Page 26 of No Rhyme or Roughing (The Golden Guardians Hockey Hearts #1)

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

RYDER

I’d never been one for social media. It just didn’t make sense to me. People posted the most random things about their lives. I wasn’t sure why I was supposed to care about what they had for dinner or their political opinions, especially if I didn’t even know them.

Yet, here I was, sitting in the locker room, staring at the tiny number in the bottom corner of my video. The views. Sydney said the key was to keep posting, to not give up, and I wanted to believe her. She seemed so sure of herself, so sure of me. But doubt had crept in.

What if all I did was make a giant fool of myself and nothing good came of it?

But did you have fun? she’d asked .

I had. Despite everything, I couldn’t help seeing the grin on my face in the video.

Then, even if it doesn’t work, it still meant something.

I didn’t know how she could be so positive, so sure of me.

The bench in front of my locker shifted as Teddy threw himself down onto it and leaned against my shoulder. “I love that video.” He laughed, wrapping his arms around me like a clingy kid. “You just look so sexy out there, shaking your ass.”

I shoved him off me and put my phone away. “Don’t be a dick.”

Teddy’s normal easygoing personality had included a bit more bite since Thanksgiving. He tried to hide it and refused to talk about it, but it was there, hovering under the surface.

“You’re going to do it again, aren’t you?” He gave me a pensive look, like he couldn’t quite figure me out. That was new.

I only shrugged.

“I don’t get it. You hate attention.” He paused, his eyes narrowing as if a lightbulb had gone off. “Did my sister put you up to this? It’s exactly something she’d do. What did she offer you? Is this for her stupid social media account?” He stood, anger rising, but I yanked him back down.

“This isn’t about Sydney.”

Maybe it had been at first. This was her idea, and I’d desperately wanted to be the man she saw when she looked at me. But there was more to it now.

I glanced to each side to make sure the rest of our teammates were occupied then leaned in, dropping my voice. “The team is being sold.”

“What!” he yelled, before wincing. “Sorry. Mr. Mac wouldn’t do that.”

“He doesn’t have a choice. There are minority owners, investors. Without filling the building, the team is losing too much money. He’s not getting any younger, Ted.”

“You think all your shimmies and shakes will fix that?”

I threw my hands up. “I had to do something. Sydney told me if we could get some attention online, it would help.”

Teddy bent forward, his elbows resting on his knees, his head in his hands. We all knew what selling the team could mean. Relocation. But it wasn’t just about not wanting to move. This team had meant something to us since we were kids, begging our parents to take us to games.

And Mr. Mac? He meant something to us too.

All the chatter in the locker room died off. I looked up to see the man himself standing in the doorway. Mr. Mac had a gentle face, one barely capable of a scowl, yet he didn’t look happy now. He pointed one finger at me.

“Uh oh,” Teddy teased, laughing under his breath.

Mr. Mac apparently wasn’t in the mood for our shenanigans. “Valentine, you just worry about trying to hit the net tonight. For once.”

There was sparse laughter as I stood and followed Mr. Mac into the hallway.

He shut the door behind us and turned to face me, arms crossed. “It working yet? ”

“Um… I’m sorry?”

He sighed, his arms falling to his sides. “I want this to work out the way you want it to, kid, but I’m worried about you, that you’re setting yourself up for a letdown.” He sounded like he’d already reconciled with the fact he had to sell.

“We just need time.”

“I wish that was all this team needed.” He looked tired, worn out.

“Look, Ryder, I enjoyed your little stunt. It was entertaining. But—and I’ve said this before—you need to think about your future. Don’t tarnish your reputation for little old me. Or even for this team. You’re the captain. Remember that.”

I was quiet for a moment, letting his words sink in. The old man had always cared for me like I was his own son, but it was time I returned the favor.

“You really think I care about my reputation?” I asked.

“I’m not stupid, sir. I know I’m nearing the end of my hockey career.

But even if I wasn’t, loyalty is important.

You’re right. I’m the captain. I may not know exactly what that entails yet, but I know it means I can’t let this team fall apart without even trying to save it.

If you tell me to stop, I will. But I’m asking you—please don’t do that. ”

He blew out a long breath, looking suddenly unstable on his feet. His eyes shimmered as they met mine. “They sure broke the mold when they made you.” His head bobbed down and then up. “I won’t keep you from doing what you think you have to do.”

“Thank you, sir.” My lips spread into a grin .

He chuckled. “I’ve got to say, it’s good to see you smiling again, son.”

It was good to have reasons to.

When I re-entered the locker room, Teddy and Rowan were deep in conversation with Sullivan. My brother was the only one to look my way, his brow furrowing before he gave me a little wave.

