Shoot Your Shot

Chapter Nineteen

Nineteen

Jaylen

The dressing room is buzzing after practice. The team is on a hot streak, which means the mood is light. We currently sit second in the conference heading into Christmas break. If we can hold on to this lead through the rest of the year, we’ll be in good shape to secure a playoff spot.

Everyone is chatty today, still riding the high of last night’s win over our division rivals. We’re all chirping each other as we shed our sweaty gear.

“Hey, whatever happened to that chick who was painting the mural? The one who took a puck to the face like a champ,” Lamber asks. He tosses his jersey into the laundry tub parked in the middle of our locker room.

“She finished it, dummy,” Soko says, throwing his jersey on top of Lamber’s head. Lamber rips it off his face and throws it right back at him.

I pretend I’m not listening, but the second I hear them mention the mural, I’m eavesdropping. My palms begin to prickle beneath the damp leather of my gloves when the guys mention Lucy. I take the gloves off and shove them into the top shelf of my locker, but my hands still feel hot. I act indifferent to the conversation as I face my stall and continue taking off the rest of my hockey gear.

“I know, but did none of us get her number? She was hot,” Lamber shouts across the room for everyone to hear.

There’s no way Lucy would ever go for a guy like Lamber, loud and immature—or would she? I grit my teeth together and repress the jealousy I have no authority to feel.

“JJ did,” Wells says. I feel his hand pat me on the back as he passes by on his way to dump his jersey into the laundry basket.

“Shut up,” I say to him through my teeth. I keep my voice low because if the other guys hear me, they might think I’m trying to hide something. I just don’t think it’s cool to talk about her behind her back. I usually stay out of this type of locker room talk; I don’t want to be in the middle of it.

“JJ’s got a girl?” Lamber says with much delight. His expression is even more animated than when he gets one past the goal line.

“No way. I thought you were one of those guys who’s all hockey, no fun.” Now Soko is joining in on the action.

They both inch closer to me, as if there’s more of the story to share. Like I’m going to tell them all the dirty details of our wild night together or hand out her phone number like a referral. I would never do that. I didn’t even want to tell them that I know her, because then I would have to explain our relationship. If you would even call it that. If anything, she’s like a coworker.

“Hockey is fun,” I say, hoping they drop it.

“Yeah, when you’re leading the league in points. You going to bring her around here? Get her and her hot friends some tickets?” Lamber shoots me a pervy grin. He’s not letting this go. He’s right beside my stall, standing inches away from me with Soko close behind him. We’re all down to our gitch and should be stripping down to hit the showers, but they’re blocking my way.

“Your new tattoo! Those her initials? Must be serious,” Soko says, his nose scrunched from laughing.

“Is it Instagram official though? Nothing is more serious than making a relationship public on social media,” Lamber says to Soko as the two discuss the varying levels of commitment.

“She’s not my girl,” I say in my most convincing voice.

“Right, she texts you before every game to wish you good luck because she hates you,” Wells says from his stall a few spaces down from me. “Hannah used to do that for me when we first started dating. Now all I get are texts asking me to pick things up on my way home from the rink.” He looks down at his phone and flips it around to flash us the screen. “Looks like we’re all out of milk and Goldfish.”

This is why Wells is always the last one out of the locker room; he would be quicker if he’d shut up and mind his own business.

“Really, Wells? It’s a superstitious thing. She texts me good luck, and I play lights out. That’s it.” I only give them enough of the story to get them off my back.

“ Tabarnak , give me her number—I could use a little luck. I bet I would score a hat trick if she sucked me off,” Lamber says. He and Soko burst into a fit of laughter. Like two juvenile preteens, they giggle, knocking into each other like bumper cars.

I don’t get the humor—I see red. Like watching my linemate get hit from behind, I don’t even pause to think; I jump to her defense. I grab Lamber by the collar of his undershirt and pull him toward me. With a cocked fist and snarl, I threaten, “Say some shit like that again, Lamber, and I’ll break your fucking jaw.”

Lamber throws his hands up and his body goes limp. A bead of sweat drops down his temple. He stumbles over his words. His French accent is thick as he tries to remember the right English words to say. “Whoa, sorry, JJ. It was a dumb thing to say. I take it back.”

“You good, bro?” Wells is quickly at my side. I see him eyeing my fist and realize that it’s still cocked.

I slowly release the tension in my knuckles. “I’m good,” I say, letting Lamber go. He and Soko find their stalls and finish getting undressed without another word about Lucy.

I sit down and give myself a moment to calm my adrenaline. What the fuck was that? I never lose my cool, at least not off the ice. I have to stop thinking about what Lamber said about her or else I’ll never get my heart rate down. I take a few breaths, but it’s still racing.

I haven’t felt this out of control all season. It’s scary how familiar it feels. This is how I used to get during hockey games when I couldn’t hit the net, when I couldn’t get my legs to move fast enough to keep up with the play. This is how I felt when I used to suck at hockey.

Coach Pete pops his head into the locker room, and every-one goes silent. He points to me and motions me into his office. The boys make a mocking “oooh” call as if I’ve been summoned to the principal’s office.

I pull on a hoodie and slip into my shower slides. I stall a bit while I try to calm myself down, but what Lamber said still rings in my head. I tuck my hands in the front pocket of my hoodie. Great. Now I’m about to get in trouble for what he started, and because I’m a good teammate I’m going to take it on the chin.

I pause before opening the door. The last time I was called into an office was when Coach Pete and the general manager told me I didn’t make the team. I might be on a real rip this season, but the memory remains. I take one last deep breath and hope for the best.

“Hey, Pete,” I say timidly, easing into his office.

“Grab a seat.” He motions toward the chair in front of his desk. “We should talk.” He spins away from his laptop to face me.

“It won’t happen again. I let my emotions get the best of me,” I say before he has a chance to bring it up. Ever since I bailed on Cam’s funeral, I’ve been trying to get better about taking accountability for my actions. I shouldn’t have gotten physical with Lamber today and I know that.

“It better happen again. You scored the game-winning goal last night and had a monstrous hit in the first period that set the tone for the whole game.” The same big smile I saw on his face after my hit last night makes an appearance.

I relax a bit. “Thanks, it was a nice hit.” I take my hands out of my pockets and rest them on the chair’s arms. It’s been a while since a meeting with the coach has gone this well; usually, they’re asking what the hell is wrong with me.

“No, thank you —you’re making me look good out there. Which is why I called you in here today. As you know, Benny got traded last week, which means I need to appoint someone as the assistant captain. You haven’t been on this team long, but the boys already really look up to you. You’re relentless out there every night.” Coach Pete reaches under his desk and pulls out my jersey with a newly affixed A on the chest. “The A is yours,” he says, handing it over to me.

I run my fingers over the patch. “I don’t know what to say.” I wore the A briefly during my second year in New York but had it taken away when I stopped producing nightly highlight reel content. It’s an added pressure to carry around on the ice, but I feel strong enough this season that I might be able to handle the weight. Plus, with my good-luck charm I can’t lose.

“Don’t say anything. Keep playing well. I mean it. Don’t change a single thing you’re doing. I know you want something long-term next season, so keep it up and you’ll be getting a lot more than an A .” Pete shakes my hand, and I get out of there so I can shower up and head home. He told me not to change a single thing, and I don’t plan on it.