Page 6 of Snow, Ice, and Spice
Hope slices through the dread in my gut. “You think so?”
“I can’t guarantee that Denver will want you back, but—”
“I don’t care,” I say quickly. “I’ll happily play for whatever team wants me.”
“Good. Get to work then.”
I shoot up from the chair to shake his hand. “I will.”
I leave his office and head to the elevator, determined to un-fuck my image. If saying goodbye to partying and sleeping around is what I need to do to get my career back, I’ll be a goddamn boy scout.
As I make my way through downtown Denver toward my car, I notice a few lingering gazes from passersby. I wonder if they recognize me because of my time on the ice…or because they saw me on social media drunkenly stumbling out of a club or making out in public with the nearest attractive woman…
I hunch my shoulders as I walk, feeling every stare, like a hot iron poking into my skin. Before I never used to care why people looked at me. I was just happy they noticed me. Any publicity was good publicity…or so I thought. But I don’t want to be a laughing stock or some sideshow, especially if it leads to the end of my career.
I wince as I climb into my car, my knee throbbing from walking so much.
I check the time and note that the Bashers game is about to hit the third period. I let out a heavy sigh and wonder if I’ve got the stomach to watch my team play without me.
I pull my phone from my pocket and stare at the screen for several seconds.
“Fuck it,” I mutter to myself. I pull up the game on my phone just in time to see the Bashers and the Warriors set up for the puck drop. We’re up one to zero.
When I see the ref toss the puck onto the ice, the muscles in my hands and forearms twitch with the need to grip a hockey stick and slap the puck. My brain knows I’m not there, but my body doesn’t seem to care. That’s years and years of muscle memory built into my blood, my muscles, my bones. It’s impossible to turn off.
I watch as my teammates dart across the ice, battling the opposing team for possession of the puck. I grit my teeth and my muscles tense once more as I observe Bashers’ superstar Xander Williams smash into a player from the other team and swipe the puck from him, then speed toward the net. Another teammate catches up to him, and Xander passes the puck off once a Warriors player gets in his space.
He manages to maneuver around the guy and get open right in time for our other teammate to pass to him. He gets the puck, hits it, and a split second later he sinks it into the back of the Warriors’ net. The entire arena erupts in cheers.
But I don’t even smile. Yeah, I’m happy my team scored, but that’s overshadowed by the dull pain radiating inside of me. I don’t even realize until I feel a pressure in my chest that I’ve been holding my breath and gritting my teeth.
If I hadn’t been a brainless dipshit solely focused on having a good time, I’d be there. I’d be darting across the ice, playing my heart out until my lungs and legs were on fire. I’d be celebrating with my teammates, instead of hiding in my car watching my team kick ass without me, like some washed-up has-been.
Maybe they’re better off without me. They’re clearly doing just fine on their own.
That pain burrows deeper into my chest. I close the browser window on my phone and toss it onto the passenger seat of my car. For a while I sit there and stare straight ahead as cars and pedestrians pass by, feeling a weird mix of numbness and regret.
But then Javier’s words from earlier echo in my mind.
Rehab your knee…clean up your image…lay low
A flash of determination hits. I’m in a shitty situation for sure, but I’m not ready to give up just yet.
It’s going to take a while to heal my kneeandmy image. But laying low? I can do that no problem. I just need my cousin’s help.
I grab my phone, prop it onto the holder on my dashboard, and pull up Ingrid’s phone number. As I drive off, I can’t help but think of Maya too.
I lick my lips, savoring the phantom taste of her mouth and tongue. Her grabbing me and kissing me last night was hot as fuck. My brain pulls up her image, how sexy she looked in that tight little dress with her boobs practically spilling out of—
I launch the thought from my brain. Hooking up with Maya should be the last thing on my mind. Not that she’d even want to. She was repulsed by me the moment she realized it was me she had kissed. I’d bet good money she’d rather run me over with her car than come within ten feet of me ever again.
Get her off your mind. You’re a Boy Scout from now on, remember?
I refocus on the moment, counting the rings as I wait for Ingrid to answer. When it rings a half-dozen times, I start to lose hope, but she finally picks up.
“Theo! Hey! How was physical therapy? Is your knee feeling any better?”
I bite the inside of my cheek, angry at myself for lying to my cousin in the first place. No question she’ll be upset once I come clean about what’s been going on with me.