I pushed away the longing. I missed being close to Sullivan, missed him being my brother in every sense of the word, but I couldn’t dwell on it now. Not tonight.

I grabbed my gear and got ready for another night of playing the game I loved.

Every tick of the clock on the Jumbotron overhead was another move toward showtime. Technically, the game itself was showtime , and we were determined to make it a good one tonight.

Gonzo was on his game, stopping every weird-angle shot, every unpredictable bounce.

He skated out of the crease with the puck after gloving a long shot and dropped it to the ice.

Teddy raced the Dallas winger back toward him, but Gonzo slid the puck right past them to where Jules and I waited at the other end of the ice.

I gathered it, flipping it from backside to front as I charged toward the net, veering away from a defender to round it. A quick pass to Jules. One-timer. Goal.

Teddy’s favorite part of the game—the post-goal celebration hugs.

He sped toward us and launched himself into the air, colliding into our group hug and shoving the rest of us back against the boards. It was impossible to be mad or annoyed after a sweet goal like that, especially when it put us up three to nothing.

We skated to the bench, slapping our teammates’ hands, then headed to center ice for a new face-off. Each shift, each play, was a new moment in time, and we had to shake off the previous goal to focus.

Teddy lost the face-off, and the Dallas centerman passed back to one of his wingers. The three of them pushed toward our net, where Gonzo stood alone like a fortress.

I tried to catch up. Teddy yelled at all of us to pick it up, to stop them. Coach Griff’s screams echoed in my ears.

But it was no use. We weren’t fast enough. Bing. Bang. Save?

I skidded to a stop, ice spraying in front of me. Had that just happened? Gonzo went spread eagle, sliding from post to post to track all three skaters before snapping the puck into his glove.

Someone came to play.

I skated to the bench and collapsed onto the metal seat, breath still heavy. I watched as our second line chased the puck, skating so hard their legs would be dead tonight. I watched our three bench coaches shouting instructions, their voices booming.

My gaze lifted to the stands, where our small but fiercely loyal fanbase hung on every play. We only had one more home game after tonight before a three-week road trip. Our fans, more than anyone, deserved this team.

Mr. Mac deserved it .

My teammates definitely did.

Which was why, when the song Sydney and I had planned came on during a commercial break, I stood and took the ice. The refs didn’t chase me this time, but I felt a presence behind me. Looking back, I spotted Teddy, a goofy grin plastered across his face, his feet planted shoulder-width apart.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

He pulled off his helmet, sliding it across the ice toward the bench. “Haven’t you learned anything, bro?” He lifted his arms, wiggling his fingers in the air. “If you go all jazz fingers, then I do too. We do this together.”

His words—the words of the best friend I’d ever had, or likely ever would—hit me hard.

The guilt gnawed at me as I glanced to where Sydney had been sitting.

She wasn’t there. I figured she was still in the sound booth or had found a better spot to take the video.

But in that moment, I knew seeing Sydney behind her brother’s back wasn’t an option anymore.

Teddy started dancing first, much more animatedly than I’d done before. I watched him for a moment. He was good. Surprisingly good. So, I mirrored his moves, wondering if we looked like we’d choreographed this or were just two idiots goofing around.

He reached for my hand, and I let him take it, unsure of what he was planning. Then, he pulled me close, and we tangoed across the ice.

A bark of laughter shot out of me as Teddy started singing along to Beyoncé, completely offbeat. The moves were all wrong for the rhythm, but when we broke apart, we skated circles around each other, picking up speed before shooting off to opposite ends of the ice .

His fingers danced in the air like he was a damn showgirl, but he could pull it off. Me? I let my feet do the work, grapevining from one board to the other. If we were going to keep doing this, we probably needed real choreography, but I had faith in Sydney’s editing skills.

Our scattered fans yelled and cheered. Even the guys on the bench, less shocked this time, hollered for us.

Our coaches? Not so much.

But we didn’t care.

For the first time in my life, I let go. Of what others thought of me. Of the past, with Sullie and Sam. Of the weight of this team’s impending sale. With Teddy by my side, this was—dare I say it— fun.

And I wanted to do it again. And again.

There was something freeing about bucking the norm.

As the music faded, Teddy dropped to his knees, arms splayed dramatically. I did one final turn and lifted my hands to the fans.

And then, it was over. Our third line scrambled over the boards as the game resumed.

We won the game five to nothing. Shutout. Neither Teddy nor I scored a goal, but I’d never felt more valuable to the team.

When I entered the locker room, the rest of the guys were waiting.

Julian Nightshade—Teddy’s favorite person to call Nighty Night when he wanted to annoy him—stepped forward, eyeing the two of us.

“Okay, you two. Talk.”