THE NEW HOCKEY coach had just blown the whistle, calling the third practice of the season to a close.
Now my boys were streaming back into the locker room, dropping helmets and gear all over the benches. With red faces and sweaty hair, they peeled off their layers, seconds away from heading for the showers.
I planted myself in the middle of the room, clipboard in hand. Putting two fingers in my mouth, I gave a whistle loud enough to echo off the tiles. That got their attention. “Guys, listen up! I need two minutes of your time!” It got quiet enough for me to speak normally. “First of all, unless your mother is dropping by later to clean up after you, used towels go into the hamper when you’re through.” I aimed this message at the freshmen. They always needed some schooling at the beginning of the year.
“Now,” I continued, “I only got seventeen health forms back. That means seven of you need to get that sucker back to me, or you won’t be allowed to suit up for next week’s preseason scrimmage against those punks at Quinnipiac.”
“Punks!” someone yelled, agreeing with me.
“Finally — I’m putting in our gear order tomorrow morning. So, if you have any equipment failures, I need to know ASAP.”
Davies, a senior defenseman, turned his giant, naked body in my direction. He put a hand over his bare chest in mock surprise. “Who are you accusing of equipment failures, Bella? My fragile male ego can’t take that kind of insinuation.”
I gave him an eye roll. “Your equipment is top notch, Davies. But if you come to me next week needing a new stick, it will be you who’s paying the extra coin for overnight shipping.”
“My stick is in fine working order,” he smirked.
“Nice. You can give me a demonstration sometime.”
“Wait.” He stuck a hand in the air. “Can you get some more of those extra-wide skate laces?”
“Not a problem,” I said, making a note of it.
I scanned the room, looking for anyone else who might be trying to get my attention. My gaze came to rest on the freshmen whom I’d housed together at lockers in one corner of the room. One in particular was sneaking looks in my direction. “Guys, don’t be afraid to ask for what you need, okay? Better to let me know before it’s too late.”
“Mouth guards?” asked the newb I’d caught watching me over his shoulder. His name was O’Hane, and he had a baby face and a sprinkling of freckles across his nose. He’d turned only his head in my direction, keeping his private parts facing the locker.
“We stock the basic ones in the supply closet, but if you want something special you have to tell me which model.”
“Okay, thanks,” he said. “And…” I waited for him to spit it out, but instead he turned toward his locker, grabbed a towel and wrapped it around his waist. Then he came over, arms crossed protectively. “Is there a sporting goods store nearby?”
“Well…” Harkness was not a big town, and the shopping options within walking distance were limited. “There’s nowhere to buy gear, if that’s what you mean. Not unless you have access to a car.” And most of us didn’t, because parking was scarce here, too. “Shoes and sweats are easy to find, though. What are you looking for?”
His cheeks pinked up. “Gear. Can I see the catalog?”
“Of course.” I handed it over, tapping a toe while he flipped through the pages.
He stopped near the back of the book, a frown furrowing his youthful brow.
“Problem?” I asked.
Nervous eyes flickered up to mine. “I need,” he dropped his voice so low I almost didn’t hear the last part. “A cup.”
“Oh, honey, that’s easy.” He might not know it, but dicks were one of my specialties. I took the catalog from his hands. “Which brand are you used to?”
His face reddened further. “Can’t remember,” he said, studying the floor. “I accidentally brought my, um, little brother’s instead of mine.”
Ah, freshmen. They weren’t used to taking care of themselves. “The one you have doesn’t fit? Your cup runneth over?”
He barked out a nervous laugh. “Yeah. But the ones in the catalog don’t look the same.”
“Eh. It’s not rocket science. Are you wearing it in compression shorts or in a jock?”
“Shorts.”
“Do you want your dangler to point down, or are you used to tucking it up at the top.”
“Down,” he said to the floor.
I cuffed his shoulder. “No problem, O’Hane. I’ve got you covered, so to speak. I’ll order it for you.”
“Thanks,” he said in a strangled voice, then headed for the showers.
Our new coach was next to walk by. “Coach Canning!” I called, halting him.
“Yeah?” The new guy was a lot younger than our retired coach. He had a sort of grumpy edge to him that I did not appreciate. Some people don’t realize that gruffness wasn’t necessary to earn respect.
I gave him a friendly smile nonetheless. “I’m putting in my equipment order first thing tomorrow. If you need to add anything, you can email me tonight.”
“Thanks,” he said, snapping his gum. “Hey, should you be in the locker room?”
“Um,” I checked my watch. The barbecue didn’t start for another half hour. And I wasn’t in charge of the party. That was sissy work. “Is there somewhere else I’m supposed to be right now?”
He frowned. “No, I meant… the guys don’t mind?”
That just made me stare at him. Seriously? “Coach Canning, the players are in the locker room. I can’t get them what they need if I’m not here, too.”
“Yeah. That’s true,” he said, an unreadable expression on his stupid, grumpy face.
“Don’t forget,” I said slowly, “female journalists have been permitted in locker rooms since before I was born. Including this locker room.”
