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CHAPTER 19

DECK

SUCCESS AND CELEbrATION. IDIOT.

The following week was a whirlwind. My mind was torn in so many directions, I fully expected to play like shit. I kept thinking about the call with my brother—he’d sort of insinuated that my dad might not be doing well. Or that something was going on with Mom? At any rate, I knew things at home might not be good. But had I given up my right to be worried about them?

If that was true, why had Lambert called?

And just the knowledge that he was still using was plaguing me. I knew I should tell my parents, but I had a feeling they already knew.

We were on the road again, this time facing the Land Sharks in Toronto. I was determined to be 100 percent focused on travel and practice, going into the game at the Land Sharks’ arena.

Lizzy was with us, which was a bit of a distraction. But she kept her distance, and I often saw her wandering around the perimeter of the arena, as if she was trying to get her steps in or something. She was a very interesting woman, and the more I got to know her, the more I wanted to date her for real.

But Lizzy had made it clear, in no uncertain terms, that there was nothing between us.

The thing was, I wasn’t sure I believed her.

At this point? I didn’t want her to fake date me. I wanted her to real date me.

But I also didn’t need the coach on my back about the no-fraternization rule.

Miraculously, very little of that was on my mind when I took the ice against the Land Sharks. It felt a lot like like redemption. The Land Sharks came in hard, throwing their weight around early, but we didn’t let them dictate the game. We matched their pace, played smart, and every line showed up ready to battle. It wasn’t perfect—no game ever is—but we stuck to the plan, controlled the neutral zone, and forced them into mistakes. The energy on the bench was different tonight, like everyone knew we had this one in us. And when the final horn sounded, the scoreboard backed it up.

For me, this felt like the game I needed. After that mess last time, I knew I had to be better, and I was. I stayed sharp and made plays instead of watching them happen. Set up our first goal with a clean cross-ice feed, then buried one myself in the second—picked the top corner off a rebound, and didn’t overthink it. Even off the puck, I was where I needed to be, cutting off passing lanes, winning board battles, making the kind of plays that don’t show up on the scoresheet but make the difference between winning and losing.

Walking off the ice, sweat still dripping, all I could think was: this is how it’s supposed to feel. Not frustration, not regret—just that deep, buzzing satisfaction of knowing I did my job. We did our job. The Wombats took care of business, and I made damn sure I was part of it.

The Land Sharks played at our arena two days later, and the games were like bookends, cementing my confidence that no matter what was going on at home, this was where I belonged.

On my way out of the arena that evening after our home game, I bumped into Coach. He did something he rarely did—he stopped me by the arm, spun me to face him, clapped me on the back. And he smiled the whole time.

The next day, we had a team meeting before an easy practice and then a day off. Lizzy was there, looking nervous.

“Hey,” I said, smiling at her. I was happy to see her. I was always happy to see her.

“Hey,” she returned. “I’m supposed to tell the team about the PR idea today.”

Ha. That’s why Lizzy looked so nervous.

“Well, it’s a great idea, and you know it. And I’ve got your back.”

“Thanks, Declan. I might need it.”

I shook my head. “You won’t. You’ll do great.”

A couple of minutes later, the coach urged us all to sit. And by urged, I mean yelled until we did it. Then, with very little by way of introduction, he pointed at Lizzy and gestured toward the front of the room.

To her credit, she marched up there like she owned the place. I marveled again at her confident posture—and at her biceps.

Since she’d been here, I hadn’t had a chance to ask about her lifting regimen, but I guessed she’d been keeping it up. And the dresses she wore did nothing but favors for her physique.

Not that I should have been noticing any of that. But I couldn’t help it.

“Hi.” Lizzy blushed in the front of the room, and my chest constricted a tiny bit.

I wanted to rush up there and help her. I didn’t want her to feel uncomfortable or nervous. This was just us—the dudes, the guys, the Wombats.

But I understood why she might have felt a little pressure.

“So, as you know, I have been brought in to build, reinforce, and amplify the image of the Wilcox Wombats.” Lizzy was about to continue, but she couldn’t—because there was loud cheering, hooting, and clapping from the team.

She smiled, waiting for them to calm down, and I could see the applause had given her a bit of confidence.

I was glad.

“Anyway, I brainstormed with both Declan and Joey Baxter, and I think I’ve got a couple of really great ideas for you. But I don’t want to do anything without the team’s full approval.”

