Page 24 of One-Time Shot

Coach was pissed. No, worse…he was disappointed.

“You let yourselves down out there. That game was ours to win or lose. We’ve got some work to do. We owe it to this town and those fans. And we owe it to ourselves.” He stretched his beefy hand out. “On three, Bears.”

“Bears!” we yelled.

I slumped off to my corner of the bench to slip off my pads and untie my skates. I needed a hot shower, food, and silence. I hadn’t done anything wrong, but I hadn’t done anything remarkable either.

Pathetic much?

The solemn mood lifted at the prospect of a postgame get-together. Was I in? I tucked my towel around my waist and gave a noncommittal grunt, rescuing my cell from my locker after showering.

A new message from Malcolm lit up my screen.

FYI—As you know, I was in attendance this evening. It was difficult to see the puck, let alone decipher which shots were implemented. But it was a fast-paced and pleasant diversion. Thank you for the invitation.

So businesslike, so Maloney.

My heart beat like a drum in my chest, and a sappy grin tugged at the corners of my mouth. I chewed on my bottom lip and mulled over an appropriate response.

Glad you came. Ready to get to work?No, that was too casual. How about…Thanks for coming. We should get started on that lesson. Tomorrow?

I pressed Send and set my phone aside to finish getting dressed.

Thumbs-up emoji.11 a.m. at my place?

I liked his message.Your address?

He supplied the info and followed it up with,Sorry for your loss.

No one died, Maloney. It was just a game.

I know.Another thumbs-up emoji.You’ll win the next one.

I shoved my cell into my bag and tied my shoelaces, rejoining the conversation in the locker room, feeling lighter than I had all night. Someone threw a roll of tape at me, I retaliated by tossing my sweat-soaked jersey. The banter turned to juvenile taunts mixed with our own take on our loss. It wasn’t negative, though.

No one blamed Brady for the terrible pass or me for not getting the shot off before Trinity’s defense got involved. One play didn’t make or break a game, and we could learn from this. We had time to get better and make something of our season.

And this was why I loved hockey and this group of guys. I loved the brotherhood, the acknowledgment that we were in this together. I had a tendency to hold on to disappointment—play with it like a ball of dough I could reshape into something more palatable. Tonight, I let it go. Malcolm was right; we’d win the next one.

The guys were making plans—pizza and beer at Vincento’s. Was I in?

I nodded, hiked my bag onto my shoulder, and typed one last text.

Thanks. See you tomorrow.

CHAPTER8

JETT

“As I live and breathe.There’s a hockey player on my doorstep.” The tattooed girl with short dark hair, purple eyeliner, and red lips who’d sat next to Malcolm at the game fluttered her lashes.

I pushed my hand toward her. “Hi, there. I’m Jett.”

“I know who you are. I’m Layla. Come on in.” She ushered me into the apartment, calling Malcolm as she shut the door. “He’ll be out in a sec. Want anything to drink? Coffee, tea, tequila?”

“Water?”

“We’ve got that, too.” She returned with a water bottle and gave me a thorough once-over. “So you agreed to help Mal. Very cool of you.”