Page 26 of Playing the Pucking Game
“What?” I snap.
“Nothing,” he mutters before focusing back on the road as the arena comes into view in the distance.
“You like her,” Sutton pipes up, making Kodie snort a laugh.
“Of course—she’s my best friend’s little sister.”
Kodie makes a weird noise.
“She’s awesome, and she needs a boyfriend,” Sutton continues. “Maybe you can be her boyfriend.”
“Can’t risk it, Lil Riv. Rett would end me, and then what would the Vipers do?”
She thinks for a moment. “Good point.”
“Hey,” Kodie says. “We could manage without Storm.”
“Possibly, but you must admit that he does bring a lot to the team. I can think of maybe a couple of others who could take his spot. I think Andrey Petrov would probably be my top choice?”
“The fu-dge?” I correct quickly, remembering who I’m talking to.
Kodie’s grip on the wheel tightens at the mention of the Bandits winger. A little earlier in the season, Petrov was pictured dancing with Casey on a night out after a game. The next time wehave a match-up, I’m pretty sure Kodie is going to make him pay for that little stunt.
“What? I’m just saying,” Sutton mutters as if she hasn’t just dismissed my presence on the team.
Kodie just laughs.
“You can shut the hell up,” I sulk as he pulls into the parking garage and finds his space alongside a few other familiar cars.
“I see this wasn’t a special invite, then,” I tease as we get out.
“Aw, aren’t you feeling like my number one, Storm?” Kodie taunts. “I love all my teammates equally.”
Punching him in the arm, I take off, leaving the annoying father and daughter behind me.
I love them dearly, but what is this, National Chirp on Lincoln Storm Day?
The guys’ voices hit my ears long before I see them.
Today is a day off, but I’m hardly surprised they all jumped at the chance to get on the ice.
We’re having a great season so far, and none of us wants to risk losing the momentum we’ve gained.
We’re going into the new year at the top of the division and second in the Western Conference. It’s better than we’ve achieved for years, and a really good sign about where this season could take us.
Playoffs, here we come.
Images of lifting the Stanley Cup alongside my brothers fill my head.
Fuck, I want it so fucking badly.
It’s what we’ve all worked for since we were little boys with a dream. And we’re the closest we’ve ever come.
Barely five minutes later, we have our skates on, Sutton in full pads and helmet, and we’re stepping onto the ice with our captain, Fletcher Ferguson, our goalie Cole Hansley, aka Handsy, our first line defensive pair Calvin Kellar, aka Killer,and Milo Makenna, aka Brit, and our second line defensive rookie, Hayden Monroe, aka Marilyn.
“Happy New Year,” Marilyn shouts like the overexcited puppy that he is. “We’re gonna win the cup this year.”
“Kid, you’re not even gonna be able to lift it,” Killer teases as he skates past him.
