“Extra fries.” Claire dropped a basket of fries in the center of the table, and everyone dove in except me. Her smile was misplaced because it didn’t reach her eyes, and the second she turned away, I slipped out of the booth and followed her over to the bar. I caught the eye of her boss, and she gave me a little wave before glancing at her employee who she was obviously worried about.
I wouldn’t admit this to anyone, but I was worried too.
Claire had been quieter than normal. I’d hardly seen her since last weekend, when I had spent the night curled around her as she mended a broken heart. I didn’t ask her what Chad had said to her after Aasher pulled me away and nearly slapped me for getting so worked up.
Our one-sided exchange worked, and I’d been more focused on our game schedule and practices than usual—throwing myself into my driven, high-focused mindset and thinking of nothing but proving myself to Tom Gardini.
“Ready for the game tomorrow?” Angie came over and leaned against the bar, right beside Claire as she was putting something into the computer. Claire’s eyes sliced to mine for a second, finally spotting me, before she went back to the computer screen. I couldn’t help but notice the way the light from the screen enhanced the dark bags underneath her bottom lashes.
“Yeah.” I grinned, pulling one side of my mouth up. “I’m not worried. We’ve had some good practices this week.”
Angie nodded. “I’ll be there with my son again. He still isn’t over the puck you threw him. He sleeps with it.”
My chest rumbled with laughter. “Sounds like me at that age.”
“Well, I can only hope he turns out like you.”
Claire was still standing by the computer, but I knew her attention was on me. I looked up at her for a split second, catching the blue in her eyes, and turned back to Angie. “Is he coming to the winter day camp?”
Angie blew out a breath. “Are you kidding? He’d never forgive me if I didn’t sign him up.”
I nodded. “Tell him I’ll see him there. I’ll slip him another puck.”
Angie walked past me and patted my shoulder. “You’re a good one, Theo. Never lose that part of yourself when you make it big.”
“If,” I corrected. “If I make it big.”
I knew I was destined for the NHL. It had been whispered in my ear since I was young by coaches, other parents, and even other players, but I still liked to remain humble.
Angie laughed me off as she walked away, leaving me and Claire alone at the bar area.
“Not busy on Thursdays, I see.”
Claire began stacking cups off to the side. “Not really, but tomorrow night we will be. Everyone seems to come here after the game, before they hit the parties.”
“You work tomorrow night?” I asked.
Claire shook her head, and I watched her closely. She looked both relieved and deterred by that.
“So…” I leaned in close so she was forced to peer up at me. Her cheeks turned pink when I smirked. “That means you’re coming to the game, then?”
Her laugh was abrupt. “No.”
I slapped the top of the bar and pulled myself away from her space. “Come on, Bryant. What else are you gonna be doing if you’re not working? You’ve been nonexistent this week. I live with you and haven’t seen you.”
Was this my attempt to dig and figure out what was going on with her and Chad? Yes. Was it a poor attempt? Also, yes.
Claire’s shoulders fell. “I’ll be catching up on homework, and I’ll probably head to the auditorium and practice.”
I felt the skepticism in my expression before I allowed it to come out in my voice. “How often do you need to practice? You’re already there by the time I wake up to run.” I thought I was obsessed with being the best, but damn.
Claire paused as she tucked a stray hair behind her ear. “How do you know that?”
I stilled but recovered quickly. “Because I run past and see your car there every morning.”
She didn’t need to know that running past the auditorium was not my usual route, but deep down, I knew it. So what? I wanted to check on her. There wasn’t anything wrong with that.
Claire thought for a moment, but then she brushed me off, walking around the bar to clean off some tables with her wet rag. I followed closely behind her, not allowing her to avoid me any longer. Is this about us kissing?
“So, you’re coming to the game?” I teased, poking at her a little more.
“What?” she asked, spinning around on light feet. “N–”
Ford leaned out of the booth beside the one she was wiping down. “You’re coming to our game?! Are you going with Taytum?”
“You’re comin’?” Jett pulled out his phone and began texting. “You can sit with my girl if you want. She comes to every game. I’ll let her know.”
“And she wears his jersey. She’s honestly our biggest cheerleader.” Dax rolled his eyes. “If I didn’t like Alicia so much, I would be annoyed with your relationship.”
“They’re in love. It’s adorbs.” Ford drew a heart in the air with his finger, and everyone chuckled. I watched Claire closely to see how she’d react, but she only laughed at Ford, lighting up the restaurant with her pretty smile.
“There. Done.” Ford held his phone up and showed Claire. Her huff came quickly, and I grinned down at the texts between him and Taytum.
Ford: Claire is coming to our game tomorrow. You going with her?
Taytum: What? She is? Are you sure?
Ford: Yes, she said she’d go if you do.
