Page 60 of Sexting the Coach

“Squids!”

“What are we going to do!”

“Leave it on the ice!”

They’re vibrating with energy now, their voices booming through the locker room. I stand in the middle of it, nodding, turning, clapping them on the shoulders.

“That’s fucking right,” I say, “now, get out of my face.”

They file out of the locker room, jostling, hooting, raising their sticks in the air. This is what it should look like before a hockey game.

This sport has been cooling down since I first became a fan. Things are slightly more civil. Fights happen less often now, certainly they feel less fun than when I was a kid, watching the gloves fly on the ice.

But I’m tired of this lukewarm energy.

“It’s not the fucking play-offs,” Fincher quips when I go to walk by him.

Just another one of his little comments. Any other day, I would walk by him. Last week, my mind would have been too preoccupied to give a fuck about him.

But now?

“What the fuck did you say?”

He blinks, surprised when I whirl around to face him. Comically, he backs up but finds he has nowhere to go.

But I’m not laughing. He might have a few inches and a few years on me, but he and I both know I’d lay him out if it came to it. And I’ve got plenty of other shit to be pissed off about right now.

“Coach,” Bernie says, reaching out and putting his hand on my arm.

“You got something to say,” I say, pushing Bernie’s arm away and focusing in on Fincher, whose lips pull in tight. “You say it to my face, is that clear? I’m the head coach. If you don’t like it, fucking quit. The next time you make a little comment under your breath, I’m not going to be so forgiving.”

I turn and blow out of the locker room, pushing past several Rangers staff, knowing this little confrontation is probably going to make the rounds quickly. It’ll probably be on social media by the opening face-off.

But I don’t give a fuck.

Right now, the only thing I’m focusing on is the game we’re about to win.

Chapter 25

Elsie

“Elsie!”

Mabel and Hattie are outside the bathroom, knocking gently, their voices carrying through the door. I can hardly hear them through the ringing in my ears.

In my hand I hold a little white stick. Something I’ve only ever seen on movies and television. Drew’s my older sibling, and my mom wasn’t pregnant after me. I had no sisters or friends who managed to get themselves into this situation.

Hand shaking, I set the thing down on the sink. It’s probably gross, considering the fact that I peed on it, but I can’t think about germs right now. I can’t think, full stop.

With Jonathan, we weresocareful. I was on birth control, and near the end, we were together so infrequently that I hardly thought about it anymore.

“Elsie!”It’s Mabel’s voice, firm but concerned. The knob twists under her hand. “Are you alive? Do I need to pick this lock? You need to say something, or?—”

I only realize I’ve leaned forward and flipped the latch on the door when Hattie and Mabel come stumbling through, nearly plowing face-first into the vanity.

On top of which rests the pregnancy test with the two little pink lines.

Hattie and Mabel fall silent. Hattie raises her hand, covers her mouth with it.