Page 13 of Blitz
Cool? Who even used the word cool unironically or adds paw emojis? And who the hell named a dog charity Fetchadelphia, although I could admit, grudgingly, it was clever. I could lie and tell him that I’d donated, then send an anonymous donation to make it the truth, but it didn’t sit right with me, and yeah, it wasTom’s fault that I was sitting there, pre-practice, researching dog shelters in freaking Harrisburg.
“Does anyone know any dog shelters?” I blurted out, and the locker room quieted. I waited for someone to say something, but they all stared at me. Yeah, I didn’t talk to them much outside of skating with them, but it was an easy question, for fuck’s sake.
“CrossRoads,” Noah piped up. “My dad played with Max Van Hellren. He used to play for the Railers, and his husband is?—”
“Okay.” I stared down at my screen to stop Noah talking—Van Hellren was an old-school D-man. I heard a hiss to my left and some muttering to my right, and I glanced up to find everyone still staring at me.
“What?” I snapped, and no one had the guts to talk to me; they all turned away. Fuck em. I returned to checking into this CrossRoads place as the team headed to the ice. I had five minutes yet, and I wasn’t going out to shoot the shit with a team I wasn’t planning to stay with for long, but then, someone tapped my skate with their stick. I cursed at the interruption, ready with my best snarl. I glanced up, seeing Cap staring down at me with Carts and Frosty, the team’s two As flanking him, and I tensed. Jack O’Leary was borderline furious, his blue eyes cold and hard, and I was confused.
“You wanna explain being rude to the rookie,” he said, his voice measured. He’d been grumpy all week, something about his wife cheating on him, and I knew it wouldn’t be too long until I got it in the neck from him for something. Yesterday, it had been Petrov, who’d left his socks out. And yeah, that was pretty shit, but there was no need to throw Petrov’s lucky socks into the garbage.
“‘Rude’?”
“You cut him off.”
“I got the information I needed.” The truth was, I didn’t know how to hold a real conversation, particularly with someonewho was looking to shout at me. At least, not the kind where people looked at you and expected words that mattered. Every time I tried, it felt like my mouth was wired wrong, like I was translating from a language I’d never really learned. It was easier to sound like a prick than to risk sounding lost. Maybe I should ask him about his probably-soon-to-be-ex-wife.
Probably not.
“That’s not the point,” Carts muttered, shaking his head.
“I just needed a dog charity,” I said, trying to keep my voice level, although a headache banded my head and made me want to sit somewhere dark and close my eyes tight.
“You’ve been here all summer, and in pre-season three weeks,” Cap says, ignoring my response. “Three weeks of you sitting alone, not talking to anyone except to criticize their play. Three weeks of you shutting down every attempt at friendship?—”
“I don’t criticize,” I defended, “I’m trying to help.”
Cap’s face darkened, and I knew I’d pushed it too far. How did I fuck up this time? “The Railers traded you for your hockey IQ, not your attitude,” he snapped, voice low enough that it wouldn’t carry beyond our little huddle. There it was again, Cap’s flash of anger.
I deserve that anger.
I felt my jaw clench. I knew I was fucking up.
Frosty sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Look, man, we get it. Trades suck. But we’re your team now, whether you like it or not.”
“And Noah’s a good kid,” Cap adds. “You don’t have to be best friends with everyone, but basic respect isn’t optional.
I panicked, feeling closed-in. and cornered. “I’ll apologize.”
Cap shook his head. “It’s not just about apologizing. It’s about making an effort.”
“Cap—”
“And maybe start with not being a closed-off asshole for five consecutive minutes. Baby steps.”
I was about to snap when I caught myself. These guys were our team’s leaders, and I was fucking up. I respected their play, and the way they led by example. Also, there was something in how they looked at me—not with hatred like back in Atlanta, but with exhaustion. As though I was a problem they were trying to solve, not an enemy they were trying to fight. I was so used to that look. Disappointment.
I swallowed hard, and for a moment, I considered telling them everything. The last time I’d felt this unsteady was staring at the DNA report, realizing I had a sister I never knew existed. But vulnerability wasn’t my strong suit.
“I’m sorry. I’ll talk to Noah,” I said, shoving my phone into my pocket.
“Good. Be better, okay?”
They headed out, leaving me with my thoughts and the lingering smell of gear. I stowed my phone and headed to the ice, tracking down Noah and tapping his shin.
“Sorry about before. The CrossRoads thing… that’s helpful.”
Noah looked at me with surprise, his stick pausing mid-tap against the ice. The wariness in his eyes made me feel like even more of an asshole.
