Page 21

Chapter 20

Nash

I ’m taping my stick, concentrating on it like I’m performing surgery. The guys chatter around me in the locker room. The energy in is high and the chatter is chaotic. Guys are rambling on about everything from game strategy to what they want to eat after the game to what new injury they’ve got. I’ve already been to see Gabby, who gave me a freezing injection in my leg. I got the new x-ray done this morning and the team doctor is waiting on it to review.

With my stick perfectly taped I carry it out to the bench. The doors to the arena aren't open yet. The place doesn't have a single person in the arena seating. I make my way to the bench. The assistant equipment manager is there setting everything up and I hand him my stick, same as always. He thanks me, same as always, and then I make my way back down the tunnel to the main corridor. I pull my earbuds out of my warmup jacket pocket and do the one ritual I don't tell anyone about because I just don't want the ridicule. I take the elevator up to the empty main concourse area, use my Apple Watch to pull up the Mel Robbins podcast, and start my walk.

I would never tell a soul, because guys in this league balk at mental health stuff… or at least about talking about it aloud, but this woman and her podcasts really seem to help my game and my life. This particular talk is about the spotlight effect and I’m so engrossed in it as I circle the main concourse that I don’t even notice Bryce Achilles there until I almost walk right into him.

“Hey! Sorry!” I jump back, pausing my podcast. I realize he’s holding a beverage from one of the concession stands and I smile. “Still drinking a root beer before the game?”

He chuckles and shrugs. “You’re not the only one with superstitions.”

We stare at each other. He gives his waxy paper cup a jostle, like he’s stirring it. The ice rattles. “I’d say have a good game but it’s counterproductive.”

I laugh. “Yeah. I get it.”

“I have to say though… I… hope whatever happens tonight, we can hang out for a beer or maybe a round of golf this summer,” Bryce suggests.

“You heading back to Nova Scotia? You still based there?”

He nods. “I know you guys tend to summer in New Brunswick more than Nova Scotia but if you’re ever out my way…”

“You’re always welcome at my Day with the Cup,” I quip and he smiles with appreciation at the cockiness of that. Bryce was a cocky player, my dad told me once. He said it was probably his downfall. He didn’t last in the league because he thought getting there was the payoff. He thought the work was over. But I think he learned from that mistake because as a coach, he told us to never take off the pressure. Never stop going to practices or camps or learning new skills or techniques.

I decide I’m going to continue on my walk but as soon as I take a step Bryce speaks again. “Hey… so… congrats, I guess. On your marriage.”

Right. “Thanks.”

“I never saw you as the settling down type. Not in the height of your career anyway,” he confesses and swirls his drink again before poking the straw into the hole in the lid. “But it’s great. If you’re happy and can manage it— her —then it’s great.”

Manage her? Like, Tenley? Specifically? That feels… like he’s trying to say something without saying it. I nod. “Shockingly, it’s not the worst decision I ever made. Tenley is… a good fit. We’re a good fit.”

As the words leave my mouth I realize that they are not just the truth, they’re an understatement. Tenley slotted right into my life like she was a limb I didn’t know I was missing. She filled a void and I look forward to opening my front door and seeing her there every day.

“I met her once when she was younger,” Bryce said. “Went up to the Garrison hometown in Maine once to do a charity game with her uncles. She was… well, she was a drama queen and a bit much, but what do I know? I never had kids. Maybe they’re all like that. I’m sure she’s grown out of it.”

“She’s a lot of things, but over-dramatic is definitely not one of them,” I reply

Bryce shrugs as my stomach twists. He claps me on the shoulder. “Maybe I should be hoping she hasn’t changed because she could distract you and make it easier on us. Anyway, may the best team win.”

He saunters off in the opposite direction from the way I’m headed. I tap my watch and Mel Robbins’ sage advice fills my ears again but I’m not able to focus. I’m stuck on some weird loop, replaying every word Bryce said and trying to figure out why it feels so off.

