Page 29 of The Home Grown
It just so happens that I’ve been doing a tremendous job of maintaining a little self-control, but tonight, I’m feeling in the mood for a fight.
Hutch studies me for a second before leaning forward to get a better look at Langer. He flicks his eyes between us several times, sizing us both up before giving me his answer.
“Yeah, I think so,” he says. “He’s about the same size as you—or actually, maybe he’s a little bigger. I can’t tell with the pads … so maybe not.”
“Nah, you got it right the first time. We’re about the same size, only difference is, I have better aim.” My voice is full of confidence, but I’m pretty sure Hutch is right—Langdon is carrying more bulk than me.
Hutch shrugs, shifting his attention back to the game I should be watching too, but I’m busy stewing on the animosity I have for Langdon, the reason threefold.
Not only did he ruin my summer, but he also plays for my least favourite team in the league—my old junior team. But this is me being a sore loser, because when I reached my time to progress upward to pro, they didn’t want to sign me because I wasn’t good enough.
That shit stings like a motherfucker.
I haven’t been able to say their team name ever since, nor bring myself to wear anything that resembles their team colours.
Finally, there’s one spot for a defenceman on Team GB and both Langer and I want it.
“Fuck, did you see that?” Hutch says, jabbing me in the ribs. But I’m still fixed on the home bench, seething over the fact that Langdon has more teeth than I do, something I can probably rectify if I aim high enough. “Betts?”
“Sorry, I’m just?—”
Wham.
The glass directly opposite shakes as Danny takes a second hit.
He skates away a second later with the puck, unphased.
“We need to pull back that goal,” Hutch says, casting his eyes to the jumbotron.
He’s right.
We’re down a goal and we need these two points a win will give us.
Two points.
These two points will put us in a position abovethemand with only a handful of games left in the season, we need all we can get. They’re last year’s league winners too, which makes the hate burn just that much stronger.
The truth is, I’ve been simmering on a high heat ever since Ellie showed up at my place last week, and now I’m looking for any excuse to let off a little steam.
Not only have I spent all my free time desperately trying to piece together the events of that day, but I’ve been trawling the internet looking for anything relating to weddings in Denmark.And I’m not sure if Ellie knows, but that video she showed me wasn’t the only one. There’re several. And I’ve watched every single one of them multiple times, even debating whether to reach out to the authors and ask more questions.
I didn’t. I can’t.
I guess I’m still living in denial of my own stupidity.
“I think I can take him,” I say, quickly concluding that Langer’s face would be an ideal target for my pent-up anger.
But Hutch isn’t listening. He’s busy watching our defensive zone, just as the home crowd roars as another goal sails in for them.
“You know what? Maybe we need the energy.” Hutch tightens his jaw as he looks up at the scoreboard. “Just pick your moment.”
I shift in my spot, leaning forward to focus on the game as the play resets. I need to forget about Ellie for now, because there’s no way I’m going to keep my focus if I let myself wallow.
Johnny’s shift is over, and I track his movement across the ice, keen for him to get back so I can take advantage of the minute we’ll have to chat while our third defensive pair play a shift.
The door swings open, and he steps off the ice. Hutch disappears and I shuffle up so Johnny can sit himself on the very end of the bench, making it his turn to exchange glances with my favourite person.
“That wasn’t my best effort,” he says. “We need to connect our passes—this could go sour pretty quickly if we don’t take control. But we need to think about the next goal. That’s all.”
