Page 6

“Woof. Woof.”

“You can’t be serious,” Dash says, staring at me like I’ve just confessed to murder, but it could also be that it’s impossible to read his expression under that goalie mask.

“What’s wrong, bro?” I cringe as soon as the word leaves my mouth. Bro. Dash could one day be my actual brother. It was a nice thought when we were kids. Now? Not so much.

“Am I dreaming? I can’t be the only one who thinks this is crazy.” Dash stares at me for a beat, then turns, looking behind him for backup even though there’s no one there.

Admittedly, I surprised the team when I showed up for practice today, all of whom looked equally perplexed at my new best friend, and peppered me with a litany of questions. Dash, however, is the only one taking the news badly.

“Why is this crazy?” I ask, playing dumb.

He skates forward, getting all up in my business. Now I can clearly see his eyes narrowing. “You got a dog.” He doesn’t sound angry, just incredulous, as though it’s the single most unhinged thing I’ve ever done. Clearly, he’s forgotten about the cage fights.

I glance down at the wriggling ball of fluff in my arms, who’s completely unbothered that my best friend is growling at him like a bear. He’s too busy batting my chin with his oversized paws, tongue flopping out like he’s having the best day of his life.

“Yeah,” I say proudly, bending down to place him on the ice. He immediately takes to it, prancing around like it’s second nature to walk on. “I’d like to introduce you all to our newest team mascot, Stanley Biscuit Bright.”

Henry skates close to my dog, beckoning him with his hand. “I think I’m going to call him Mr. Biz,” he says, scratching Stanley’s ears.

Dash grumbles lowly, thinking I can’t hear him.

He hates that Henry and I have become friends after everything.

Personally, I think it’s a little hypocritical of Dash to be annoyed.

Much like my best friend, Henry had a secret relationship with my sister in high school, then cheated on her.

He’s an ass but showed up for me at Behind Closed Doors when I needed him the most. Namely, when Luke was letting his goons, Cal and Mark, beat the crap out of me for daring to talk to his precious girlfriend.

Although Dash remains still, looking at me like I’ve developed two heads, the rest of the guys fall for the same adorable face I did when I went to the animal shelter.

Did I plan to walk into the shelter yesterday and leave with a dog? No. Did I have a choice after seeing this guy on death row? Also no.

The minute Stanley waddled toward me with his grumpy grandpa face and tongue flopping out like a pink welcome mat, I knew he was mine.

With those massive paws and eyes that judged me harder than my mother ever could, I knew I needed him in my life.

I'd only ever had that gut-level certainty once before, and well, that ended with my face rearranged and two shiners that lasted three weeks.

This adoption will hopefully involve less bleeding.

“What kind of dog is he?” Scotty asks, crouching down as Stanley jumps on his hind legs, begging for attention.

“He’s a bernedoodle?” With a brown underbelly, white chest and black top, Stanley’s coat is anything but simple. He’s a beautiful dog, estimated to be seven months old, and I’m looking forward to seeing how big he gets.

“You speaking French?” Erik chimes in. “What the heck is a bernedoodle?”

“It’s a mix between a poodle and a mountain dog. They assume that’s what he is based on his coloring.”

“So he’s a fancy mutt?”

I shrug. “Maybe. I don’t care what he is, though. He’s mine now and that’s all that matters.”

Dash exhales sharply next to me. “Who’s going to look after him?”

I snort. “Me.” Obviously.

He continues to stare at me, that silent judging face. Shit. Is this why Stanley was so appealing to me? Because he looks at me with the same contempt as my best friend?

“I’ve been lonely in my apartment,” I admit. “Coach already said Stanley can come to practice as long as my performance doesn’t go down.”

“Your performance won’t drop,” Dash says.

Then tilts his head toward the rest of the team, and I smile.

Erik, Scotty, and Henry are all actively passing pucks to Stanley like he’s their newest teammate.

All the while, my dog prances between them, and has already learned the only way to stop is to drop to his belly in what I’m calling a sploot.

“But what about everyone else’s?” Dash finishes.

“They’ll be fine. He’s going to sit in the stands during practice.”

Dash crosses his arms, shaking his head. “And who’s going to make sure he stays there?”

“Really? You’re asking me that?” Plain-faced, I point at all the friends and family who are sitting on the side of the rink. Most notably the manically waving blonde at the boards, who’s desperately trying to get Stanley’s attention.

