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Twenty

“ Pink Pony Club” was blasting throughout the arena when the Mayhem left the ice for the second intermission that night. They were up over the team from Seattle three zip. Coach stopped Alek at the bench before he could join his teammates in the dressing room.

“Calvin’s still got fresh legs,” Coach told him. “He’s doing a good job covering Merriweather’s shifts. Keep an eye on the back door, though. I’m noticing he tends to get jammed up in the corners, which could leave you vulnerable to a five-hole.”

“Sure thing,” Alek replied. “Any update from the hospital?”

Coach had filled the team in on the situation with Brad’s son during their pregame meeting.

Alek and Gus were already up to speed, thanks to Claire and Sheridan.

Gus had lost it when he’d discovered Brad’s recklessness was behind the incident.

The two men had agreed to keep the details to themselves, however.

The Mayhem had finally begun to play in sync.

The last thing they needed was a distraction like Brad to spoil that.

“I’m hoping to hear some good news from Lori when I get inside. Maybe Sheridan left you a message,” Coach said. “It was kind of her to stay at the hospital to keep them company.”

To hear Claire tell it, Sheridan had stayed to keep the peace. As the guys had surmised early in the season, there was trouble in the marriage. Not that Alek was surprised. Merriweather was a dick to his wife. No doubt she was angry with him for putting their child at risk.

“The last time I spoke with her, there was still no change,” he told the coach. “She was starting to worry about Jackson being out so long.”

Alek was more worried about Sheridan. She hadn’t slept in nearly forty-eight hours.

He cussed himself out for selfishly keeping her from napping before her shift last night.

His lame excuse? After five days on the road, his body craved hers.

Sheridan hadn’t objected, but he couldn’t help feeling like an ass for sleeping like a baby while she’d gone off to work a twelve-hour shift that was now going into hour nineteen.

Luckily, Lori was picking up Merriweather’s mother-in-law from the airport.

Sheridan would be off peacekeeping duty any time now.

Coach shook his head. “It’s a scary situation. All we can do is wait. And pray.”

Alek handed his gloves to one of the equipment managers waiting outside the dressing room door. They’d place them on the coils of a drying machine, ensuring they were clean and ready by the start of the next period.

The guys were in high spirits when Alek sat down at his stall. He was glad to see the defense huddled together, hyping Calvin up for the final period. The guy hadn’t seen much ice time this season. Hopefully, he’d play as well for the last twenty minutes as he had for the first forty.

The equipment managers began the choreographed routine of gathering up pads and wiping them off with sanitizing spray before putting them in front of drying fans.

Alek stripped from the waist up, handing his shoulder pads and his blocker to one of the managers.

He’d replace his base layer with something dry after he toweled his torso down.

First things first, though, he checked his phone.

“Anything?” Gus asked after he shed his sweater and shoulder pads.

“No change.”

His friend looked stricken. “No child should ever have to go through that.”

Valentine ambled up to his stall beside Alek and began to strip.

“Let’s see how long it takes him this time,” someone yelled. “Go, Twos, go!”

The routine was a familiar one. During the second intermission of every game, Valentine insisted on taking a cold plunge. “To freshen up the legs,” he explained.

And every time, one of the boys would clock him while he peeled off his skates, pads, and uniform.

They only had seventeen minutes for intermission, meaning every second was important.

Valentine’s record was thirty-nine seconds.

Getting it all back on took him a minute or so longer, which was still astonishing to Alek.

Gus reached for his stick and headed to the lumber yard, where he would reapply fresh tape.

Alek would do the same shortly, but first, he needed to rehydrate.

He threw back the electrolyte drink the trainer had left on his bench for him.

During the second intermission, he always ate a banana.

The shot of potassium helped keep leg cramps away.

While he toweled off with a damp cloth sprinkled with peppermint oil, one of the trainers refilled the water bottle Alek kept on top of the net while he was in goal.

The other guys could grab a drink when they returned to the bench between shifts on the ice, but the goalie was stuck out there for the full period, carrying over forty pounds of extra padding and equipment, no less.

“Have you heard anything?” Picard asked when he stopped in front of Alek, presumably on his way to the lounge to grab his customary PB&J sandwich.

“Still no change.”