He stared me down for a long beat. And then he walked off without another word.
I stood there for a minute wondering what had just happened. As the student manager for our kick-ass men’s hockey team, I solved the players’ problems, and I moved people from point A to point B on schedule. I was good at it. Sure, it was a job that was usually held by a guy. But there was no reason it had to be a guy. All that was required was a good attitude and an all-consuming love of hockey. That was me. Surely Coach Canning would realize sooner or later that I lived for this job.
Anyway, it was time for the annual barbecue.
Though for the first time, I didn’t quite feel the level of excitement that usually came with the rush of hockey season. These were my closest friends. In a few weeks’ time, we’d spend every weekend traveling the Eastern Seaboard together, playing teams from Maine to Newark. I’d get to watch every game from the bench, which was just about the coolest thing in the world.
Even so, tonight I felt… down. Hopefully a beer and a pulled-pork sandwich could fix it.
A few hours later, I stood in our retired coach’s backyard, still feeling strangely wistful. All the rituals of Coach’s annual barbecue had held up tonight. Vast quantities of meat were eaten. Potato salad and coleslaw were consumed. Beers were drunk. This year there were two coaching speeches—one by our retiring Coach (in which he quoted several dead presidents,) and one by the new guy. And, as always, there were cupcakes for dessert, because Coach’s wife liked them.
But I was still chased by an unexpected sadness.
In the first place, there was an undeniable hole in my heart where last year’s seniors had been. I could hardly believe we were starting the season without Hartley and Groucho and Smitty. That just seemed wrong.
Not only did I miss them, but the progression was suddenly terrifying. Because this was my last year. How was that even possible?
I glanced around Coach’s darkened yard with fresh eyes. A year from now, most of these players would be standing here again, celebrating the start of yet another season. But where would I be?
The truth was that I had no clue. None at all. Until now, I hadn’t let it bother me. Four years had always seemed like a long time. So whenever my family prodded me with questions about my lack of plans after graduation, I’d found it easy to brush them off.
Rather than worry about the future, I’d immersed myself in a fun major (psychology) the best sport in the world (ice hockey) and my favorite people (hockey players). But now I felt as though an excellent book was coming to an end, and the slim stack of remaining pages in my right hand felt entirely insufficient.
With the party easing towards its conclusion, I wound up standing with the dates. There was Amy, our new captain Trevi’s girlfriend, and also our goalie Orsen’s date, whose name I had not caught.
“Who are you here with?” Orsen’s new little friend asked me.
It wasn’t the first time I’d gotten that question. I opened my mouth to explain that I wasn’t with anyone, but catty Amy beat me to the punch. “She’s here with everyone,” she snickered.
Lovely. Amy was one of the girlfriends who’d never liked me. “I’m the team manager,” I explained. I wouldn’t dignify Amy’s cattiness by getting irritated.
“Oh,” the newcomer said. “That must be exciting.”
“I hear that it is,” Amy practically hissed.
I tried not to roll my eyes. A lot of the girlfriends didn’t know what to do with me. They didn’t like how often I saw their boyfriends naked. They didn’t like wondering if I’d ever been naked with their boyfriends. The price of being me was that my reputation often preceded me. As a matter of fact I had hooked up with Trevi once, before he’d met Amy. But it was so long ago I didn’t even remember the details.
The Amys of the world pissed me off sometimes. But tonight I kept my cool, because you can’t let the mean girls win. “It’s a great job. The bench is the best seat in the house for the games,” I said. If anything should bother the girlfriends, it was my game-day privileges. Because hockey was awesome and they were missing out.
A few feet away, Trevi and Orsen were deep into an argument about the Bruins’ prospects this year. “You can’t say that there’s a hole in their lineup,” Orsen argued.
“You’re right.” Trevi chuckled. “It’s more like a gaping void.”
“Boys,” I jumped in. “The gaping void is here.” I held up my empty beer bottle. “Who wants another?”
“I’ll get ’em,” Orsen said. “Coach’ll probably kick us out soon, anyway. It’s almost ten.” He strode off toward the beer table.
“What’s shakin’ Bella?” Trevi asked, draining his beer in preparation for the next round.
“The usual. Trying to get the freshmen settled in. Trying to pick a topic for my senior thesis. How about you? Is it true that the Blackhawks are taking a look at you?”
Trevi grinned. “They’re lookin’. Doesn’t mean they’ll kneel down and pop the question.”
“I’ve got a good feeling about it,” I told him with a friendly squeeze of his arm. Amy’s face contorted, as if she’d swallowed something bitter. But I was excited about his prospects whether she liked it or not. There were several scouts circling the team. My guys had made a lot of headlines last year, finishing the season in the number-two slot in the country. The NHL was definitely going to be snapping up some of them.
See? Everyone had a plan but me. Or, if not a plan, at least they had a dream.
“Hey guys!”
I turned my head to see one of my former dreams walking into Coach’s yard. Michael Graham was the second guy I had ever really fallen for. And — because I had a perfect record for romantic disaster — the second one to break my heart.
