Page 37 of Trick Shot (Bainbridge Hockey #4)

Pete

I t’s our last game before regionals and though we wiped the ice with Coleridge last night, they’re back with a vengeance. They’ve got something to prove, and I can’t blame them.

But I can sure as hell stop them.

We’re not the same team we were last fall, even if it was just a couple months ago. Van’s coaching from the bench instead of skating on the first line. Dean’s stepped up in a major way, though, and he’s hitting his stride at the right fucking time.

Mickey’s laser-focused tonight, and I hope he keeps that up for when we face Woodcock in a week and a half. Because it doesn’t matter how hard Coleridge is coming at us right now. We’ll let them wear themselves out so we can win this thing and face our biggest rival at Regionals.

And for Mickey, that rivalry is personal. I don’t know what it is about Dutton Wagner that makes Mick so mad, but the guy can throw him off his game like nobody I’ve ever seen.

Lucky for us, there’s no one on Coleridge’s team who’s nearly that good or that antagonistic.

Sure, they’re trying to rattle us, but it reminds me of the playground insults my brothers used to toss in my direction when I was a wizened eighth-grader.

I was too damn cool and too fucking worldly for their verbal barbs to land, and the check that O’Brien just executed on Will is the equivalent of Henry calling me a doody head at the top of his lungs.

The intent is solid, but the result is pitiful.

The refs miss the hit, and Will rolls his shoulder like there’s a fly buzzing around him.

Damn I love that guy. I love him even more when he sends the puck to Booker without looking then skates forward and turns around to get it right back.

The momentum is in our favor and it’s up to Mickey and me to keep the sharks at bay.

These guys have been chirping since the puck hit the ice, so I’m not surprised when a winger named Sturgis skates in my direction and starts throwing jabs.

“Is it true, big guy?” he asks me, like he’s the first one to come up with that original nickname for a guy my size.

I ignore him because I don’t have time to stand around and yap. I’ve got a game to win. Sturgis won’t shut up, though.

“You fuckin that blonde who can’t keep her mouth shut?

” He’s poking at me and it’s hard not to take the bait, but while Sturgis has been jawing at me, the puck’s been in play.

I watch as Will sends it back to Booker.

It’s an easy pass, one they’ve done a hundred times tonight.

It took that long for Coleridge to crack the code.

But now they have, and O’Brien picks off the pass and sends the puck down the ice toward his teammates.

I leave Sturgis and his asinine comments behind.

The shot goes wide, dumping the puck in the corner.

I’m there in an instant to retrieve it and send it back into play, this time in the direction of Coleridge’s next.

Dean gets the puck, and we all follow that little rubber disc like it holds the secrets of the universe.

Sturgis skates up beside me like we’re kids at a birthday party taking a lap around the rink. “Your little jersey chaser stirred up some shit,” he says, stirring the pot himself.

The ref blows a whistle, calling a penalty on Coleridge. I turn to Sturgis. “You ever lose a tooth in a game?” I ask him.

“The fuck? No.” Confusion crosses his face, but I clear things right up.

“If you want your pretty smile to stay that way, keep your fucking mouth shut about my girlfriend.”

The whistle blows and I’m off again, leaving Sturgis behind to wonder what the hell just happened.

Damn O’Brien just picked off another pass, so I’m heading in his direction, taking my time and waiting for just the right moment to snag the puck. I catch him off guard and Will’s barreling down the ice once again. Sturgis is waiting for him, though, so he sends that little biscuit back to me.

Hockey’s a fast-paced game. Gramma’s been watching all of us play for years and she still swears she never knows where the puck is.

I’ve got the puck now and though I’m tempted to whip it back to Will, he’s still in trouble.

I stay calm, look around, and weigh my options.

Skating forward, I lift one foot off the ice and send my shot through.

It sails right past O’Brien’s shin guards and into the net beyond, taking their goalie by surprise.

I let out my signature howl as Will claps me on the back.

I can hear Ollie and Van cheering from the bench.

My shift is almost up, so I chance a glance up into the stands and my gaze lands on Claire after just a few seconds.

She‘s with her girl crew, but her smile is just for me, and it feels real. That’s becoming a problem. We’re fooling everyone, even ourselves.

Or maybe it’s just me.

I offered her one of my jerseys to wear this weekend, but she declined because Mel made all the girls matching shirts using the Cricut Will’s mom gave her for Christmas. I can’t be mad. I mean, we’re not even really dating. Plus, she looks cute as hell in her Wolf Wives sweatshirt.

