Page 11 of The Poster Boy (Love The Game #3)

Jay

S coreless after the first.

Scoreless after the second.

Halfway through the third and there were still a couple of goose eggs on the scoreboard. The crowd was desperate for someone to score, and their disappointment every time Myers made the save was palpable.

I hated to admit that the kid was good. And it wasn’t that Church wasn’t, but he’d been off from the start of the season and hadn’t been able to get his shit together. If he’d been in net, it would have been a different game entirely.

With seven minutes left on the clock, we poured every ounce of energy we had left into trying to get a goal in the books, but they might as well have nailed a piece of plywood over the front of the net.

Every chance we created, their goalie shut down.

The only good thing about that was our goalie was doing the same to them.

Four minutes on the clock and I smashed Brayden Nielson into the boards. The whistle blew to stop play, but that didn’t stop Brayden from running his mouth.

“Now, now. You heard Myers. Don’t be an asshole, Brookbank.

” He grinned at me when he said it. I liked him as a general rule.

We’d played against each other before plenty of times, and he was fun to chat with.

His eyes sparkled, purely fucking with me, but the interaction with Myers ate at me.

I thought about dropping the gloves and taking my frustration out on Brayden, but he skated away before I got a chance.

Two minutes left on the clock.

Boone got a breakaway. Faked left. Shot right. Was shut down by their goalie, who dumped the puck down to our end of the ice while they changed lines.

One minute left. Their fresh line took the fight down to our end of the ice. I watched from the bench as our guys fought along the boards.

Ten seconds.

They took control of the puck. Passed it up to the blue line.

Eight seconds. The forward passed it to the left wing.

A pass intended for the right wing that Griffin intercepted but lost the puck a second later to Brayden.

Three seconds left.

The puck sailed through the air, but Myers plucked it out of the sky and dumped it back into play, letting the clock wind down to zeroes.

Scoreless at the end of three.

Everyone on the ice skated for their benches. We had a two-minute break to strategize before our five-minute overtime. Two minutes seemed entirely too long in some ways and not long enough in others.

Coach O’Neil shot me a look. I’d spent one too many shifts in the penalty box this game, and I couldn’t even blame the reffing. “If I put your ass on the ice, are you going to keep your fists in the gloves where they belong?”

“I’ ll do my best.”

Coach might have more to say about it after the game, but for now he slid his gaze away from me and looked at Myers.

“And you. Do you think you have five more minutes of magic in you? They’re going to throw everything they have at you. Watch your stick side. You’re not as solid there, and they’ve picked up on it.”

The little critique of Myers’ performance went a long way to soothing my own bruised ego.

I didn’t much care what Myers thought of me, but I had to admit to being a bit pissed that he’d called me an asshole in front of a guy from the other team.

It might have contributed to how many penalty minutes I’d accrued after that.

It was all water under the bridge now as far as I was concerned.

Our two minutes were up. Five fresh minutes went on the clock, and we won the first face-off.

It was Boone, Vasily, and me on the ice for the first shift.

We’d managed to eke out a couple scoring chances, but Calgary wasn’t easy to beat.

Momentum shifted in their favor, and they battled in front of our net.

A shot ricocheted off the post and back into play.

Myers stopped an easy shot and dumped the puck down their end.

I was back on the ice again with more than three minutes of overtime already gone.

I knew we had to give everything we had.

With less than a minute left, we tried to get the puck back down the ice for another shot at their brick wall of a goalie, but Calgary had some kind of rabbit’s foot up their sleeve because we couldn’t make shit happen no matter how hard we fought. The puck stayed in our end.

Coach had warned Myers about his weak stick side.

About Brayden’s skill at faking one direction then snapping the puck somewhere else.

I saw it all unfold as it happened. Brayden pretended to go stick side, and Myers prepared for it, but at the last second, when it was too late for Myers to readjust, Brayden flicked the puck the other direction.

It sailed over Myer’s glove and hit the back of the net.

We fucking lost.

Myers stared up at the scoreboard like he couldn’t believe he’d let that one slip past him. He’d been so focused on his weak stick side that he’d easily fallen for the last minute fake-out.

Calgary cleared their bench. Everyone hit the ice and skated to their net to celebrate with their goalie.

Our guys were on the ice with a little less enthusiasm.

Except for Andrew, who was the first one over to Myers to bonk their helmets together.

I watched him pat him on the head like a little kid before the other guys followed suit.

Boone skated past me and gave me a little shove in the right direction.

“Make nice. He did good.”

“I am nice.”

“Is that what you call it?” Boone’s smile didn’t reach his eyes.