“We missed you at practice today,” Trevi said, speaking aloud what I had been thinking. “Don’t know why you had to take up sports writing when I could use you on the blue line.”
My favorite ex-defenseman just grinned. “I had a blast today.”
“Doing what?” I stood on tiptoe to give him a kiss on the cheek, careful not to lean in too far. I didn’t want to get trapped in a memory. The feel of his skin against mine was a craving I’d struggled to overcome.
He gave my back a friendly pat before continuing. “I spent four hours on the river with the crew team. I thought I was just there to watch, but one of the heavyweights had a knee that was bothering him. So the captain said, ‘Dude, get in here. We’ll show you what crew is all about.’” Chuckling, Graham grabbed his stomach. “Fuck. Rowing is hard. My abs will never be the same.”
Not too long ago I would have offered to kiss it and make it better. Unfortunately, somebody else had that honor these days. I plastered a smile on my face. But my heart gave a little swerve, because the guy just looked so freaking happy.
Gone was the broody Graham I used to love. He’d been replaced by this lighthearted creature who was almost unrecognizable to me but for the familiar bulky muscles and his icy blue eyes. The Graham I’d known hadn’t smiled at everything that moved. He was dark and a little jaded, like me. But these days he was practically glowing.
Was there nobody else in the world who was confused about life?
“How does your D-squad look this year?” Graham asked Trevi.
“Is this on the record?”
“No, asshole,” Graham said with a chuckle. “Just some friendly conversation.”
Trevi grinned. “They’re young but scrappy. I like these freshmen. I really do.”
We all turned to glance over at O’Hane and the other frosh, who had gathered near the beer table. “They have good foot speed,” I remarked. “I especially liked that kid Hopper at practice today.”
“Wait,” came a new voice. “Who does Bella like? I need this intel for the season-opening bets.” Big-D, a senior defenseman, lumbered up to our circle and put his hands on his hips. “There’s a pool going on which freshman Bella goes home with first.”
Trevi’s girlfriend tittered, then slapped a palm over her mouth.
Lovely.
Again, I kept my bravado, even though his comment grated on me. It was true that I’d had a lot of sex with hockey players. (One at a time, usually.) But the players weren’t saints, either. And nobody was starting a betting pool about any of them.
Double standard, much?
I wasn’t the only one who didn’t like Big-D or his comments. Beside me, I sensed a spike in Graham’s blood pressure. “You ass,” he hissed. “Don’t start that shit or I’ll—”
“No you won’t.” I planted a hand on Graham’s chest. “Let it go, man. Everybody knows that Big-D only talks smack about me because I won’t take him home again. Once was plenty.”
Big-D’s mouth hardened, but I wasn’t afraid of him. I let go of Graham and gave Big-D an evil grin. “You should know better than to offend the team manager. You might get the shittiest hotel rooms on every road trip from now until April. Your skate blades might not get sharpened, and your meal vouchers could get lost.”
“I was just teasing, Bella.” He gave me a self-conscious smile. “You wouldn’t do that.”
“Wouldn’t I?” Try me.
“Tough crowd here for a Saturday.” Big-D shook his enormous head, as if we were all just a little too touchy. Then he turned and ambled toward the house.
“I hate that fucking guy,” Graham said after Big-D had gone.
“He’s just really insecure,” I said. It was true, too. Big-D wasn’t a pretty boy like Graham, or witty, like Trevi. And he didn’t have Orsen’s natural warmth. He was harder to love, and he knew it. As a result, he lashed out, making himself into an even bigger ass.
Did I mention that I was a psych major?
The truth was that people were always going to talk smack about me because I didn’t hide the fact that I’d had more than a few sexual partners. Girls who played the field got called names. I knew the drill.
Also, while we’re being honest, I had been scoping out the rookies earlier, pondering the fresh offerings. Last year I went home with a freshman from this very event. Proximity to the hottest athletes at Harkness was an important perk of my job.
“What do you think of the football team this year?” Trevi asked Graham, changing the subject. Because a good captain knows when to defuse.
Graham began to talk about quarterbacks. I wasn’t much of a football fan myself. So I tuned him out, tipping my chin toward the sky to look for stars. Harkness was located in a rather industrial part of Connecticut, and usually there’s too much light pollution to see them.
Not for the first time tonight, I felt my attitude sag. The temperature was dropping fast, hinting at winter’s approach. The chill seeped into my core. I stepped closer to Graham, who draped an arm around my shoulder. I appreciated the gesture, but it didn’t really solve the problem. The empty feeling I was working tonight was bigger than a friendly hug or the beers I’d drunk.
The caterers began to take down the beer table, signifying the end of the season-opening barbecue.
My last season-opening barbecue.
The year stretched before me felt like that giant hourglass in the Wizard of Oz, ticking down while Dorothy panics.
Behind me, a group of hockey players began to laugh hard over some joke I’d missed. Their jolly voices echoed into the night, making me feel more alone.
