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FORTY-FOUR

DANIEL

“Can you taste it?” War yells.

The already wild energy in the locker room ramps up.

“Can you feel it?” He pounds his palm against his chest.

He’s half dressed. Most of us are, as we gear up for tonight’s game.

Our response is a resounding “Yeah Cap!”

“It’s January, boys. We’re halfway there. And we’re number fucking four. Do we want to be number fucking four?” Red-faced, he stalks through the center of the room, careful to avoid the Bolts symbol in the middle. Hockey players are superstitious; the emblem is protected at all costs.

“Fuck no!” one of the rookies shouts.

The rest of us clap and cheer.

War steps in front of the rookie, skates on, his jersey still on the bench. “You’re damn right we don’t. So what are we going to do today?”

“We’re going to win!” the kid replies.

War spins and stomps back toward his locker. “Fuck yeah, we are. Forty-one games down, boys. Forty-one to go. But we aren’t only playing forty-one, are we?”

I grin at Smiles, the fucking grumpy winger beside me. Not only did he take Camden’s spot on the ice, but he was assigned to his old locker. Though it hurt like a bitch, it’s to be expected. In hockey, players come and go. It’s what happens while they’re here that matters. Guys like War, Aiden, Brooks, and Cam, they’ll remain my friends for life. Even if Hannah and I weren’t together, I’d like to think Noah and I would have gotten to where we are now. He’s good people and one hell of a hockey player. That alone would have garnered my respect.

Then there are guys like Smiles. I wouldn’t mind if I never saw him again, but since he’s my teammate—and especially because we’re on the same line—I’m trying.

“No, we’re going to the Cup!” Keegan yells.

“Fuck yeah we are,” War replies. “Okay, Lep, you’re up.”

Aiden is already buzzing with so much energy his entire body is shaking. Dressed in his pants and pads, he jumps up onto the bench and starts his rendition of Ludacris’s “What’s Your Fantasy?”

“We want to win, win, win, win, win, from now to June,

And we want to move from number four to-to number one

And we want to ah-ah, it feels so good we’ll want to repeat

Because us Bolts are living out all our fantasies.”

The guys in the locker room are dropping it down and clapping and humming. The momentum is fire. No one gets a team amped up like Aiden.

The winger next to me? He’s literally glaring.

“Come on, Smiles. Not even you can put me in a bad mood today.”

He grunts. “How disappointing.”

With a wave, I turn back to the guys. The kid isn’t long for this place. It’s too bad too. He’s good on the ice, but with an attitude like that, he’ll be gone by next year. That type of spirit will break down the camaraderie our team is known for. No player—no matter how talented—is worth sacrificing the good of the team.

That’s what I learned this year. The team comes first. Not one of us is irreplaceable when it comes to Boston.

Which is why hockey is no longer my primary focus.

That role is reserved solely for Hannah. Speaking of which…

I pull my phone from my locker, and when I don’t have any new texts, I type out a quick message.

Me: Hey, dream girl. You get to the arena okay?

Dots dance on the screen, then a picture appears. It’s Hannah from the back, head turned so I can see her profile, my last name across her shoulders. The rink is in the background, and my sister is next to her, smiling big. Fuck, I love my life.

Me: Fucking prettiest girl in the entire world. Can’t wait to strip every other article of clothing off you and fuck you with only my jersey on.

Dream Girl: For every goal you score, you’ll earn one orgasm.

Beside me, Noah groans. “The fuck kind of kinky shit are you and Hannah doing now?”

“Why you reading my texts, Beauty?”

“I saw the picture of Hannah and Millie. Figured it was safe. Who the fuck sexts while they’re standing next to their boyfriend’s twin?”

I give him an are you fucking kidding me? smirk. “Your ‘ like a sister .’” I use air quotes to emphasize the stupid term they always use.

He grimaces. “You guys are meant for each other.”

“You know it.” I shoot him a grin. “Besides, how can I be expected not to get hard when I see my last name on her back? You can’t tell me you’ve never imagined a special girl wearing your jersey.”

Jaw flexing, his eyes dart to one side. Interesting. Nothing riles the guy up. Nothing. What the hell has him so sensitive today?

“When are you going to make her last name your last name?” he says.

I grab my own jersey and pull it over my head. I’ll let him get away with the subject change, but I’m not done with that conversation. “I have a plan. But you can’t rush perfection.”

Noah clasps my shoulder, pulling me in close. “Hope she says yes. Then you’d be like a brother to me too.” He whispers the like a brother part seductively.

I scrunch my shoulders, my whole body shuddering.

“I’m already hard from your sister. Don’t make it weird.”

He pushes me into the locker and spins away.

Like I said, I love my life.

I score my first goal less than five minutes into the game. The moment the biscuit hits the back of the net, I spin on the ice and find Hannah in the stands. She’s screaming her freaking head off as I skate toward her and bang on the glass. I blow her a kiss, then skate backward toward our bench. I used to moonwalk across the ice after I scored. This is so much better.

I sink the puck again during the second period. We’re up 4-0. We’re on fucking fire. This time, I moonwalk to the glass and spin toward my girl. Only her seat is empty. Millie’s too. My smile falls, along with my shoulders.

Keegan grabs my jersey and yells at me to be heard over the crowd. “We’re going for a motherfucking hat trick, Playboy. Tonight’s your night.”

Normally, I’d push him away and tell him not to jinx it. Players don’t mention the fucking hat trick until the game is over. Amateur. But I’m too focused on finding Hannah to bother. Instead, I shrug him off and skate for the boards.

Gavin points at center ice where the play is ready to begin again.

I shake my head. “Can’t find Hannah.”

He throws a hand up, then jabs a finger toward the ice again, with a whole lot more force this time. “We’re in the middle of a fucking game, Hall. Get on the ice.”

I’m already climbing over the boards. “Put someone else in. I’ve got a bad feeling.” I drop my gear, then toss my gloves, searching the bench for Sara. She’ll figure out what’s going on.

When I spot her, she’s got her head bowed over her phone, and she’s typing furiously. When she finally looks up, it’s written all over her face. Something is wrong.