Lizzy paused, clasping her hands in front of her and looking around the room. Her shoulders were back, her chin was high, and I could see that confidence returning.

“What’s the plan, then?” Coach asked in a gruff voice.

“Well, it’s really threefold. The first part is linking the team to a charitable cause. Combining forces with another organization amplifies any public relations efforts we make. And any kind of time or money we can give to a charitable organization only benefits the Wombats—by demonstrating your commitment to the community in which you live and work.”

Well done, Lizzy.

The Wombats clapped and cheered again, until the coach gave us all dirty looks and told us to shut up.

“So that’s part one—we need to select a charity that fits the bill.

“Part two will sound a little strange, but please bear with me. I’d like to spend some time doing a photo shoot with the Wombats team members.”

“A photo shoot?” The coach did not sound excited. “These guys aren’t models, Lizzy. Some of them don’t even have all their teeth.”

After he said this, Adam Wyler popped up and removed the bridge that held the four front teeth he’d lost last year when we played against the Storm Chasers. He held the bridge up like a trophy, grinning his gap-toothed smile as everyone laughed.

Lizzy, however, looked a bit concerned.

“Don’t worry, I’ll keep them in for the pictures,” Adam said before taking his seat again.

The room quieted, and Lizzy continued. “The idea would be to put together a charity calendar featuring the Wombats and highlighting one particularly impressive feature of real wombats.”

I waited for the delivery of the final bit, hoping Lizzy could do it—hoping she’d practiced a bit more than when she’d told me the idea.

“I don’t know how many of you are familiar with how wombats behave in the wild, but they are fascinating creatures. They’re marsupials, which you probably know, but their pouches are actually upside down,” she said, looking around at the gathered men who all wore slightly quizzical expressions. “That’s so that when they dig, which they’re really adept at, they don’t end up shoveling dirt into the pouch.”

“Ah,” murmured a few more interested players.

“And even though they’re pretty short and squat, they move astonishingly fast, like twenty-five miles an hour.”

“Just like Van!” yelled someone in the back.

“Shut it,” Van said, sounding amused.

“They also do an interesting thing with their feces,” Lizzy said.

But Sly Remington was already talking. “Yeah, yeah. They poop cubes. And they stack them, like Jenga towers. It’s amazing.”

“Leave it to Sly to know everything there is to know about wombat poop,” Rock Stevens said, earning a laugh.

“Right, but the other really amazing thing about these creatures is the way they use their butts.” The laughter had already begun.

Coach stood up and faced the room. “Is there ever going to be a day when any of you might not act like six-year-olds?” The answer was no. But nobody was going to say that to the coach. We quieted down and waited for Lizzy to finish.

“So when a predator follows a wombat into its burrow, trying to eat it, the wombat squats down low and waits until the predator’s head is above its rear end. Then, with amazing force and power, it pushes its body up against the burrow entrance and crushes the predator’s head between the hard, plate-like structures of its butt and the top of the hole.”

“Killer butt,” Solamentes said, looking pleased. There were other sounds of glee around the room, and when it was quiet again, Lizzy went on.

“So, the calendar would highlight this aspect of your anatomy as well—but in a tasteful way, of course. We could sell the calendars at the games, and all or some of the proceeds could benefit the charity you select.”

Everyone looked at the coach expectantly.

“Yeah, fine. Good.”

Lizzy looked as surprised as I was that Coach had bought in. That was great. She still needed to talk about Wilma the Wombat, but Coach was already diving into his expectations for the next week, when the team had a bye. He pointed at Lizzy, telling her this would be the best time for the photo shoot. She agreed. We were excused then, and Derek Reed approached Lizzy at the same time I did.

“Hey, Lizzy?”

“Yes?” She turned to him.

“I think the calendar’s a great idea. And I have a friend who’s a professional photographer. I don’t know her schedule, but I could ask about next week if you haven’t already lined one up?”

“That would be amazing. Thank you.”

I stepped closer to Lizzy’s side, my arm brushing against her elbow. Her skin was soft, and I could feel the slight tremble in her body. “Killed it, Lizzy.”

“Thank you,” she said, smiling and relaxing a bit. “I honestly think telling you first was good practice for presenting it to the coach.”

“Well, he bought in. Success and celebration.” I had no idea why I said that. It didn’t make any sense. I felt like an idiot.

But Lizzy made me nervous sometimes.