Now that the season has officially started back up, we’re on night one of a four-day trip to the northeast. We’ll have a game in Boston tomorrow night and then one in New York before we head back home. Back-to-back roadies usually require all my mental focus, but instead all I can think about is that kiss Elise and I shared the night I drove her home.
After landing in Boston, we went to the rink for a warm-up and had a team dinner at a nice steakhouse. Now it’s not even nine and I’m in my hotel room. Owen and I always share an adjoining room, and the doors between our rooms stay open unless one of us is entertaining for the evening.
He’s sitting in the armchair near the windows playing on his phone while I lay sprawled across the bed.
I can tell based on the spark in his eyes and the easy grin on his face that he’s making plans for later.
“What’s her name?” I ask.
Owen laughs. “Not sure yet. I’m on Tinder scoping out my options.” He taps out some response on the screen, looking pleased. “You’re coming out later, right?”
“No. I’m fucking exhausted man.”
“Pussy,” he mutters under his breath.
I shake my head. Owen’s just built different. The pressures of the game never seem to affect him. He’s as cool, calm and collected right before a playoff game as he is when we’re down by three in the third period. Nothing shakes the dude.
It’s probably that attitude that got him called up the pros. While I was drafted straight into the league at barely nineteen and made the pro roster right away, Owen spent two years playing in the minors, proving himself worthy. He wasn’t worried even then. It’s one of the things I appreciate most about the guy, and it makes him an amazing goalie. He’s got nerves of steel.
And despite that, he’s always got a ready grin, and he’s always down for mischief. Which used to be something we had in common, but lately something’s changed inside me. But it doesn’t matter, because all of my available focus needs to be on winning games. Especially since half of my brain seems to be stuck on a girl I have no right to be thinking about.
Owen lets out a long sigh and stretches his arms overhead. “Honestly, I’m tired too, I just want to decompress for a little while, have a beer, and maybe have a little fun.” He waggles his eyebrows.
“Good luck with that,” I chuckle, shaking my head.
“I don’t need luck with this moneymaker.” He points to his face and smiles.
Ignoring him, I grab my phone from the duvet cover beside me and see a text from Elise.
Good luck tomorrow.
It feels somehow wrong, almost naughty to text her back while her brother is in my room. But he’s busy on his phone too. What could it hurt?
What are you doing right now?
Three dots appear that tell me she’s replying—and I’m smiling. Why am I smiling?
“Hey I’m going to head out. You cool?” Owen stands, pocketing his phone.
“Yeah, I’m good. Good night, man.”
He disappears into his own room, and closes the door behind him, and I glance down to see Elise’s reply.
Just got home from work a little while ago.
I forgot it’s a few hours earlier there.
You guys going out tonight?
I smirk to myself. She knows our routine well I suppose.
No, I’m staying in.
Why aren’t you going out with the guys?
Her text feels like she’s baiting me, but I’m not scared to tell her the truth. There have been too many secrets between us for too long now.
Because I’m thinking about someone else.
Oh really? I wonder who the lucky lady is.;)
I chuckle to myself, enjoying this flirty side of Elise. I type:
I want to continue that kiss.
She responds: When are you back?
Straight to the point. I like it. Grinning, I reply:
Not until Sunday.
It’s Wednesday now and suddenly that feels like forever away. Stupid east coast games.
Okay we can hang out then if you want.
Sounds perfect to me.
Goodnight then. She writes.
Noooo. Don’t go yet.
What are you wearing?
There’s a long pause and I wonder if I pushed too hard too fast. Then her message pops up:
Nice try. Go get some sleep. And win tomorrow’s game for me?
Done, I reply
I fall asleep that night with thoughts of Elise and a smile on my face. Maybe, just maybe, I can make amends for my fucked-up behavior before. It’s doubtful, but if I can make Elise smile, I’ll try anything.
• • •
The entire mood on the bench changes in the split-second it takes for the puck to slide into the net, despite Owen’s best efforts. We’re down by two goals in the first period, which is a shit way to start our first away game. We’ve only been playing ten freaking minutes.
And even though he’s given up two, somehow Owen’s not even rattled. I can see him grinning from behind his face mask across the ice. Cocky motherfucker.
Coach Bryant adjusts his tie, looking uncomfortable and frankly a little pissed off as he paces behind the bench.
I grab one of the water bottles in front of me and squirt some in my mouth, chest heaving. I desperately need to keep my focus. There’s no way in fuck I’m losing to Boston in game one. That is not happening.
“Let’s fucking go!” Grant, our team captain, yells as our line jumps the wall to take the ice again.
In the end—we squeak by with a win. The highlights? I skated my ass off, ended up scoring two goals, was hip-checked into the boards hard enough to bruise my ribs, but it’s all good because we won.
The New York game goes a little better. We dominate the first two periods, but then in the third, I get into a fight that leaves me with a bruised eye that’s quickly swelling.
But as we board the plane home, the only thing I care about is the fact we are now two for two. My ribs are bruised and I’m probably on my way to having a black eye, but injuries like these are fairly common after games. It’s nothing a little rest and ice won’t fix.
I settle into my seat, and put my headphones on. I’m not in the mood to listen to music right now, I just don’t want to hear the trash-talking from the card game happening in the row behind me.
Our trainer Sven comes over and takes the seat next to me. “How’s the eye feel?”
I shrug, removing my headphones. “I’ve had worse. It’ll be fine.”
He’s incredibly fit for an old dude and highly respected by the entire team. He’s worked for the league for more than twenty-five years. When Sven tells you to do something, you do it. And right now he’s frowning at me. “The team doctor is worried about a concussion. You have an appointment to go see him in the morning.”
Well shit.
“Fine. I’ll be there.”
Sven nods and gets up to return to his seat near the front of the plane.
I put the headphones back on, and pull my phone out of my pocket to see a text from Elise.
Are you okay? I watched the game on TV. That fight looked brutal.
I’m okay but we might need to take a raincheck. The only thing I’m in the mood for is a hot shower, a pain pill and my bed.
Her reply comes in a second later.
No problem. Feel better.
I’m a tiny bit worried about that concussion comment from Sven, but I don’t want to scare Elise. I’m more worried that I won’t get to play next weekend, but I don’t want her to worry too, so I don’t say anything. The other reason I don’t want to show up at her place tonight is because I’m pretty sure by the time we land, my eye will have gone from bruised and tender to purple and swollen shut.