“Talk to Myers. He’s the one who called me an asshole.” What was I? Five? Sticks and stones and all that. Names shouldn’t hurt. Couldn’t. But it bothered me that Myers thought I was an asshole.

It pissed me off that we lost. Not because it was anyone’s fault, but because we’d had a win within our grasp and losing it after being so close was a hard pill to swallow.

Boone shook his head and skated away from me. Fair enough. I didn’t want to be around myself either. But I made nice and skated up to Myers. I clapped him on the arm and his head spun around, his expression turning fiery when he realized it was me.

“Good game,” I told him, trying my best to get rid of the asshole tone from my voice.

Not that I was capable of that, as I discovered, because my words came out more bitter than I’d meant them to sound.

But it was the look on Myers’s face. He looked at me like I was a piece of dogshit that he’d stepped on.

He didn’t respond. Maybe that was better. If we were going to butt heads, the less we interacted, the better off we’d be. We filed off the ice after the customary handshake. Brayden gave me a saucy wink and promised to kick our asses even harder next time.

The mood in the dressing room was a lot better than I’d expected. The guys seemed to be jazzed, even though we’d lost. Maybe because right up until that shot went in, we’d thought we had a chance. And we fought like it.

Myers was the last one to make it to the weight room. He dropped down onto an exercise bike next to Andrew. He started off slow while he stuffed his face with an orange.

“What took you so long?” I heard Andrew ask. Before Myers could get a word out, he continued. “Ah yes, the fans. What did they want to know now? They must know everything about you by now.”

I didn’t catch Myers’s answer because I stuffed my earbuds in and turned my music on. For the rest of the workout, Marek Myers didn’t exist.

He didn’t exist until we were loading onto the bus to head for the airport. The game in Calgary had been an early start, and the flight to Minnesota would only take a couple hours. We’d be tucked up in our hotel at a decent enough hour.

Boone saved me a seat near the middle of the bus, and I dropped down into it .

He chatted away with Vasily, a center born in Russia but raised in the States, about a sweet shot he’d taken.

“Too bad it didn’t go in.”

“You’ll get the next one,” Boone assured him.

“Man, we were so close tonight.” Vasily bounced in his seat like an energetic puppy.

Boone reached into his bag and fished out a package of trail mix and handed it to me. “Eat up, buttercup.”

“Thanks, Cap.”

“You too, Vas.” Boone tossed another bag at him. He never went far without some kind of snack and he took a bag out for himself.

The last one off the ice. The last one to the dressing room.

The weight room. The showers. The bus. Myers finally showed up, Coach hot on his heels, but grinning like it wasn’t a big deal.

Myers took the available seat near the front, and I looked away, biting the bag of trail mix between my teeth to tear it open.

With Vas distracted, though, Boone was free to turn his attention to me.

“I thought I told you to sort your attitude.” Boone kept his voice low, but it wasn’t exactly a conversation I wanted to have on the bus.

“I did. Take it up with Myers. He called me an asshole.”

Boone let out a sigh. “Well, if the skate fits. Jesus Christ, Brooksie.”

Church popped his head up over the back of our seat. “What’s Brookbank in trouble for this time?” he asked.

It was Vasily who answered. “Being mean to Myers.” Upon seeing my shocked face, he simply shrugged. “Boone doesn’t whisper as quietly as you two think he does. And everyone can see the looks you toss the guy.”

Well, shit . Great. I shot Boone a dirty look, shoved my earbuds in my ears, and closed my eyes. Peace lasted about three seconds before Boone plucked the earbud out of the ear closest to him.

“Listen, Jay. I’m sorry.”

Slowly, I turned my head toward Boone. “You’re sorry that I’m an asshole?”

Boone grinned. “That too.”

“I really was going to make nice, you know. But he called me an asshole in front of Brayden, and it pissed me off.”

Boone laughed at me and dropped my earbud into my lap. “Everything pisses you off. Make nice with Myers.”

“Is that an order from my captain?”

Boone arched an eyebrow at me. “Does it have to be?”

I stuffed the earbud back in my ear, but before I turned my music on to ignore everyone, I looked at Boone. “No, it doesn’t.”

“Good boy, Brooksie.”

“I hate you.”

Boone laughed. “You try, but I’m impossible to hate.”

“I’ll just have to keep trying.”

“Oh, Brooksie, you’re so ornery. It’d be scary if it wasn’t so cute.”

Sick of Boone’s shit, I turned my music on and shut my eyes.

In my head, I went over every moment of the game.

I went over the chances we created and the saves Myers made.

He was good. But Church was my friend, and I hated that he was off his game.

I needed Church back in net and for things to go back to normal.

Maybe then it would be easier to give Myers a break.

In the meantime, I’d have to keep my head down and try not to let his existence annoy me.