Page 53 of Riding Pine
Lukas:Totally fine. Use the place as much as you need. Have a good visit. I’ll check in tomorrow.
I power the phone off to remove any temptation to reply if he’s awake and fall back into a restless sleep.
“Move your feet, Pine! What the hellis your problem?”
Evans yells down the bench at me, and I stare forward. This is not the time to call me out. It was one bad play.
“If you have an issue with my plays, we can talk later, but right now we have a game to finish.”
A game that we’re now losing by a goal because of my mistake. Burnsy nudges my knee with his. “Let it roll off, Lukas. We can’t be perfect all the time.”
No, we certainly can’t.
Somehow, we win the game 3-2 with another clutch goal from Youngblood.
One game down and only three more to go.
“Number 7 needs to be put in his place.”
Youngblood holds a towel to his bleeding mouth as Landon checks out the wound. A high stick that wasn’t an accident hit him square in the mouth. “I still have my teeth!” he says, but my gaze tracks number 7 as he skates off the ice.
Turning, I find Coach already watching me, and he nods.
We have a four-minute power play, and we’re up by two goals, so it takes a few shifts before number 7 returns to the ice, and I’m over the boards as soon as a man comes over to change.
Once he touches the puck, I’m on him with a too-hard check into the boards and an extra cross-check before he turns around,spitting mad at the roughhousing. The whistle blows, and we drop our gloves. Moving in circles with our fists raised as the other players stand and watch, I’m more than ready to put this asshole in his place.
“If I had known you wanted to dance, I’d have asked you to the prom. Are you going to throw a punch, or do I need to start this right?”
“You’re an asshole,” he sneers.
“I’ve been called worse.” Impatient with this two-step sideshow, I grab his jersey and land a punch to the side of his face. He flails and throws a punch that glances off my shoulder before I smash a fist into his nose, and he goes down like a bag of rocks.
I have zero patience or sympathy for players out to hurt the skilled forwards on the ice. The linesman guides me to the penalty box, and Burnsy skates over with my stick and gloves. “Like a boss, Captain.”
“Thanks. Now my knuckles are sore thanks to that asshole.”
I sit in the penalty box for the remainder of the period. Somehow, we finish the game with no one else getting hurt and win 5-4. Number 7 never returned, and it’s probably for the best.
I finally have a free day to arrange a call with Ben. Five days is too long not to hear his voice. We left immediately after the last game in Calgary to travel to Montana.
My hand still hurts from punching that guy. I’m tired and horny, and I miss Ben.
I made damn sure to put the Do-Not-Disturb sign on the door this morning after breakfast. Today we get to rest and practice later with an afternoon game tomorrow. We’ve won two games, and our team has been playing well enough, but my game hasn’t been where it should be.
I know it, and my teammates know it too. Coach has said nothing yet, but I know it’s coming, and I need to do better. I’m the damn captain, and I’ve been giving up the puck so much at the blue line that I could secure a starting lineup position with the Toronto Maple Leafs.
Burnsy went to the gym after breakfast, dedicated athlete that he is, but I’m not feeling it today.
Pulling out my phone, I send Ben a quick text asking if he can video chat. He replies after a minute by calling me. When I accept the call, his sleepy face comes into view, and I won’t admit I sigh at the sight. With sleep-mussed hair and a familiar sheet set, I know he’s in my bed as he stretches an arm overhead.
“Hey.”
His voice is still thick with sleep, and oh, how my entire being wishes I were there in that bed with him.
“Hi, did I wake you?”
Ben shakes his head. Sleepy smile still in place. “Only a little. I was dozing. After the late class last night, I practiced a new routine. I was hoping you’d call this morning so I wouldn’t fall back asleep.”