Picard shook his head. “The guy’s a total douche, but that doesn’t mean I want his kid to suffer.”

Alek pulled on a dry compression shirt fitted with extra padding to protect his chest and kidneys from an errant puck. “Agreed.”

The two men walked toward the lounge.

“Any chance I can get a favor from you?” Picard asked.

“Always.”

Picard looked sheepish, which was unusual. The Mayhem captain was as self-confident as they come.

“My restaurant opening is tomorrow night. Any chance you would want to double date with London and Trey Van Horn? I saw the four of you together on the field last night. You looked chummy.”

Double date? The four of them?

“Dinner would be on me, of course,” Picard continued when Alek didn’t answer right away. “Having a big name like Van Horn in the house would give the place the stigma we need to make a splash opening weekend. I know I’m asking a lot for you and Van Horn to make nice three nights in a row.”

“Three nights in a row?”

“Well, yeah. Van Horn and his wife are out there sitting with Finn’s teacher.

I assumed you’re all going out after the game.

Although your agent is yakking her ear off.

The poor woman is going to need some extra lovin’ after putting up with Collin all evening.

” Picard nudged him. “Make it up to her with a spectacular dinner tomorrow night.”

Shit.

The last thing he wanted to do was let his friend down.

Picard was right. Thanks to having his mug on half a dozen products, people around the world knew who the Growlers quarterback was.

It would be quite the coup to have Van Horn dine in the restaurant opening night.

It would mean coming clean to his teammates about his relationship with Sheridan, though.

Alek wasn’t sure he was ready to do that yet. Despite how well they fit, things still felt fragile. What they had was too important for him to risk. His teammates were like his second family, however, and misleading them made him feel like a class A jerk.

Time was ticking, and he still needed to tape his stick.

“We’ve got a noon puck drop on Sunday. A Saturday night out might not work for me.

What if I can get Dex Fletcher and his wife to go with the Van Horns?

” he improvised. Alek and the Scottish placekicker became friends when they discovered they shared a fondness for Scotch whisky, especially the label they both promoted in their home countries.

“Dude! That would be huge.” Picard heaved a sigh of relief. “I’ll save the best table for them.”

“Let me see what I can do to make it happen,” Alek told him.

Valentine’s “fresh legs” added another goal in the third period to make the final score four nothing.

The reporters gathered around Alek in the room reminded him he’d defended the net for eight periods of scoreless hockey.

After the start to the season he’d had, Alek was relieved to be back in the groove—and out of the media’s crosshairs.

His phone pinged with a text from Sheridan.

Leaving in thirty minutes. See you at home.

He shoved his phone into the pocket of his suit jacket and navigated through the crowded room to make his escape. Finn, Gunner, and Kyle pounced on him as soon as he reached the family room.

“That was awesome!” Kyle said. “Thanks for inviting us.”

“Look at all the dog toys we collected tonight!” Finn and Gunner both held up large plastic bags filled with stuffed animals.

Van Horn was taking up space behind London’s little brother while his wife and Claire held an animated conversation about an upcoming WAG charity event.

It would be easier to get London’s buy-in on dinner at Picard’s, but it didn’t look like the two women were going to stop chatting anytime soon.

And Alek was in a hurry to get home before Sheridan.

“I’m glad you guys could make it.” He took the bags of dog toys and set them down at his feet. “Why don’t you go ask the equipment crew for a puck?”

The three boys ran off as if they were in a foot race. Alek looked at London again, but no luck.

He sighed. “Hey, do you have dinner plans for tomorrow?”

Van Horn scrutinized him. “As flattered as I am by your interest, you do know I’m off the market.”

Alek swore softly as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Why do you have to be such an ass?”

The quarterback shrugged. “Only to you. And because it’s fun.”

“Picard’s steakhouse is opening tomorrow night. I’m trying to do him a solid by putting butts in the seats.”

“Why? Does the food suck or something?”

Alek glared at him.

“Oh!” Van Horn rocked back on his heels. “This is for publicity. You’re conceding that football players have more cred than hockey players?”

“God, I really hate you,” Alek mumbled.

Van Horn laughed loudly. His wife peeked out of the corner of her eye at him, but she didn’t end her conversation.