Page 19

Nineteen

Henry

“Okay, if I save five goals, you gotta spill,” Conor says at practice before our game against Colorado.

“What am I missing?” Rowan comes over and pivots to a stop.

“Nothing.” I drop a few pucks on the ice, preparing to shoot them at the net.

“Someone had a guest the other day when Bodhi was out of the house.” Conor puts on his mask.

“After the bridal store?” Rowan asks, looking at me.

Tweetie joins us. “What? You fucked a bride-to-be?”

I don’t bother to respond. It’s not worth my time.

“Jade,” Rowan says to him.

“Oh, I like Jade.” Tweetie pulls a puck from the pile and practices his stick work. “So did you two finally… reconnect?”

His implication is clear, and I groan. I do my best to change the subject to anything but Jade. “Are you all coming to Bodhi’s birthday party?”

“We didn’t need invites.” Conor laughs, sliding back and forth in front of the net, warming up his legs. “They were cute though. Did you make them yourself?”

“Mack did.”

“I need a Mack,” Tweetie says.

We all stop what we’re doing and stare at Tweetie.

“Something you need to tell us?” Rowan asks, resting his chin on his stick.

Tweetie stops the stick work and looks over to see that we’re all staring at him. Finally, he connects the dots. “Shit, no, assholes. I just meant someone to do errands and the shit I don’t want to do. I don’t need a manny. I know how to use a condom.”

“We know,” Conor says. “And if you could make sure they hit the trash can, that’d be awesome.”

I think the roommate situation is probably growing old for both of them by now.

“I could put a condom on blindfolded in the middle of a tornado while standing on one leg.” Tweetie starts back up with his stick work.

We all shake our heads at him.

“Not necessarily something to brag about.” Rowan raises his eyebrows at me, skating behind the pucks, obviously thinking he’s going to shoot first.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. It’s Daddy only. If I stop five goals, he’s giving us all the details.” Conor rises up on his skates and closes the distance halfway to us. “Deal?”

“Why do you care?” I ask.

Conor lifts his helmet and looks almost chagrined. “Listen, I was a jackass when Magic here was getting with my sister.” He nods at Rowan. “I know that. So, I’ve decided you’re my make-up case to show you guys I’m not a complete asshole. That I care about you guys and want to learn more about your lives.”

“What the fuck, dude?” Tweetie stops his drills and circles around us, opening his arms. “Wanna have a circle jerk while we’re at it? Maybe a group hug?”

We all laugh, and Conor says, “Fuck no. Listen, if something else is on your mind on the ice, our winning the Cup won’t happen. So, I’m taking on the role of sounding board. Hash out the problems, get you moving toward happiness. It clearly worked for Rowan. I’m not gonna lie and say it’s still not disgusting that it’s with my sister, but he’s playing the best he ever has.”

“I’ve always been great. Want to compare salaries?” He arches an eyebrow.

Conor rolls his eyes. “No, shithead, but if Daddy starts sucking on the ice because his dick isn’t getting sucked by the girl he’s pining over, then we’re all going to suffer.”

Rowan and Tweetie nod as if Conor has a point.

“Should I get some beer and pretzels?” Coach Buford shouts from the bench. “Get your asses moving!”

Tweetie skates a few feet away to do his stick work, and Rowan passes a puck toward me. “You’ve got five, Daddy. Let’s go.”

“You’re on his fucking team?” I nod toward where Conor is now, back in the net.

Rowan shrugs. “My worst games were when things with Kyleigh weren’t good. He’s got a point.”

“You do understand I don’t have to tell you guys anything?”

“Then what kind of teammate would you be?” Conor says.

Tweetie puts his gloved hand over his heart. “I thought we were friends.”

Rowan skates around me. “Time is a tickin’.”

Fucking hell, they annoy the shit out of me sometimes. After Jade left the other day, I didn’t know what to do. To say my head is a mess doesn’t even begin to describe the clusterfuck it actually is.

How did I get here, and how in the hell is my love for her still so fucking deep? It should have died a long time ago, but it’s still a burning inferno deep in my heart. The need to be her protector, to be her person, is so ingrained in me I’m not sure it will ever disappear.

“See, this is why you need to spill. You’ve been standing there for, like, a minute staring at the stands.” Tweetie decides to throw in his two cents—which is ironic, given he’s still afraid to face his own past.

Shit, is that what I’m doing? Avoiding facing the past? No, I followed Jade after she ran out on Saturday, determined to explain what happened three years ago. And I was grown up enough not to sleep with her all those years ago but pushed her away instead.

“Let’s go!” Conor shouts.

“Just takes one.” Rowan stands with his chin resting over his gloves that hold his stick, watching as though his money is on Conor. Well, fuck them.

I take the first puck and skate around Rowan just to piss him off, but all he does is laugh.

“Look at our boy,” Tweetie says, adding gasoline to my shitty attitude.

I skate straight toward Conor, and at the last minute, I pretend I’m going around the back of the net, but don’t, shooting the puck toward the net.

“Gotcha.” Conor deflects it by lowering on his legs to the ice. The puck shoots off in the other direction. “Four more.”

I’m already annoyed. I need to center myself because Conor’s a helluva goalie, but I’m a better winger. He’s going to be eating his words.

Deciding I’m better off just doing straight shots, I slap four pucks over to the left. The only thing on my side against Conor is he’s a little weaker on his left. And that’s not really saying that much.

“Love the confidence,” Rowan says.

Pretty soon, a couple other teammates come by, asking what’s going on. Tweetie fills them in on the bet, but not what the terms are, which I appreciate. I don’t need the entire locker room knowing my business.

I set up my shot, and Conor’s up on his skates. He deflects it. And the next one. And the fourth one. I can’t deny I feel a little defeated.

“Just quit now and give it up,” Conor baits me.

I don’t want to open up my chest and let them dig out all the demons living there.

With the last puck, I take a chance and skate toward him. I zig right then left, swinging around the back of the net, down to where I started before circling Rowan and Tweetie and send a slapshot at Conor.

“Oh shit, maybe…” Tweetie says.

But at the last minute, Conor uses those expert goalie skills, falling to his legs, and the puck ricochets off his guards and hits the plexiglass.

Fucker.

Rowan makes a loud buzzing sound.

Conor gets up and takes off his helmet, tossing it on the top of the net and grabbing his water bottle.

We all meet in the middle between center ice and the net.

“We’ll do it on the flight home tonight. Be prepared.” Conor pats me on the back.

“I thought you had him,” Tweetie says on our way to the bench to get some water.

I can’t lie, I did, too. But once upon a time, I thought I had Jade as well. When will I learn that nothing is ever what I think it is?