Page 14 of Rookie Season
The buzzer blows and the arena goes wild. Suddenly I’msurrounded by my linemates, congratulating me on my first NHL goal.
I blink around in disbelief, trying to fully absorb what just happened within minutes of taking to the ice. The feeling is unreal, a high like no other. Everything I’ve worked so hard for.
So why do I find myself sneaking a look at Ally in the crowd, to check if she’s jumping up and down and cheering like everyone else? I have no idea. But I can’t find her.
The rest of the game goes by with less fanfare, and I don’t score again. But the Lions win their first game of the season two to one, and we’re all on a high from our win.
In the dressing room after the game, Mitch—er, Coach Anderson—gives me a rare grin as he hands me the puck from my first NHL goal, and we pose for a photo. Fisher gets a puck too, his first NHL assist. He poses with our coaches, and while Slater is the picture of relaxation, Mitch just grimaces at the camera. His grimace only deepens when Fisher, dumbass that he is, tries to put his arm around him.
Mitch shrugs him away. “You stink, don’t touch me.”
With that, Mitch stalks off, and Slater looks at Fisher. “I mean, he’s not wrong,” he says with a shrug before following my brother-in-law out of the dressing room.
Fisher, meanwhile, is grinning. “Your brother-in-law is so cool. I think he secretly adores me.”
I snort. “Yeah, okay.”
As I start removing my gear, anxious to shower, Carver and Sandine meander over toward us. My spine straightens, bracing myself for what they might say.
“Well, well, well. Nepo Baby had a decent first game,” Sandine says.
Carver grins, and it actually looks somewhat friendly. “Yeah, good job, kid.”
I relax, smiling back. “Thanks.”
“Not sure if anyone told you guys, but rookies always host the post-game party when we win our first game,” Sandine adds. “So, it looks like we’re celebrating at your place tonight.”
“Sorry,” I shrug. “I don’t own the place, so no can do.”
Fisher perks up. “I own it, and we’re in!”
I sigh heavily and shoot him a narrow-eyed look.
“Oh, come on! It’s our first win!” He pulls me toward him by dragging a sweaty arm around my neck. “You need to have more fun, Downsby.”
“All I want to do is shower and go to bed.”
Carver snickers. “Going to bed would be so much sweeter if you had a warm, feminine body beside you to help you celebrate.” He winks. “And luckily for you kid, we have a list of girls who are dying to party with the Lions tonight.”
I try to keep the disgust off my face. I somehow doubt I’d be even remotely interested with the women who hang around Sandine and Carver. If I were remotely interested in any woman, which I’m not.
Penn yanks his jersey over his head, smiling big. “Did someone say party? Can we order food for said party? I'm starving.”
“Puck, yeah,” Fisher says, clearly trying to get on board with our superstition now that he’s racking up so many stickers on the swear chart. First person to ten stickers has to take out the trash, and Fisher is not the household chores type.
“I’ve got you covered,” Fisher continues. “I happen to know the best pizza place in San Fran.” He then sends our address into our team text thread.
I want to find a time capsule and shoot myself into thefuture so I don’t have to be at this party. Hockey players have a reputation for working hardandplaying hard, and I know Sandine has a particularly wild reputation. Who even knows when I’m going to get to sleep tonight? Maybe I can stay the night with Mitch and Andie…wait, no, Andie’s still sick. I don't have time to get sick.
So, I guess I’m stuck hosting a party.
Penn sees my glum face and nudges me. “Cheer up, buttercup. Winning, parties, women, us getting lumped with hosting and probably also footing the bill…well, you gotta view it as all being a part of rookie season, my friend.”
All I want to do is play hockey, dammit.
But I guess nothing is that simple.
“Pucksake,” I say glumly.
