you're getting a wicked crease there.
Moore has already ruined your stats. Don't let him ruin your face, too. "
He laughs at his own joke, and I roll my eyes.
I catch sight of the rest of our Scooby Gang coming our way.
Theo asks the bartender for more beers in anticipation of their arrival and then turns back to me.
“It’s a phase. A blip. A road bump. You gotta find out why he gets in your head. Or better yet, get in his.”
Theo turns to the guys as they join us. He hands each of them a beer and then downs the rest of his and orders another. Whoa. Thankfully, he's not our DD. We all Ubered here.
“Why does Palmer look like he’s just eaten a five-alarm burrito but someone’s sewn his asshole shut?”
"You should have become a writer. You have such a way with words," Evan tells Garrett, who smiles like it's an actual compliment.
“We were just talking about his bestie Ryan Moore,” Theo says.
“Shit,” Garrett, who is second only to Theo as the team clown, looks suddenly serious. “Don’t leave, man. As stupid as I feel in this costume, I think we actually have a shot at winning.”
Theo and I stare at Chooch, as we like to call him, like he’s lost his mind.
I’m about to explain that I’m not going to leave just because I’ve cost us the last three games we’ve played against the Saints, and Ryan Moore has scored two hat tricks against me—his only two in the league—but then I see Evan’s face.
He doesn’t look like Chooch is being weird.
“Why is he even here?” Tyson grumbles. “He shouldn’t be in town yet. We don’t play the Saints for another forty-eight hours.”
I turn to stone with the beer bottle halfway to my mouth. “He’s here? Tonight? Ryan fucking Moore?”
Evan and Chooch nod. “I thought you saw him and that’s why you’re grumpy.”
“At this party? Moore? How the hell do you know?”
“He was pissing beside me,” Chooch says. “He’s dressed as Batman, and he’s got this hot piece of ass dressed as Catwoman.”
“Wh-what?” I feel like I’ve just been hurled into an alternate universe.
“You’ve got to be confused,” Theo tells Chooch.
"He wasn't wearing his mask thingy, and I know his smug, pompous, rich kid face anywhere," Chooch says confidently. "Plus, he said, 'Hey Chooch. It's Ryan.'"
Chooch does this deep, rumbling baritone as he imitates Ryan, and everyone makes a face like they want to laugh. Everyone but me. I'm in hell and it's not funny.
“Maybe this is good,” Theo surmises like he’s taken one too many pucks to the head because how is this good on any level? “Facing your demons on Halloween seems pretty fitting.”
I put my empty beer bottle on the glossy wood bar a little too forcefully. “Doesn’t feel lucky at all. Kind of feels like getting kicked in the nuts by the universe.”
“Moore was just lucky,” Evan confirms. “The first time. Now, dude, he is under your skin like a tick. Infecting you. Ruining your game.”
“That’s what I said!” Theo grins. “I knew I was smart. ”
My jaw flexes, and I turn and scan the crowd, trying to find this asshole in his Batman costume. I spot him on the other side of the room at the other bar. With a bottle in his hand, our eyes meet, and he lifts that bottle as if in a "cheers" like we're buddies. Fucking douche.
"Let's just win this contest and pretend he doesn't exist. And then do it again when he's on the ice in a couple of days."
The guys all nod in agreement, and Evan and Chooch announce that they’re going to look for single women. Tyson turns back to the bartender to order a new drink. He’s asking for a wine list, because he likes to act like he’s some kind of sommelier.
"Well, they say living well is the best revenge," Theo says, and he leans closer to me, his fake fur-covered shoulder pressing into my polyester-covered one as he whispers, “But I say fuck that. Revenge is the best revenge.”
Our eyes meet, and he grins in a way that screams devious bastard. "What are you talking about?" I ask, and I immediately regret it.
“Palmer, my man, I have a plan that will get you revenge, get your confidence back, take Ryan’s away, and most importantly, get you laid.” Theo slings his arm over my shoulders and leads me away from the bar as he tells me his idea.