I get back to the locker room and just outside the door there is a rousing game of sewer ball. It’s played with a soccer ball and the guys stand in circle and kick the ball around, the rule being it can’t hit the ground and you can’t kick it more than twice before you pass it to someone else. I don’t participate but Crew and Tate are always in the circle.

“Fuck yeah!” Crew bellows as the ball wedges itself between the light and the ceiling. “Every time the ball gets stuck we win!”

“I thought I was the superstitious twin,” I remark as I head into the locker room to get changed.

Crew and Tate follow. “How was your walk?”

“Usual,” I say as I start peeling out of my Quake tracksuit. “Except I ran into Bryce.”

“Colluding with the enemy,” Crew laughs. “It’s so weird how he helped us become the players that are going to kick his ass.”

“From your lips to the hockey Gods’ ears,” Tate adds.

I look over at Tate as he pulls on his pads. His hair is askew because he’d been wearing a baseball cap. Something pokes at my brain. A conversation we had at the bar a while ago. Tate was talking about Bryce. “Didn’t you say he went to your hometown or something?”

Tate looks over at me. “Who? Bryce?”

“Yeah. At Musica’s after our first win against them, I think it was. You said something about knowing Bryce,” I prompt as I pull on my Under Armor shirt.

“Oh yeah… Did I finish that story?” Tate wonders. “Bryce was invited one year to my uncle Luc's charity summer game. He came. Spent the week. Stayed in the old house my parents owned, where Tenley lives now in the off-season… Anyway. We had just moved into my parents’ new house on the lake so it was vacant and a bunch of other guys who were up for the event stayed there too.”

Tate pulls on his jersey. “The morning of the event, Bryce shows up with a broken nose.”

“How?” Crew asks.

Tate starts laughing. “My dad turned the old barn on the property into a gym, and Bryce says he decided to get a quick workout in. He tripped over a dumbbell that someone left out, fell, and clipped a weight bench with his face.”

“Ouch,” Crew hisses. “God, the dude is certifiably jinxed. His short career was riddled with injuries too.”

I’m standing in front of my cubby and I start to slowly sink to the bench. Something about this whole story isn’t sitting right… just like Bryce’s fascination with my marriage. “How old were you when this happened?”

“I think…” Tate’s eyebrows pinch as he does the mental math. “I was about fifteen. I remember my dad felt so sorry for Bryce because he’d just been waivered that year and his career was done and now he couldn’t even participate in the charity game after that. His nose swelled all day and he ended up at the hospital instead.”

Coach walks in and announces himself by clapping. Of course, the camera crew for Tenley's doc show is following him. "Okay, we have a game to win boys. A series to end. And a line-up to announce."

Coach Braddock goes on to tell us who is starting on the ice and I force my mind to concentrate on hockey. Everything else can wait.

Hours later, I’m on the ice as the final buzzer sounds. The score is 2-1 Quake. We are in the fucking conference finals! The entire team is on the ice in a group hug before the buzzer stops sounding. There’s a brief moment of pride that washes over me, and relief, as I untangle myself from the mass of my teammates’ arms. We’re one series away from the Stanley Cup Final. Two years in a row. Fuck me, this is beyond my wildest childhood dreams.

As the team starts pulling apart, Crew and I find each other and our eyes lock. He skates over and we hug. “Love you brother.”

“Love you,” I reply, and we break apart.

My eyes move up to the family section and I see my dad and Jordan Garrison grinning at each other and our moms hugging. Mallory and Tenley are standing beside each other in their matching WAG jackets a row down from the parents. Tenley has Tate's son on her hip. She's smiling so wide and bright I swear it blinds me from here. But it also warms my heart. I ignore that feeling because it shouldn't be happening.

We line up and do the handshake thing with the Comets who are beyond dejected. They fought hard and this was a crushing way to lose. My throbbing leg is proof of that. I’m definitely favoring my other leg as I skate off the ice and there’s no way to hide it. I know my dad will notice and he’ll ask me about it when I see him after the game.