I skate off the ice and hop over the boards, letting Ollie and Jenksy take over.

We’ve got two minutes left on the clock, and even with all the stopping and starting, it won’t be long until we’re all celebrating after the game.

Mickey found a pool hall that’s only a block away from our hotel and I’m looking forward to getting this win and relaxing with my guys and my favorite girl.

An hour later, I’ve showered, shaved, and howled my heart out. We’re revved up for Regionals with these last two wins, and now it’s time to relax.

It took forever to leave Coleridge’s arena. We had some press to do since our next stop is Regionals and then the guys were dragging ass. Mickey and Ollie got into a heated debate about whether to tuck or untuck their shirts, and I felt myself aging as we waited for Dean to finish styling his hair.

We finally made it to The Ball Room. Mickey reserved us a table near the back, and I see Mel and Josie, but I don’t see Claire.

My phone buzzes with a text and disappointment settles like a rock in my gut.

Claire : Great game!

Claire : This week has kicked my ass and I’m exhausted. I know everybody’s going out to play pool, but I just want to crawl into bed and sleep for a year.

Pete : I can come hang out if you want company .

Claire : No way. You’ve earned this celebration. Go hang with your guys. I’m going to change into my new jammies and crawl into bed.

Pete : I think I’d like to see these new jammies.

Claire : I do look pretty good, if I’m being honest.

Pete : You sure you don’t want me to come back to the hotel? Or even to come out for a bit? I’ll probably only stay out for an hour.

Claire: I’m good right where I am. This bed is comfy. I’ll see you at breakfast tomorrow.

Pete: Sleep tight.

My mood plummets, and it shouldn’t. I should be riding the high of a winning streak and looking forward to taking on our rivals, the Woodcock Bushtits—hand to god—as we make our way back to the Frozen Four.

Instead, I’m jealous of a pair of jammies and a hotel bed, which is pretty fucking stupid. Claire has every right to set boundaries. Even if we were a real couple, I couldn’t let my ass get chapped every time she wanted to catch up on sleep or decompress.

She’s had a crazy busy week, and it’s not over yet. The editor at Prentiss loved her piece about the rage room, but they want more, so Claire is reworking some of her older pieces to see if they fit the vibe that Prentiss wants.

Plus, she’s got her classes and her work study.

And my family.

Claire happens to be free every day at four in the afternoon, so she’s been running Henry across town for his guitar lessons before dropping him back off at the rink for practice. I’d never have asked her to do that, but Henry did, and of course she said yes.

So, it’s no wonder she’s tired. And it’s my fault, too. Whatever free time we have, we spend together. My teammates would get suspicious if she wasn’t around, and I have to admit it’s no hardship to hang out with Claire.

But I’ve been taking up enough of her time lately, so I’ll hang with my guys before heading back to the hotel to get some good sleep.

This place Mickey found is pretty chill, so I settle into one of the worn leather chairs next to Van.

“Where’s your girl?”

I’m about to correct him, because he knows all about Ollie’s outburst and the show Claire and I have been putting on. But I keep my mouth shut because he’s my best friend, so he also knows that Claire and I can’t keep our damn hands off each other, fake relationship or not.

“She had a long week, so she’s going to bed early,” I say.

“Josie’s tired, too,” he says. “We won’t stay too long.”

I look over to where Josie is talking animatedly to Holland and Mel. The woman doesn’t look sleepy, and neither does Van. But I know that’s the excuse they’ll give so they can duck out in half an hour and go back to the hotel for some road trip sex.

And no, I’m not jealous.

And yes, that’s a lie.

JT takes the seat next to me, and Mickey brings over a tray of sodas.

We’re keeping our noses clean. Not all the guys are of legal drinking age, and Coach said he’s had enough drama this season to last a lifetime.

I know he’s damn glad that I was the only hockey player on the marine bio trip, so the fallout from Claire’s article didn’t affect us directly.

Still, he’s given us strict orders to fly under the radar.

The only press he wants us in is about our skill on the ice, so we’re following the rules.

Even Ollie and Mickey, and those two regularly color outside the lines.

“Good fucking game,” Van says, nodding at our goalie. “ I hate to say Ollie’s right about something, but you’re a brick fucking wall, man. They weren’t getting shit past you tonight.”