The wet rag that was bundled in her hand shot out and hit Ford in the center of the chest. Everyone at the table laughed, and Claire stomped her foot in a poor attempt at protesting. I heard her phone buzz, and she pulled it out of the back of her jeans and pursed her lips at the text from Taytum.
Tay: Not sure how that happened, but you’re not getting out of going to the game. You need a night out and to stop killing yourself by working and practicing. If Chad is gonna “experience” college and expect you to be with him after, then you’re going to as well.
Experience college? What?
“Hmm,” I whispered, reading over her shoulder. “I agree.”
Claire shut her phone off, and her pointy elbow went straight into my tight stomach. I let out a hiss between my teeth that ruffled the back of her ponytail, making me pull on the strands a moment later. Her head flew back, and she spun around, ready to slap me with the towel, but I dodged the blow and went around to the other side of the booth and slid in beside Jett, stealing a fry from the basket she’d given us.
My smirk was the cherry on top of my triumphant mood. I was a natural-born winner, and even winning this little spar with Claire seemed to feed into that.
I could tell Coach was shouting by the spit flying from his mouth and the vein popping out of his right temple. The crowd was roaring, like it usually was at a home game, and I couldn’t help but do a quick search for Claire in a sea of black jerseys. I hadn’t spotted her yet, and usually, during a game, everything around me blurred the moment my skates hit the ice. Tonight, though, I kept glancing in the stands, appearing unfocused to my team and, most of all, to Coach.
It wasn’t until he had pulled me aside, ripping me by the jersey, to inform me that he’d gotten word that Tom Gardini had sent a few of his most trusted scouts to our game, that I quickly became engrossed. Irritation backed my thoughts of Claire, and I refused to look back in the stands until the game was over.
The first two periods were scoreless, and tension was high. We were out for blood with only three minutes left in the third period. That was when we finally got our chance. Ford, Aasher, and I were on the line together, and when I noticed the game clock rapidly ticking down, I nodded at the pair of them and set the play into action. Ford passed the puck back and forth with Dax, making the forward from Valley skate laps like a feral animal near the blue line. My focus was razor sharp as Ford got the puck and snapped it to me, waiting at the crease, eager to lift it just over the goalie’s glove, giving us the W.
My blood ran hot as the team and I skated to center ice to celebrate, silently thanking God that we pulled it together in the end. My breath was escaping like air from a balloon, and it continued all the way to the locker room as I began pulling my gear off. The moment the winning puck made it in the net, the arena was like an anthem roaring through my ears, and I swore I could still hear it. I had an overwhelming rush of satisfaction of not only winning the game but playing the best I had all season—that was, after I had pulled my head out of my ass and stopped worrying about Claire being in the stands.
“And that’s why you’re going to be able to pick whatever fucking team you want next year, Wolf.” Coach had sweat trailing down his face when he peered up at me. He was a short man, but he could be intimidating as fuck.
I nodded and paired it with a half-shrug. “You told me that Tom Gardini had sent some scouts. I knew I needed to kick it up a notch.”
Aasher threw up a fist. “And you fuckin’ did.”
Ford chimed in after stripping down to his boxers. His chest was still heaving from the excitement and physical exertion. “I’m surprised the ice hasn’t melted, because you were on fucking fire, man.”
I chuckled but quickly got changed, knowing there were a few journalists waiting outside of the locker room to ask questions. Coach usually only chose a few of us to head out of the locker room early to answer questions. It was my turn tonight, unfortunately.
“And here I thought you played your best because a certain someone was in the stands.” Jett’s gruff voice hit the back of my neck as he half-whispered so no one else would hear. Aasher turned to see my expression, but I kept it as level as it should have been. I was distracted early on in the game, and they knew why.
“Who?” I asked, not wanting to play their games and feed into my already rising disappointment over my slip in focus. “You mean Claire?”
Jett sent me a questionable look as he waited for me to walk out with him to answer a few questions. Coach was waiting by the door, vividly chatting with the assistant coach about the game.
“Why would I care if she was in the stands?”
Ford snickered. “Well, you were the one who invited her to the game.”
“No.” I pulled on my hat backward and covered my slightly sweaty hair. I glanced at Ford as I fixed my long-sleeve Bexley U Hockey shirt. “I was just trying to irritate her, as usual. You were the one who conned her best friend into dragging her out.”
He glanced across the room at Emory before turning away and smirking at me. “You’re welcome.”
A crease dove between my brows, but Coach yelled my name, and I brushed my friends off and walked out into the mass of journalists who held their notepads tightly and swung cameras my way. I quickly slipped back into the part of myself that I was most comfortable with: Theo Brooks, the wolf on ice. The guy who was driven by the intense need to follow his goals for more humble reasons than most people probably assumed.
