Page 9 of Heart Check
The hockey team.
Hard to find a group more annoying to serve than that.
Guess their practice is over.
I glance toward the hostess stand hopefully, but Lindsey Dawson holds her hands up to ward me off. “Hey, I get enough of that energy at home. They’re in your section, girl.”
“I don’t know how you put up with it,” I grumble. I’m never sure how they came out of the same family. Lindsey couldn’t be more different from her brother: she’s friendlyand grounded while he’s aloof and full of himself. She graduated a few years back but stayed to work at the restaurant, and I’m grateful every day there’s someone here who has a sense of humor. She reminds me of Dakota Johnson, with her bangs and side-eye and half-sarcastic, half-self-deprecating jokes. She’s definitely the best thing about this job.
“Some days I’m not sure either.” Lindsey sighs. “Free rent is nice and all, but a dozen sweaty guys taking over your living room on Hockey Saturday is enough to make a girl go apartment hunting.”
My gaze follows the sweaty guys in question, and I heave a sigh of my own.
They pile into the best booth (in the corner, far from the gusts of the door) without even looking at menus. It’s almost impossible to see where one of them ends and the next begins. Their limbs are all tangled together, Ryan reaching into Alex’s backpack for hand sanitizer, Dawson dumping his letter jacket behind Noah, everyone trading easy elbows and fist bumps and hip checks.
I take my time before heading over to get their orders. Let them languish for a minute. I’m busy, and Dawson doesn’t get special treatment because he’s both a hockey player and the son of the owners. He has some nerve, to ask me to cover his shift and then show up in the middle of it to force me to wait on him. If I were him, I wouldn’t want to hang out in the same place I work, but he can’t get enough of that bacon cheeseburger. I have nightmares about him crunching on extra-crispy strips.
As I drag my feet toward their booth, though, I start to get interested. Alex has his head down on the table, looking more dejected than I’ve ever seen him. He’s definitely oneof the more tolerable players—doesn’t throw fits when they lose a game, always says hi in the halls after our stint as lab partners. What has him so depressed?
I don’t have to wait long for my answer.
“I can’t believe they fired him,” Noah is saying. He’s shaking his head endlessly back and forth, like a blond bobblehead.
Wait, who got fired?I slow my steps, curiosity taking over my better judgment.
“Do they even have any proof?” Ryan bangs his fist on the table like he’s in some courtroom drama. “What was he supposedly using the funding for? I’m just saying, there wasn’t asinglechampagne fountain at our team meetings last year, and you’d think the guy would share the wealth a little.”
“They wouldn’t fire him without evidence, though, would they?” Alex doesn’t crack a single smile at Ryan’s antics. His face reminds me of a puppy that’s been bopped on the nose with a rolled-up newspaper. “I just… I never thought Coach would do something like that.”
My eyes widen. Theircoachgot fired?! Holy shit. For stealing funds, it sounds like? If true, it’s the biggest bomb to hit Hamilton Lakes in years.
The betrayal on Alex’s face almost makes me feel sorry for them. Their coach, sneaking around behind their backs? I’d never trust anyone again.
Noah frowns. “Well, whether he did it or not, we have no chance this year without him. This is bullshit. Total fucking bullshit.”
“So unfair,” Dawson agrees, shaking his head.
My cheeks flush with anger. Unfair? They want to talk about unfair?
It sounds to me like their asshole of a coach wasn’t happy with the preferential treatment the team already gets and was trying to weasel his way into even more. Using funding that wasn’t his? Funding that could’ve gone to the theater department, or the robotics team, or oh, I don’t know, an entrepreneurship program? Anything that might expand opportunities for people who don’t eat, sleep, and breathe sports!
They’re not mad athim—they’re mad at the administration for making him face the music.
I step up to their table, notepad poised to take orders. “Sounds like natural consequences to me,” I say. “If Coach Red was stealing money, he deserved to get fired.”
Noah looks up, and I’m caught in the icy-blue tractor beam of his eyes. “You would say that, wouldn’t you? Aren’t you the one who’s been petitioning the board every year to divert funding from our team? What do you have against us?”
Ryan’s eyebrows are raised so far, they disappear under his too-long surfer waves, and Alex has anoh shithand over his mouth. My gaze flicks to Dawson, leaning back in the corner of the booth, his expression unreadable as he watches me.
I can’t help feeling a little intimidated, but I square my shoulders and raise a defiant eyebrow.
“You get more attention than you deserve, okay? That new rink? Frankly, it’s disgusting.”
At that, Dawson leans forward over the table. It’s a slow, deliberate movement, striking after his watchful stillness. He brushes his hair back from his eyes and fixes me with a stare that makes my heart race.
Voice low, he says, “You’d love for us to bomb this season, wouldn’t you?”
I tilt my head to the side in mock consideration. “I mean, I haven’t written my Christmas list yet, but sure, that might deserve a spot.” I’m only messing with them, but itwouldbe nice to knock them down a peg so people could see that there are other things going on at this school besides sports.
