Page 1 of Until He Scores

Chapter 1

Thierry

Thierry, eight years old...

Pope is so cool.

He’s the goalie for our hockey team. He’s saved every shot, and he’s super funny. Best of all, we’re best friends. More than that, he chose me to be his defenseman.Me,of all people. Everyone thinks I’m a nerd because I get amazing grades or because I own tons ofPokémoncards andLegosets, but it’s what I like. My favorite subjects are science and history. But what I love about school is P.E..

When we’re outside, Pope and I, we do everything together. I get super excited when I see him step out of his classroom and walk toward the gym. Stupid rules say we can’t join our friends on the way to our next class. We had to stay with our class. That’s boring. We’re not babies. If it wasn’t for that rule, I’d be right by his side. Once we were done changing and doing our stretching, though I hightailed it to my best friend. We talked about our hockey practice later and what game we’d play over the weekend.

But sometimes we were interrupted.

Pope had more friends than I did. So, sometimes, his friends like to be mean to me except for one—Wes. Pope and Wes neverlet the others slide, either. He always told them to apologize and more than once, I’d seen a few of them sporting black eyes if they refused.

Pope always had my back.

And I always had his.

We made a pact; him and me.

No matter what, we’d always be friends. If we were lucky enough to play in the NHL one day, we’d try to be on the same team, even though the odds weren’t in our favor. Then if the league forced us to be on opposite teams, we’d be rivals, which meant being at the top of our games, respectively. We’d never give up, and we’d strive to be the best in the league.

Forever.

“Hey Pope, where’s your puppy today?” One of his friends laughed. “Did you finally throw him in the dump?” Two more laughed at the first. I hated them so much. They didn’t know how cool Pope really was. Or how incredible he was on the ice and in the goal.

“Shut up,” Pope said, smacking them on the back of the head at the same time. “Quit being idiots.”

Both boys rubbed their heads while hissing in irritation. I never remembered their names because, to me, they were inconsequential. In ten years, Pope would be in some prestigious college while they were flipping burgers or whatever it was, they wanted to do.

“Why do you like Thierry so much, anyway?” the boy on the left asked, his brows furrowed, wrinkling the freckles across the bridge of his nose.

“Yeah,” the boy on the right chimed in, balling up his fists—as if he’d been ready to hit Pope. Or worse, me.

“I don’t answer to you.” Pope pivoted, facing both boys with his arms crossed, looking way cooler than anyone else I knew. He scowled at them. “You’re not my mom.”

“You don’t even have a mom,” one boy said.

I winced.Not cool.

Everyone knew Pope’s mom passed away from cancer two years ago. His father wasn’t doing good, so he lived with his grandparents off and on. They, along with his dad, put Pope into hockey. Pope said it was better for him and cheaper than therapy. (Whatever that meant.) I couldn’t tell you whether I agreed or not. I’d never been. Although, if I ever lost my mom, I’d be broken hearted, too.

“What did you say, asshole?” Pope snarled, grabbing the kid by the collar of his shirt.

“Let James go, Pope,” the second boy said, trying to pry Pope’s hands off the kid.

Stupid. Pope had the best hands in school. It was why he’d made an excellent goalie. He never dropped anything and had amazing reflexes.

I don’t know what made me rush to Pope’s side that day. Or why I thought I needed to intercede on his behalf, but I realized in a split second, if he got caught, Pope wouldn’t be able to play hockey, and my one and only best friend would be gone.

So, I guess you could say I was being selfish.

“Hey Pope,” I said, hurrying to his side while keeping a close watch of our P.E. teacher out of the corner of my eye. “Thanks for waiting for me. Sorry I’m late.”

He turned those obsidian eyes on me, and my stomach lodged in my throat. Pope’s grip tightened, turning his knuckles white with strain. He looked so angry. Like he was ready to pummel the kid before I stepped in. Even his pupils blotted out the color of his irises. His mouth was twisted up in a vicious snarl, and I knew right then, I’d made the right choice. He was going to pulverize James.

Pope leaned into James. “You’re lucky.” Then let him go.

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