Page 31 of The Home Grown
Langdon smirks.
“Nervous? You’re kidding, right? You couldn’t score on an empty net … and just because you have Jedward on your team … it means shit.”
He’s referring to the Preston twins—our ex-NHL contingent. Even they know hockey is a team sport, and they alone can’t win us any silverware.
Langdon, though—I’ve got to give it to him—forces a genuine laugh from me, but I keep it back, determined not to let him have the last word.
“You’re a liability. All talk and no action … how many shots have you blocked with your face this season, Langer? Wait … I don’t think…”
There’s a whistle from the ref in the distance, but I tune it out since Langdon is in my ear, chuckling softly—taunting me.
Jani, our first line centre, moves in to take the face-off.
I ignore the calls for me to get into position as I shove Langer hard with my shoulder, causing him to twist on the spot.
He pushes me so violently into the boards with the shaft of his stick, it snaps in half, causing the crowd to erupt into cheers.
“C’mon Betts, let’s see who’s better then? Or is this about the prelim roster? Because we both know there’s only one defensive spot,” he spits, making it really fucking hard for me to say no.
But there’s nothing stopping me from drawing a penalty.
I have every confidence that I can force a bigger reaction from Langer by not reacting at all. I know how these types of guys work because I’m one of them.
It takes another ten seconds of me smirking back at him for him to throw a punch, right into my cheek. But the pain that shoots through my face is a small price to pay for Langer getting two minutes in the box for instigating.
And I’m so fucking proud of myself for not punching him back.
“I’ll see you on Monday,” I call as he’s carted to the penalty box.
And given my upcoming chat with the GM, I hope to Christ I’m right.
Chapter Seven
BETTSY
The last thingI expect to see when I get out of the shower is a message from Vicky telling me the GM is making a special trip to see me.
Tonight.
In approximately fifteen minutes, to be exact.
And what’s more unsettling? She’s taken it upon herself to have a suit dropped off.
“A fucking suit,” I whisper under my breath, watching whilst Johnny and the rest of the guys pull on their tracksuits for a comfy coach-ride home.
I fasten the buttons of my shirt and grab my tie.
Honestly, knowing he’s made a special trip to see me has me in a cold sweat of panic, which isn’t ideal considering my tie feels tight—almost suffocating. I keep it locked in place as I wait, figuring if he tells me I’m fired, I’ll at least look half-decent.
I pace over a small area in the dressing room.
“You’ll be fine,” Johnny says, patting me on the shoulder. He keeps his voice low as he talks. “You played a good game tonight, kept a level head, and we won. He’ll be in a good mood.”
But when he doesn’t make eye-contact, I can tell he’s feeling as nervous as I am.
“What if this is it, Cap?” I ask, picking at the skin around the nails of my right hand. “Because one forum post is just gossip, but several?—”
I’ve been trying not to think about the increase in posts, which became apparent on the coach ride earlier.
