Page 70 of Cheap Shot
“Cole, I—” he begins, but I hold up my hand.
“Please save the heart-to-heart chat for someone who cares, Cooper.” I turn toward him, my eyes locking with his. “I already told Beau that you are the team captain. On the ice, I’ll follow your lead, but off the ice, you and I are nothing.”
“I’ll always be your brother, Cole.”
“A fact that I would much rather forget,” I respond before stepping onto the ice and skating toward the rest of the team.
Was I too harsh? If I was, I don’t care. Cooper needs to know where I stand. He is the team captain. The leader of the team. A fact that I can’t ignore, especially if I want to be a part of this team. On the ice, dealing with Cooper is a necessary evil, but off the ice, I don’t want to have anything to do with him, or Beau, for that matter. I’m here to do a job, and I don’t plan on letting anything or anyone impede my dream of winning the Stanley Cup.
* * *
“Let’s go, let’s go! You skate like my grandma on Xanax!” I swerve past a rookie defenseman, flicking the puck toward the net, and grin when it pings off the post.
“You must be losing your edge, little brother,” Beau says from his place in the crease. “Maybe you want Jensen to give you some pointers.”
“It’s all in the backhand, Hendrix,” Jensen shouts as I skate past him, retrieving the puck and heading back in toward the net.
Jensen has been a pain in my ass since I met him on day one of rookie training camp. I must have wronged this kid in another life because it seems like he goes out of his way to give me shit any chance he gets. No matter where I am, he’s right behind me, chirping and giving me a hard time about every little thing I do on the ice. I would like to say it's all in good fun, but ever since that night in the gym when he took a dig at Michele, I’m not so sure. He’s also a center, so he and I are fighting for the same spot on the team. Fingers crossed, I can make it through the rest of practice without wanting to take his head off every time I get near him.
“You just got lucky, old man. I think you’re getting slower with your trapper.” I laugh, doing a triple deke before shooting, the puck gliding right between his legs. “Coming from the guy who just got nutmegged.”
“This isn’t the first time that’s happened.” Benson chuckles, making his way around the net and back to center ice.
Benson is another one of the veteran offensive players on the team. He’s been here for the last few years and raves about how amazing my brothers are, which made me hate him almost immediately. He seems like a halfway decent guy, an amazing winger, but he needs to learn to stop yapping so much. A good chirp session on the ice is normal, but I don’t need someone else following behind me, singing my brothers’ praises.
“When was the first time?” I yell, wanting to know all the juicy details.
“Last season. By a forward half his size.”
“I wasn’t nutmegged. I slipped,” Beau whines, causing all of us to laugh loudly.
“Right. Slipped. On your pride?” Benson responds, slapping the puck toward the net, but Beau easily deflects it with his stick.
“Where is your shadow, Sammy, today?” Jensen chirps, and I roll my eyes.
“He’s with the defenders, where he belongs.” I motion with my chin to the other side of the rink. Sammy and a few other defenders I don’t know are running drills under Coach Mercer’s watchful eye.
Sammy has definitely been hanging around me a lot recently, mostly because he’s been mine and Michele’s lookout and cover story when we want to sneak away for a private moment. But he’s also a genuinely cool guy and an asset to the team. If I were on speaking terms with Cooper, I’d put in a good word for him. From speaking to him, I don’t believe he’s in danger of being cut, but you never know.
Across the rink, Logan—one of the rookies and self-declared locker room philosopher—skates up beside us, flipping his stick in his gloved hand. “Can we at leastpretendwe’re professionals today? Just until the cameras stop rolling?”
I have nothing good to say about Logan, mostly because he reminds me of Cooper. I don’t know if it’s the smug smile that has become a permanent fixture on his face or the way he pretends he’s better than everyone else. I don’t know. Logan was called up from the Timberwolves AHL team, but the details are very hush-hush. No rumors spreading around the locker room, zip. Which can be both a good thing and a bad thing. I, for one, haven’t decided which yet.
“There are no cameras,” I respond, my eyes scanning the almost-empty stands a second time just to be sure.
Remy warned me that the Timberwolves have open practices at the start of the season, wanting to get the fans amped for the season. Which, mostly, seems like a good plan, but the potential for a reporter trying to get a shot of the three Hendrix brothers would be too much for a reporter to pass up.
“There are always cameras. Or a thirsty physiotherapist.” Jensen winks, causing everyone around us to laugh loudly.
But not me. I’m currently imagining every possible way I can get rid of him without going to jail. This isn’t the first time one of the guys has made a comment about Michele. It’s to be expected. The hockey locker room is usually a male-only area. The last thing anyone is worried about is disrespecting women.
“I wonder if she’s single,” Logan asks as everyone’s attention turns toward her in the box, sitting and waiting for one of us to be injured, apparently.
I know she is here for everyone on the team, but there is a part of me that wants to believe she came out here to watch and make sure I’m okay. Either way, it’s pure torture. The universe is definitely out to get me. Am I being dramatic? Possibly, but that doesn’t make it any less true. Now that Michele and I have finally given in to temptation and tasted the forbidden fruit, it is almost impossible to keep my hands to myself. We have been trying to keep our distance from each other, but that’s much easier said than done. I usually see her at least once a day, sometimes more, depending on our training schedule, and that still doesn’t seem to be enough. The sneaking around is taking its toll on both of us.
“Does it matter? She’s a staff member,” Beau responds, his eyes flicking to mine for a few moments before flicking to Logan.
“There aren’t any rules against it,” he responds, but I shake my head no. “How do you know?”
