Page 123 of Playing the Pucking Game
“And to think, you nearly bailed on tonight,” I mock.
“This is way better than having an early night.”
Fletch takes a seat on the couch with Handsy, and we all wait for Marilyn to set up his cell to capture the action before they both take their places.
“I can’t believe we’re about to watch this,” Fletch muses.
“I can’t believe we’re expected to join in.”
“Take your position, Monroe. Everyone else, watch and learn.”
“Christ, he isn’t this serious before a game,” Brit points out.
“Maybe ice hockey wasn’t his calling in life after all. Maybe he was always meant to be USA’s dance mat champion.”
“There aren’t actually championships. There are competitive events, though.”
“Which you’ve been to?” Handsy asks, getting a little more invested in this whole thing.
“Nah, we used to watch footage, though.”
“Of course you did,” Fletch mutters with a laugh.
“Are you done chirping? Can we get this competition underway?”
“You got it. Although I think we already know who’s going to win,” Brit points out.
“I’m not so sure about that,” Monroe states with a determined look on his face.
“Linc, you’ve got a little sister; you must have experience, too.”
“Hell no. Nova wasn’t really a gamer. Thankfully, I escaped this torture.”
I think back to the things she used to get me to do as kids and an ache settles in my chest.
I’m not the only one who’s suffering with Dad’s loss. My little sister is too.
Nova was such a happy-go-lucky child. But I haven’t seen that version of her in a long time. She’s…she’s changed and her behavior is getting wilder and wilder.
Mom pulled her out of her high school and put her into a prep school in the hope it would help rein her in, but I’m not sure it’s really helping. She may have pulled the wool over Mom’s eyes, but everything is not okay in Nova’s world. I just can’t put my finger on what’s really going on. I just have to hope that, one day, she’ll feel like she trusts me enough to confide in me. But I understand that despite my job and celebrity status, Nova is just as embarrassed by me as every little sister is of their big brother.
“Until now,” Handsy points out dragging me back to the present.
“I’ve put the setting on medium,” Monroe tells Killer, who scoffs. “Call it a warm-up round.”
“Whatever. Just hit play.”
Monroe does as he’s told, and a countdown appears on screen.
Brit, Fletch, Handsy and I all wait with bated breath for the car crash that’s about to play out before us.
The music starts, and Killer and Monroe start jumping around. Their eyes are locked on the screen, watching the instructions, but their legs…fuck. It’s like they’ve got a lift of their own.
“Holy shit, they weren’t lying,” Fletch barks, pulling his cell from his pocket. “Reese has to see this.”
The four of us sit there watching in awe as both Killer and Monroe hit move after move. Their scores rise on either side of the TV screen, but neither takes the lead.
They’re neck and neck, and neither shows any sign of slowing down as the timer begins to run out.
