Page 102 of Sure Shot
Something clicks into place inside me. Something big.
I pull out a notebook, flip to the first clean page, and start scribbling.
Thirty-Three
Room 412
Tank
“Oh God,”Georgia Trevi says, staring at her phone. “I can’t believe he did that.”
I’m shoving a chip covered in queso into my mouth, so it’s Trevi who has to ask, “What’s the matter, honey?” He looks over her shoulder. “Bart Palacio doesn’t have anything better to do than yap on Twitter?”
“He says:Actually, we won that game. With better referees, and no bad penalty calls, it was 1-0 in our favor.” She groans. “He’s the Donald Trump of hockey.”
“Don’t waste another minute on him,” I say. “He’s not worth it.”
“Tank has a point, baby,” Leo agrees. “Come play darts with me. Looks like Heidi just beat Castro.”
Of course she did.
I shove another chip into my mouth and scan the party. There are throngs of jubilant hockey players and a few wives and girlfriends. But I don’t spot any shockingly red hair anywhere, and I don’t have any messages from Bess on my phone.
That’s strange. I didn’tdreamher, did I?
“Hey!” Anton Bayer claps a hand onto my shoulder. “You’re just the man I was looking for.”
“How’s that?”
“I got a song I need to sing for you.”
“A song?” That’s a frightening idea. The man is wearing a guitar, though, so I guess he’s serious. “What did I do to deserve this honor?”
“You beat Dallas, man!” Castro says. “We live for this. You took Palacio down in front of the whole fucking world.”
“Baby Bayer likes to write songs to show his appreciation,” O’Doul explains. “Just roll with it.”
“Okay?” I glance around one more time, hoping to spot Bess, but she’s nowhere in view.
Anton starts strumming an intro. And since I lived in Dallas all those years, I know the song immediately. It’sDeep In the Heart of Texas. But when he starts to sing, I realize he’s changed all the lyrics. “The stars at night are not very bright!”
Right on cue, Castro, Trevi, O’Doul and some others let out the series of four fast claps that come with this iconic song.
“Deep in this parrrrrt of Texas,” sings Anton.
I groan, and everyone else cracks up.
“The locker room has a strange perfume…”Clap clap clap clap. “Deep in this part of Texas.”
“You really shouldn’t have,” I chuckle.
But he keeps on singing.
“They skate too slow and their slapshots blow…”Clap clap clap clap. “Deep in this part of Texas.”
The rhyming gets—if possible—even more dubious. Anton rhymes “moron” with “score on” and “hockey with cocky.”
He’s a big goofball. I’m loving it. But then the last line knocks me for a loop.
