Page 45 of No Pucks

#1’s brows pull. “Maybe he forgot.”

Even speaking to each other, I can’t tell them apart. One of them is a center and the other a wing. The way they play off each other is unparalleled. They seem to know where the other is without even looking, an extension of each other.

“Maybe he forgot to set his alarm,” I say, unable to help myself.

Both of them turn towards me, but a flicker goes through #1’s eyes. “Maybe. It was late when he decided to torture us.”

I stare right back at him, because if he’s going to say something, he needs to say it to my face.

“He’s probably right,” #2 says. “How long do we wait?”

I shrug. “We’re up and here. Might as well get some ice time. I’m not going back to sleep, hungover or not.”

“Are we allowed to do that?” #2 asks glancing between his twin and me.

“Fuck knows. We are allowed to use the ice all day if we want to, and we were told we have practice, so I’m going to practice.”

Not every guy on the team joined us on the ice, but most of them did.

“Let’s get a scrimmage going,” Wolfe yells after we warm up.

We divide up into our lines and rotate in and out every five minutes. All of us are sweating by the time Coach walks in an hour late.

Wolfe takes off his helmet and steps off the ice, telling us to continue while he goes to talk to Anthony.

He comes back a few minutes later. “Coach said we can all go shower and get ready for our flight this afternoon. Good practice, guys.”

I take my helmet off, hair drenched in sweat, and glance over at Coach. He meets my eyes and narrows his, wearing his familiar pissy expression. I give him a huge grin, and his lip curls ever so slightly into a sneer. I wink and head off the ice. If he wants to say something to me, he will.

If not, I’ll have to work on how to get myself into his hotel room after we win tomorrow.

I hit the showers quickly, scrubbing down so I can catch a nap before the flight, but I nearly walk into one of the twins when I step out of the stall.

“Fuck, bro. Make some noise next time. You’re going to give me a heart attack.” I look him over.

“Something going on with you?” He’s freshly showered and out of his uniform, so I still can’t tell which one he is.

“I’m chill. Why?” I fix my towel as it starts to slip.

“What happened last night?”

“Which fucking Ridgeway are you?” I laugh so he knows I’m joking. “I need to know so I can tailor my answer correctly.”

“Colt.” He gives me a flat look.

“How do people tell you apart?”

He shrugs. “They don’t unless we open our mouths. My brother is a lot nicer.”

“At least you admit it.” I don’t let him get to me. It’s not my style. I don’t know what his insistence on interrogating me means, but I’ve had worse on other teams. All the guys want to protect their place. I get it, but it’s not needed. I have no desire to be a center.

“So what happened last night?”

“Why are you pressed?” I ask.

“I can’t put my finger on it, but there is something going on with you, and if you’re going to be on our line, I want you at the top of your game with no distractions.”

I lift my shoulders used to this game too. Never admit to any-fucking-thing. “I won’t be distracted. Just getting used to the team. If me hooking up with people on team nights is an issue?—”

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