Page 33 of Just My Puck
“You’re going to have to walk me through some of the rules. I hope I won’t be too annoying.”
“It’s easy,” Marissa reassures me. “The game is pretty straightforward, for the most part. Let me explain the basics.”
After my hockey crash course, the girls and I finish our dinner and go down to our seats. We’re all seated right behind the glass next to the team’s bench. The warm-ups just ended, and fans are flocking to their seats—a sea of red and black.
“Wow, we’re close to the ice,” I say, impressed. My eyes linger on the plexiglass, and I recall how it apparently broke during the first game I attended.
“Don’t worry,” Marissa says, following my gaze. “It won’t break again. What happened that night is incredibly rare. It was crazy witnessing that. So spectacular, but rare.”
“Spectacular?” Beth exclaims. “Is that the word you’re going with? It was scary as heck.”
“Of course. I mean, not agoodspectacular. Scary spectacular. Like, ‘wow.’ Anyway, I’m glad you’re okay,” she sputters, making us all laugh.
“Marissa is rather fond of the brutality aspect of the sport,” Beth explains, shaking her head.
“Brutalityisthe sport,” Marissa counters. “But it usually doesn’t involve fans.”
I cough out a laugh. “Yay me for being in the center of the action.”
Everyone laughs as the announcer cuts through the din of the crowd.
The players are called onto the ice, and the pre-game ceremonies commence. My eyes are instantly drawn to Caleb, who’s only recognizable thanks to his number nineteen. He looks so different with his hockey gear on. So manly, and even a bit intimidating. But definitelysexier. I can’t take my eyes off him as he skates into position with such ease, it’s almost like he’s flying.
Our eyes meet as he grinds to a stop. He smiles, but it falters. Before I can ask myself what that means, the referee drops the puck, and the game bursts into action.
It’s like a war has been declared on the ice. Players are smashed against the glass, which shakes dangerously. I jump each time, but thankfully, it doesn’t break.
A collective “Oh!” erupts around me, and I realize I must have missed something.
“What happened?” I ask Marissa, who’s sitting next to me. “I don’t get it.”
“Caleb let the puck through. It was an easy interception.” She shakes her head, her eyes on the ice. “It’s not like him to give the other team an advantage like that.”
I frown, looking back at the ice. Immediately, I spot Caleb skating behind the goal, his eyes fixed on me.
15
“Then we’ll all be making out in the same room. Not weird at all.”
Caleb Hawthorne
Aria is wearing my jersey, and that fact is completely messing with my head. There she is, sitting in the front row with my signature “C” slapped on her chest, and she’s never looked so beautiful. Her cheeks are flushed, and her eyes sparkle as she watches the game unfold. It’s weird having someone I know at the game, but the good kind of weird. Sure, my family comes once in a while, but it’s not the same. Not even close.
Someone whizzes past me, and I wonder how long I’ve been standing on the ice like an idiot. Probably not that long, but still, I have to get a grip. Aria wearing my number means nothing. It’s just her way of saying thank you. Not to mention, she probably has a boyfriend or a husband searching for her somewhere. I focus back on the game, channeling more anger into my blades as I skate toward Beaumont, who’s going to need the assist. The puck slides to him just as I’m drawing near the crease, and he makes a sharp pass across to Adler, who’s already skating into position.
Adler bodychecks Number Sixteen from Philadelphia to regain possession, and the plexiglass shakes dramatically. From the corner of my eye, I see Aria flinch in her seat, and my heart clenches. She’s scared it might break again. How could she not be, after the first experience she had here? I didn’t even think of that when I asked her to come. I should have—
“No, Cap, come on!” someone calls, pulling my attention from Aria. It’s Adler, who just shot the puck toward me. I let it pass right by, straight to the end of a Panther’s stick.
I curse under my breath. What’s going on with me?
I call for a line change, then go grab something to drink. All the while, Coach badgers me with advice and strategies, but I can’t hear a word he’s saying. I feel terrible for asking Aria to come here tonight. She probably only said yes to repay my kindness or whatever. She might even have PTSD, and it’s all my fault.
“Hawthorne, what are you doing?” Coach bellows behind me. That’s when I realize there’s a line change again, and I have to get back on the ice. At this point, I don’t know how I’m going to make it through this game without losing my job. Frankly, I’d deserve it.
But once again, I’m reminded that I have the most amazing team in the NHL. Even with my subpar performance, we managed a 4–2 win.
Everyone meets me with fist bumps and slaps on the back as I trudge back to the locker room, but what I really need is a slap in the face. I let my team down tonight.