“Madison is usually here. When she’s not, there are plenty of dog lovers on the team.”

More grumbles from my overthinking goalie. “What about when we’re on the road? Who’s going to look after Stanley then?”

“You seem to be underestimating my sister’s love of dogs. I video called her when I was still at the shelter. Good thing you weren’t with her. You would’ve tried to talk me out of it.”

“Because it’s insane. You’re a college student. You don’t have time for a dog.”

I lift a brow. “Not much else is going on in my life, Dash. Now that I’m off campus and in an apartment of my own. I’m not going to many parties, and the hockey dorm has lost all of its appeal recently.”

That shuts him up. The only reason I’m in self-exile is because of his actions.

“Oh my goodness!” Madison’s squeals interrupt us. She’s still at the boards, looking at Stanley in awe. “So this is Stanley Biscuit?” she asks as though he’s not the only dog in the rink.

“It’s Mr. Biz,” Henry corrects as he skates by and Madison shoves him in the back, only making him fall forward.

Henry’s a hockey player, so his reflexes are quick, but he still lets out a small cry in protest since he knows he can’t do anything with her overprotective brother and built-like-a-brick boyfriend around.

“Madison can’t have him in her dorm,” Dash says, still trying to sour my mood.

“No. You’re forgetting I have an extra room she can sleep in.

” I leave out that she only agreed so she could see me more.

When I first moved into my apartment, she decorated the two bedrooms with a promise of coming back for the rest of the place.

I haven’t had her over since. The sad reality of avoiding them together means I’ve been reluctant to invite either of them over.

“Stanley!” Madison calls, and as if he’s already accustomed to his name and knows who his aunt is, he bounds over and scrapes at the boards to try to get to her.

Scotty crouches, picks him up, and hands him over to Madison. Her eyes water as she cradles my dog like a damn baby.

“I think someone needs a nose boop,” she coos, booping his nose before nuzzling into his fur.

Stanley lets out a friendly yelp like he’s already found his favorite human. I knew they’d be best friends.

Dash?

Still brooding, but that isn’t unlike him.

“And what are you going to do when Madison is traveling with us on away games? Hell, what are you going to do when you go pro? You’re never going to be around for him.”

I roll my eyes, wondering how Dash functions on a good day. So many questions, so much reluctance for change, I do wonder how my sister managed to convince him to keep their relationship a secret for as long as they did. I bet it was eating him up inside. Good. He deserved it.

I pat my friend on his shoulder. “Stop worrying so much about the future. Things will figure themselves out. They always do.”

“If you say so…” Dash levels me with a look. I know that look well. It means I’m in for a lecture. Pfft. He’s one to talk.

Madison giggles like a kid when Stanley licks her cheek, pulling all of Dash’s attention away from me.

“And here you are worried about my focus. Your obsession with my sister is making it far too easy to whoop your ass.”

I skate around him, knocking my stick into the back of his legs. Dash stumbles but somehow manages to stay upright. Good for him. At least he’s getting better at refocusing. I skate away and gather up pucks, ready to whack them in my friends’ faces all in the name of practice.

As the rink calms and practice gets underway, Stanley sits obediently behind the boards with Madison, his tail wagging lazily as he watches us. It’s been twenty minutes, but his team mascot status has clearly been solidified.

I’m mid-drill with Erik, weaving around the cones while keeping the puck close to my stick like it’s on an invisible leash.

The sound of skates cutting into the ice echoes loudly in the empty arena, mixing with the occasional bark of encouragement from our mascot.

The crisp scent of ice and cold metal fills my nostrils as I push harder, focusing on my speed and control.

I can feel the burn in my legs as I accelerate, but when we reach the end of the drill, Erik beats me by a fraction of a second.

“Looks like you’re slowing down, Bright,” Erik says with a smirk, skating backward as he twirls his stick in one hand. His breath fogs up briefly in the cold air before disappearing.

“Yeah, or you’re getting faster.” I skate behind him, catching up easily.

“Nope. It’s all you. My times are the same. So that leads me to wonder, what are you going to do about it?”

“About slowing down?” I ask, confused. Erik has this smug look on his face, and I’m not sure if he’s constipated or he thinks he’s got one up on me solely because he beat me in one drill exercise. “Nothing?”

He tuts. “That’s loser mentality bullshit. A winner would be looking at ways to improve and do things that might make them better.”

I raise an eyebrow, still breathing hard. “Where are you going with this?”