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Chapter Thirteen

EXPOSING MY WEAKNESS

Game One Second Round of Playoffs

~~Levi~~

It’s game on, and I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.

I attempt to put my botched conversation with Junie in the back corner of my mind and focus on the task at hand. That’s what any good professional would do.

I sit on the bench and watch the first line take the ice. I’m envious, but I’m fully aware I’m not there yet. Someday that will be me. I have high aspirations. At the risk of sounding conceited, I also have the talent to match those aspirations.

Axel, Cave, and Banks skate together like a well-oiled machine, which is amazing considering they haven’t been together long as a line. Regardless, they have the talent and experience to pull it off. Being on the fourth line can be frustrating as it’s a constant revolving door of rookies being called up for a short time, along with guys being sent back down when others come off injuries. Currently, my line is composed of all rookies, including Felix Johansson, a Swede who’s the greatest guy until he gets drunk, then watch out, and Landon Wilcox, brother to Bryce. Landon was called up in March. I’m not sure what I think of him. He takes cocky to an entirely new level, but playing in this league has a tendency to humble a guy, especially us rookies. He’ll learn soon enough.

I wait expectantly for our shift, ready to vault over the boards at any second. When our turn comes, Felix and I catapult ourselves onto the ice. Landon, on the other hand, must be half asleep. He’s a full step behind us. Meanwhile, Edmonton takes advantage of his sluggishness. They race down the ice. I turn on the afterburners in hot pursuit. I’m a fast, maneuverable skater. Sometimes too fast, and this was one of those times. I completely over-skate my opponent. Stupid rookie mistake, and Edmonton capitalizes on my line’s inexperience. Their right winger slides a pass over to the center who’s loitering in front of the net. The center shoots a laser over Vick’s head. He didn’t see it coming because I blocked his view. If I hadn’t over-skated none of this would’ve happened.

Scowling, I turn my back on Edmonton’s goal celly.

I’m pissed at myself, Landon, and the world in general. I skate over to our goalie and tap him on the leg pads with my stick. “Sorry, I fucked up.”

Vick pushes the mask up to his forehead and nods. “Hey, shit happens. You aren’t the only one.” He glares pointedly at Landon. “I saw that shot coming from a mile away, just couldn’t stop it.”

“Like you said, shit happens.” We share a wry chuckle before he pulls the mask down and positions himself back in net. Edmonton’s really rubbing it in. The bastards. My teammates hover around our captain like hummingbirds at a bright-colored flower, though I’m sure he wouldn’t appreciate my comparing him to a flower.

“What the fuck?” growls Ice. “You’d think they never scored a goal before.”

I agree. We’re all impatient to get the game going again. Edmonton not so much. They’d probably love to end it right here.

Sighing, I skate to the bench and grab my water bottle. The guys are grumbling there, too. I guess we’re all poor sports. I glance around and do a double take. Junie stands next to the boards at the opening to the tunnel.

Our eyes lock, and I break into a slow grin. She answers back with a cool smile, but I’m happy with anything at this point. That’s how pathetic I’ve become. I tip an imaginary hat to her and hurry back for the face-off. Bending over into my stance, I keep my eye on that puck. When it drops, I fight for it as if my life depends on it. I manage to slap it away from the Edmonton center. Felix snags it, and he’s literally racing down the ice for a clean breakaway. There’s no one to challenge him except for the goalie.

He shoots between their goalie’s legs, and the lamp lights, the horn sounds, and we’re now the obnoxious assholes who’re overdoing our celly. Funny how that works. Edmonton glares at us, and I don’t give a shit any more than they did a few minutes earlier.

I skate toward Felix, who’s grinning from ear to ear, as our guys on the ice surround him in bro hugs. The entire arena rocks with cheering, stamping feet, and the playing of the Sockeyes goal song by one of Seattle’s most famous grunge bands.

The first line comes out, and I’m back on the bench. I take another swig of water and glance toward the tunnel area. Junie’s still there in her Sockeyes chef uniform. She’s wearing a big smile and chanting “Let’s Go Sockeyes” along with the raucous crowd. The outfit is fucking sexy, way better than a French maid or a schoolgirl. Maybe I can convince her I’m on the menu and?—

“Fuck, Widdie, you haven’t heard a word I’ve said.”

Startled, I jerk awake out of my Junie stupor. Landon’s glaring at me as if he thinks I’m an idiot. “Sorry, what?”

“Too late now.” Landon clambers over the boards and so do I. We’re back on the ice.

After the near debacle of almost missing my shift change, I force my mind back on business. When I do sneak a glance in the direction of the tunnel, Junie’s gone. I’m relieved and yet not relieved.

For the next period and a half, the game is a tight battle that’s wearing down both teams. The goalies are hot and both defenses are stingy. I’m grateful when the horn blows to signal second intermission. I’m dragging my ass toward the locker room when Junie comes out of the kitchen. She stops as my teammates file by and fist-bumps each guy. Jealousy flares within me, and I squelch it as best I can. No reason to be jealous of a fist-bump. Is this how far I’ve sunk?

When I reach her, I hold out my gloved fist and bump with hers.

She beams and says, “Good game.”

I nod before continuing on. As much as I’d like to hang around and talk with her, I’d be holding up the line of guys, and I’d also be exposing my weakness for her to every asshole on this team. And when it comes to giving a guy shit, every one of them can be an asshole, not that I’m exempt from that status when the situation calls for it.