Grady grabs my shoulders as we’re walking down the tunnel to the locker room. “Holy shit!”

"Yeah." I grin at him. Grady wasn't with us when we won last year. He's bounced around a few teams in his career, mostly as a backup goalie, and he's never made it this far into the playoffs. I pat the side of his head, his ginger hair slick with sweat under my palm. "You just gotta keep doing what you're doing."

He nods. His eyes drift from me to Landon who is walking slightly ahead. “Landon!”

“Yeah?”

“We gotta keep doing what we’re doing,” Grady says, grinning. “Captain’s orders.”

Landon swivels his head and stares at Grady. “I gotta do more than I’ve been doing. I was completely invisible this game except for when I fucked up and left Osborne open so he could score.”

I grab Landon by the shoulder, tug him back toward us as we exit the tunnel and, like a line of fire ants, walk into the locker room. “Don’t hold onto that shit. We were never going to take them down without a mistake or two and we’ve all made them. Let it go. You were also on the ice when Crew scored. You passed him the puck.”

Grady gives Landon a pat on the shoulder. “Listen to our captain.”

Landon makes a face but I give him a little shake. “Seriously. I think you’re harder on yourself than the rest of us because you missed out last year. But you’re good. We’re good because of you, Casco. You’re contributing. You don’t need to try harder than the rest of us.”

Landon gives me a terse nod that says he doesn’t believe me but wants to. I make a mental note to keep hammering it into him and head to my cubby. I drop down on the bench like a sack of potatoes and the pain in my stupid leg finally eases. Crew stumbles in on his skates and our eyes connect. He nods.

“It’s so fucking weird when you two do the telepathy shit.” Tate chuckles beside me.

“We didn’t do anything,” I argue but then Crew stands in the center of the room and claps his hands, getting the room’s attention, because in that moment we locked eyes he was asking me if I wanted to give the speech to the guys and I was telling him to handle it.

“Without a word. Shit. I guess there is something to that twin thing,” I mutter as Crew begins congratulating everyone on the win and the room explodes in cheers.

Tate smirks at me. “Just keep it up on the ice. You two are like a secret weapon.”

Almost an hour later I’m trying not to limp as I make my way out of the locker room. The twin comment is still spinning around my brain. Do Crew and I have some weird connection, or is it just typical with someone you spend so much time with? We aren’t just siblings after all. We’re teammates. We’ve been on the same team every year since we were six. The amount of time we’ve spent together is dizzying really. I bet I can read other people just as well… if I spent even half as much time with someone else.

I turn the corner, heading toward the VIP lounge where I’m sure I’ll find my fake wife and my real family all excited to congratulate me. And my dad will bring up the limp. I decide to pop into Gabby’s office first to see if she got the x-rays back yet and if the doctor has given her a therapy suggestion to fix this shit. My best guess is stress fracture even though the pain is more of a dull throb than stabbing, which is more typical for a fracture.

There are two short hallways off the large curving main hallway. The one on the left leads to restrooms, the one on the right to Gabby's office, and the assistant coaches. I'm about to turn right when something glints in the corner of my eye. It's like a sparkle or a shimmer of light or something, so I turn my head. And that's when I see Tenley. She's backed up into the wall between the doors to the men's room and the women's room, one shoulder pressed into the smooth pale gray concrete. Her head is tipped up looking at someone. A man. He has his back to me. He has dark hair and he's wearing a suit, which doesn't narrow it down at all in the bowels of a hockey arena. All the players, coaches, and media personalities are dressed like this.

But it doesn't matter who it is. What matters is the look on her face. Over the last few months, I have come to see a lot of looks on Tenley's pretty face, but none of them put fear in my heart. This one does. She's pale, her eyes wide, her jaw slack with fear. I'm stalking over there before I even realize what's happening.

"Tenley," I say her name softly but with a heavy urgency, like I'm scared she won't respond like you'd speak to someone who just lost consciousness as you were trying to revive them.

