Page 37 of Bagging the Blueliner
Glassy blue eyes met mine, and she let out a shaky breath. “I’m pregnant.”
Natalie and Amy squealed in excitement, pulling Lucy into a group hug.
“I’m crying over everything, and I hate it!” she exclaimed.
Lucy wasn’t much younger than us. She was going to turn thirty next month, but she’d only been married a month. I loved Natalie’s kids, and I was sure I’d love Lucy’s baby as well, but it only highlighted that I was on a different path than my friends.
My dilemma was long forgotten after Lucy dropped the baby bomb, but the wheels were still turning in my brain.
What was the worst that would happen if Amy was wrong? Cal would reject me with a lecture, and we would go back to hating each other.
But what if she was right? I could pop my hockey player cherry and move on. I wasn’t interested in anything long-term with Cal. He wasn’t the type to want to settle down either, so it was perfect. We’d have some hot sex, get it out of our systems, and go our separate ways.
New Mission: Bagging the Blueliner.
Chapter 10
Cal
“Berg, pick up thespeed!” Coach’s voice screamed across the ice.
The Atlanta Aviators were outskating us, plain and simple. We were sucking wind, worn down after two periods of play. The Aviators were getting faster, if that was even possible. The older average age of our roster was showing, and the younger team was taking us for a ride.
We were tied, but it took everything we had to claw back from a two-goal deficit. A couple of well-placed pucks were the difference. Reed was getting peppered in net. My job was to keep those shots from getting to him, but I was failing.
Feeling the weight of the world on my shoulders—as a leader on the team, and with my contract ending after the season—I searched desperately for a chance, an opening I could use to tilt the ice in our favor.
Scanning, I found it.
The Aviators were in transition, headed through the neutral zone toward Reed. Feeling confident they had possession of the puck, they sent three players to the bench to change.
Knowing my defensive partner, Luka, had my back if I missed, I charged the Aviators’ hotshot, Baldwin. Throwing my body into his, I knocked him off balance, sending him crashing to the ice. Then, I scooped up the free puck. Looking down the ice, I saw Jaxon at the opposite blue line. My stretch pass landed perfectly on his stick while the Aviators were still in the midst of their line change.
Jaxon was one-on-one with their goalie, Murphy. If anyone could read a goalie, it was Jaxon.
Charging head-on, he pulled his stick to the right across his body, giving the impression of a backhand shot. Murphy reacted, extending his glove and dropping to the ice. Jaxon pulled back to the left, lifting the puck over Murphy’s pads and into the net.
The crowd in the arena erupted, and I raced down the ice to celebrate with my teammates. Jaxon pointed at me as I neared, a giant smile on his face as he yelled, “Fucking right, Cal! Just what we needed!”
The momentum shifted after we took the lead, and everyone began skating a little harder, reinvigorated. The Aviators pulled their goalie for an extra attacker in the final minute of the third period, but it wasn’t enough. The buzzer sounded, and the Comets won the game. We’d worked hard for this one, and it felt good.
Leaving the bench, the entire team lined up to congratulate Reed on a great game before filing down the tunnel and into the locker room.
Sitting at our assigned stalls, we began to undress. Coach entered, commanding the room for his post-game remarks. Everyone stopped what they were doing to pay attention.
Standing in the center of the locker room, Coach cleared his throat. “You played a tough game out there, boys. I’m proud of you for your perseverance and not giving up when we gave up an early lead. It wasn’t pretty, but we got it done. Take tomorrow off to rest up, and then it’s back to work on Friday to prepare for the Surf to come to town.”
Everyone cheered the day off as Coach left to take on the press first. Jaxon stood, holding up a custom-made wrestling belt featuring the Comets logo. It was team tradition after a win to award the belt to a player who gave a great effort. The next win, the belt would be handed off by whomever was awarded tonight.
“I think we all can agree,” Jaxon began, “that we wouldn’t have had a chance if it weren’t for Reed standing on his head in net tonight.” Walking to Reed, he placed the belt in his waiting hands. “Thanks for keeping us in the game, brother.”
Reed stood to address the room as tonight’s recipient. “Hard-fought win tonight, boys. On to the next!”
Claps rang out across the room, and before we knew it, the press was granted access to the locker room. It wasn’t my favorite part of my job, but it was a necessary evil.
Wiping my face with a towel, several microphones appeared in front of my face, and the bright lights of cameras forced me to keep my eyes down.
“Tell us about the assist on the game-winner, Cal.” I didn’t bother to look up to see which reporter asked the question.
