Page 23 of Reach Around

As the chaos dies down, Madeline elbows me. “See, Brogan? You survived another viral moment. Maybe next time we’ll let you be the bad boy.”

I groan. “As long as Shep’s around, my reputation’s safe.”

Shep blows me a kiss. “You’ll always be our fans’ second choice, BroFetti!”

I shake my head, but inside? The team, the chirps, the mayhem—damn if it doesn’t feel like home. I wonder what I would do if I ever got released? Probably go kicking and screaming.

I nod, watching as the team disperses back to drills, the camaraderie a tangible force on the ice. It’s moments like these that remind me why this team is more than just about hockey—it’s about brotherhood, even if it means getting thrown under the bus or, in Shep’s case, the Zamboni.

As we shuffle into the locker room, the air is still buzzing from the morning’s laughs on the ice. The clatter of gear hitting the lockers provides a familiar backdrop as everyone starts peeling off their sweaty jerseys and pads.

“Shep, you planning on giving any actual dating advice, or just gonna keep stealing hearts and disappointing everyone’s sister?” Boone teases, slinging his towel over his shoulder.

Shep, still grinning from being the star of our impromptu roast session, shoots back, “Hey, I give plenty of advice. Just because you guys don’t follow it doesn’t mean it’s not gold.”

My friend stretches out on the bench, towel slung around his neck like he’s giving a TED Talk. “Listen up, boys—dating is simple. If you’re nervous, just talk about yourself until she’s impressed. Women love confidence.”

Boone doesn’t even look up from tying his skates. “You mean narcissism?”

Shep shrugs, unfazed. “Tomato, tomahto.”

Holden, toweling off, can’t help but grin. “You’re gonna die alone, Shep.”

Shep waves him off. “Don’t text her for at least three days. Or three hours. Actually, just text her when you remember. Keeps ‘em guessing.”

Boone snorts. “Keeps ‘em blocking your number, maybe. I’m pretty sure even Lucinda has you blocked.”

Shep ignores him, rolling right into the next nugget of wisdom. “And if you forget her name, just call her ‘champ.’ Chicks love nicknames.”

Gage pipes up from across the room. “That’s how you end up on TikTok, bro. And not in a good way.”

Unbothered, Shep lifts his chin, grinning. Then he gestures to what lies below the belt. “Final tip—send a… ahem… selfie first thing in the morning so she knows what she’s working with. Natural lighting, though. No filters. Be authentic, bro.”

Boone groans, grabbing his stick like he’s about to smack Shep with it. “Shep, for the love of God, stop talking. You’re singlehandedly lowering the collective IQ in this locker room.”

Shep just winks, finger-guns blazing. “And that’s why you’re still single, Boone.”

The room erupts with more laughter and a few playful jeers thrown in Shep’s direction. I chuck my own gear into my locker, shaking my head at the ongoing banter. There’s a comfort in these moments, the easy jabs and the camaraderie that comes with them.

“Bennett put up a new dartboard up at the Power Play,” I mention, changing out of my skates and into a more comfortable pair of sneakers. “Anyone up for a few rounds after this?”

“Count me in,” Holden says, already half-dressed for the bar. “I need to see if my dart game is as good as my hockey.”

“Yeah, and I need to redeem my family honor after this morning,” Boone adds, pulling on his shirt with a mock-serious expression.

As everyone gets ready, the chatter continues, light and easy. We gather our things, eager for a bit of downtime together at the bar, where the competitive spirit can switch from ice to darts, keeping the day’s high spirits rolling. The promise of a cold beer and some friendly competition is the perfect cap to our morning, and as we head out, the locker room’s echo carries our laughter all the way to the parking lot.

As we pile into our cars, the brisk air nips at our faces, a sharp reminder of the chilly Northern Minnesota weather outside the comfort of the heated locker room. Shep hops into my truck, still chuckling from the locker room antics. We pull out of the parking lot, the engine’s hum and the road’s steady rhythm lulling us into an easy silence.

Halfway to the Power Play, Shep’s phone buzzes violently on the dashboard, the screen lighting up with notifications. He grabs it, a grin spreading across his face as he swipes through.

“Dude, that TikTok’s blowing up,” he announces, holding the phone so I can see the view count ticking higher. “Looks like everybody wants me to date their sister. But your Cha Cha Slide still has more views.”

I groan, the memory of that embarrassing dance flashing before my eyes. “Great, just what I needed. More attention for all the wrong reasons.”

But Shep is too amused to sympathize. “Come on, man, it’s all in good fun. Plus, looks like those coasters are adding to your name being on everyone’s lips around here.”

We pull up to the Power Play, and the rest of the guys are already there, clustered around the new dartboard but clearlydistracted by their phones—probably watching the same viral sensation. As we step inside, the warmth of the bar envelops us, a stark contrast to the cold outside.

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