The man immediately steps away from her and turns to walk by me, down the hall. My eyes lock on his face. “Hey, Nash. Just congratulating your wife.”

Bryce takes one step. I look at Tenley. She looks at the floor and I watch her chest shudder as she exhales. And right at that moment, all I can think of is that night a few weeks ago when Tenley confessed a secret.

A dude groped me once. Grabbed one of my boobs.

Bryce takes another step, brushing past me and patting my shoulder as he goes.

I punched him in the face within a second of it happening. I reacted so fast that for a split second, I worried it was a mistake. He accidentally touched me and I was overreacting. But I wasn't.

“Tenley.” This time she looks at me. She looks… humiliated.

I met her once when she was younger

I know I’m right. Holy fuck.

Bryce makes it to the main hall and he’s turning away from the Quake’s VIP lounge, away from my team’s locker room, towards the other end of the arching hallway which will take him to the media room or his own team’s locker room.

But the rage inside me takes over and before he can take another step, I’ve got my hands gripping the front of his suit jacket as I lift him off his feet and slam him into the wall. He lets out a woof of air, unintentionally. He didn’t see me coming. And now he’s too busy trying to catch his stolen breath to stop the right hook that lands with a whack on his cheek near his eye.

“What the fuck!” he howls as he reaches for his cheek and lands on the concrete in the very same minute.

I grab the front of his jacket again and haul him to his feet as he tries to break free. “You are a fucking pedophile.”

It’s my voice hissing the words but I don’t recognize it.

“Jesus, Nash, come on! No!” he says and tries to loosen my grip on his jacket. I hear fabric tear, but I don’t let go. I shake him by it instead. “I was apologizing. I was young and dumb and it was entirely wrong. I drank a lot back then. I…”

He doesn’t finish the sentence because I punch him again. This time he doesn’t hit the floor, he stumbles back into the wall, his hand goes to his mouth, and blood starts to ooze from between his fingers.

“I fucking didn’t mean it!” he yells.

“Nash! What the hell!” I feel hands on my shoulders. My brother’s hands. I know without turning around to look. “Stop! Fuck!”

He tries to pull me away but I’m rooted to the ground with rage and it’s like my feet have been set into the concrete. I don’t budge. I point at Bryce, who now has Gabby by his side trying to get a look at his split lip. “You talk to me or her again, ever, for any reason, and I will destroy you.”

“Fine. Christ.”

“Come with me,” Gabby urges. She glares at me but it’s in more of a ‘what the hell did he do’ way and not a ‘what the hell did you do’ way. She says nothing as she guides Bryce into her office.

Crew yanks me backward toward the VIP area. I finally get my vision back, I can see more than just that potential rapist’s face. My dad and mom are at the entrance to the room. Both staring with wide, disappointed eyes. A few other people are frozen at the other end of the hall. A PR intern and an assistant trainer. Crew is yanking me back.

“What the hell was that about?” he demands but I ignore him, my eyes shooting to the end of the hall where Tenley is standing alone, shaking.

I push my brother out of the way and walk over to her. She seems fragile like she's made of glass suddenly. I reach out to touch her, daring only to use my fingertips to tilt her head up so our eyes can meet. "I'm right."

She gives me a tiny little nod.

“You have to tell someone.”

“I did. I told you,” she whispers. “That was enough. You are enough.”

And then she wraps her arms around my neck and holds on like I’m the only thing keeping her upright. Maybe I am. I wrap my arms around her waist and rub her back with my left hand. Turning my head into her neck, I whisper, “I’ve got you.”

“I know,” is Tenley’s response before she tilts her head and our lips connect.

Her lips are trembling but she kisses me with force and I kiss her back the same way. With every touch of our lips and slide of our tongues, the heaviness of the moment feels more like an anchor than a weight.

And it hits me as we break apart and I run a hand down her cheek, pulling her in for another hug, that this is our first real kiss.