I’m one of the quintessential playboys on this team, and I have a rep to uphold. Even when Junie and I were hot and heavy, we both dated other people. The guys know this. Jealousy is so not me, because I don’t get attached.

But now I’m backpedaling on my promise to myself.

And even worse, here I am once again thinking about Junie when I should be thinking about hockey.

Felix approaches, and he lifts his chin to point in the direction of Landon. “We need to talk to him.”

“About hogging the puck?” He’s one of those guys who is so impressed with his own worth that he believes no one else is as capable. As a result, he hangs on to the puck too long and misses multiple opportunities. At the end of the last period, Felix had the perfect shot if only Landon would’ve passed to him. He didn’t. Instead, he held on to the puck and proceeded to impress us with his puck handling—not. He lost the puck to Edmonton, who would’ve scored on a breakaway if it hadn’t been for the puck hitting the pipe.

“Yup.”

I stand wearily and follow him across the room, but Landon’s brother, Bryce, has beaten us there. He’s in Landon’s face and chewing his ass out about the very thing we’d planned on bringing up. Only Bryce’s delivery is way more forceful. We stand back and let him have his fun.

From all I’ve heard, when Bryce was a rookie, he was as cocky as his brother until some of the veterans on the team essentially dressed him down.

Landon’s face is beet red. He’s pissed and embarrassed, but he deserves it. I can’t wipe the smirk off my face. This is some of the best locker room entertainment I’ve seen in a long time.

Landon fights back and is definitely in denial, but Ice bolsters Bryce’s words with a few choice ones of his own.

“Landon, there are four other skaters out there, just as capable or more so than you. Listen to your brother. He’s right.”

Landon shrinks a little at the captain’s criticism. His humiliation is obvious, and I turn my head to hide my amusement, though I’m not sure why I’m sparing him. He deserves all of it.

The third period is better. Both teams are grinding hard. It’s one of those games where a guy wonders if anyone will ever score again. The crowd is with us, stamping their feet and cheering for every little good thing we do.

Landon is better this period, but he’s struggling with the being-a-good-teammate portion of his job. He is passing more, but he’s still holding on to the puck too long. With two minutes left, I see a breakaway opportunity and race down the ice shouting for the puck. Rex, a defenseman, sends a stretch pass my direction, but Landon, who’s apparently clueless, intercepts it and skates for the net. That split-second difference allows Edmonton to catch up.

One of their premier forwards pulls an impressively sneaky move on Landon, who doesn’t see him coming. Landon sprawls on the ice, and the Edmonton player streaks toward the net. Their center is already waiting. After a quick pass that catches Vick shifted to the wrong side of the net, Edmonton scores.

Our wild crowd grows quiet.

The Edmonton forward who stole the puck skates past Landon and me. He slows and grins. “Welcome to the league, kid.”

Landon lunges forward. Luckily Rex and I are close by. We grab his arms and shove him back. The coach calls us to the bench and puts in the first line. Next to me, he’s railing at Landon, who hangs his head and says nothing.

That’s the last shift my line has in this game. Coach plays his first and second lines for the last couple minutes. Edmonton has all the momentum. We can’t catch a break. The horn sounds, and the game is over. We trudge down the tunnel while Edmonton celebrates on our home ice. That stings.

In front of me, Landon’s shoulders slump in despair. I get it. I really do. He’s taking this loss very personally, and he should. He fucked up. This league is unforgiving. Every guy out there has incredible talent and skills. They pounce if you give them any kind of opening. Landon gave them an opening they could pull a truck through.

I notice most of the guys avoid Landon, as if whatever he has might be contagious. Even Ice says nothing. I hate to say it, but I almost feel sorry for him. Hey, I was that guy at the beginning of the season.

We shower and dress, and I forget about Landon in anticipation of seeing Junie for our postgame meal.

I hurry to the players’ lounge and stand patiently in line for my dinner. Jasper Flint, known as Cave or Caveman, approaches Landon. He’s the first guy to speak to him since the game ended.

“This league will humble you, but you have to make plans to improve, put this one behind you, and move on to the next.”

Landon nods grimly. Good advice, and I hope he takes it to heart. Right now, I have other priorities more pressing than worrying about a rookie. I played a solid game, no huge mistakes, and I’m pretty sure we can beat these guys next time.

Junie’s assistants plate the side dishes, while she handles the main course. It fucking looks amazing and smells incredible. I’m salivating just thinking about sinking my teeth into that salmon. The old chef had been an excellent cook, but I think Junie might’ve outdone him with this meal.

“Hi, what would you like?” she asks with a friendly smile. I grin back, like a neglected puppy grateful for any scrap he gets.

“Can I have all three?” I’m starving, and I’ll eat every single thing on my already piled plate.

Junie eyes my overflowing plate and laughs. “Absolutely. I’ll fill a second plate.”

I take it from her and balance my two plates, but I don’t move.

I want to ask her out.

This abrupt realization hits me like a bolt of lightning. First, I rarely ask women out on dates. I’m all about hookups, but nothing resembling a date. Second, Junie and I have never dated, just screwed each other’s brains out.

Have I become one of those dumb shits who only wants a woman because he can’t have her? Or is there more to it than that?