Page 36 of The One Night Dash
“Thank you for waiting. I’m sorry to take up more of your time.”
“It’s not a problem.” I slide in, and he asks. “Are you okay?”
I tell him, “I’m just ready to call it a day.” Instead of admitting that sometimes being humble feels a lot like beingsmall.
Dash said not to go, and so did Sofie. But I have to. This is a breakup in a way, and I refuse to let things end bad …ever again.
The hotel room is beautiful.Warm, soft, and quiet. Well, except for the TV flickering in the corner. My laptop sits open on my lap, cursor blinking on a blank page that feels like it’s mocking me. I should be writing. I have words swirling in my head, but they’re not making sense, and it just feels wrong to force them into existence. They need a break. So, I’m sprawled across the bed, watching the Brooklyn Bears take on Utah.
It started as background noise, just something to fill the silence while I stared at the cursor. But then I caught sight ofnumber 19 on the screen. He looks less relaxed than he usually does. Dash is never stressed. In fact, he’s the stressor on the ice. Koa is grittier, Theo is the brains, the conductor, and Dash is the one jawing at his opponent, playing the crowd. He’s the cocky one.
Something’s wrong. He’s too … focused?
I sit up and scoot closer to the end of the bed as he and his line settle into position, and he does it with zero Dash flare.
My phone buzzes, and Nalani’s name lights the screen. I answer, and her face fills the camera, wide grin and all. Behind her, Sofie, Claudia, and Paul, who is holding a sleeping Savannah, are on Koa and Nalani’s couch, snacks spread across the coffee table, the massive TV screen on the same game I’ve been pretending not to care about.
“You’re with us now,” Nalani says, like it’s law. “A typical Brooklyn night while the boys are away.”
Sofie angles the phone toward the coffee table. “See? We even got your kettle chips and that weird fizzy tea you like.”
“What the hell is going on with Prince Charming tonight?” Paul grunts. “Kid’s not there.”
“Right?” I ask, and Sofie props her phone up on the coffee table in a perfect position for me to see all of them.
Paul Bronski, hockey legend, pulls a shit-eating grin that he only uses on the guys and Sofie, who busts his ass every chance she gets due to the circumstances in which they met.
Nalani moved to the city just a couple of months ago and into one of his apartments, which had chickens, and no one even knew he was still in the City, or even alive. Apparently, he has basically been a recluse since his wife passed.
“Wonder if he’s still pissed at the Russian and German for eating his food.”
“I’d be pissed,” Sofie huffs.
He chuckles. “Kid meal preps, and since I’m crashing at their place, I heated up food for them before they left for practice. My fault, but for some reason, that kid thinks I do no wrong, so he’s taking it out on them.”
“You’re his hero, Paul,” Nalani says.
“Ours, too,” Claudia says.
“Speak for yourself,” Sofie huffs.
“The little shit’s the only one making sense.” He nods to Sofie. “I’m no hero. I played hockey; I didn’t save lives.”
“Okay, shh …” Nalani says then whispers, “Puck drop.”
And the puck doth drop.
Theo snaps it back like lightning, Koa scoops it up, and Dash is already flying down the wing. I lean closer to the hotel TV.
Paul grumbles, “Kid’s fine. He’s back to his normal play—fast and careless.”
Theo is weaving through traffic, Koa is muscling past the line, and then the puck slides to Dash’s stick. My breath catches before I even realize it.
He doesn’t think. He just fires. The crack of his shot cuts through the arena noise and the hotel silence all at once.
The puck hits the goalie’s glove.Shit.But then the goalie fumbles. The puck drops. The horn blasts.
“Brooklyn, one; Utah, zero!” Nalani screams, the whole room behind her erupting in cheers.
