Chapter 17
Levi
Visions of the Future
We eke out a 1-0 win over the Bulldogs, but my mind isn’t on the post-game media circus. It’s on getting to see my girlfriend again—I’m making it official tonight, we’re gonna be real boyfriend and girlfriend, not fake ones. I should have done this weeks ago.
During warm-ups, Bailey looked like she was enjoying herself as she laughed with a kid waving a giant foam finger next to her. I wanted to wave to her, but Bailey doesn’t like to be the center of attention, so I refrained. When play started, I didn’t have an opportunity to look for her. There were too many Bulldogs nipping at my heels, so to speak.
I quickly shower and get dressed as I can’t wait to go see Bailey. Before I can leave the locker room, several of the guys stop over to congratulate me on a terrific game. Then Otto saunters over with a smirk on his face. “Bailey must be your good luck charm. I saw her in the stands and boy did she ever stand out in that glitzy outfit,” he teases. He blows on his fingers like he’s blowing out flames. “She’s one hot tamale! Better than any of those puck bunnies who hang around after the game.”
Huh? My brow creases. Glam isn’t Bailey’s usual style. If I remember correctly, when I caught a glimpse of her, she was wearing an understated light blue shirt and jeans. She looked pretty, but I certainly wouldn’t use glitzy to describe the outfit.
"Nyberg!" Coach's voice rasps through the locker room like a Zamboni scraping the ice. "In my office, now!"
Otto shoots me a bewildered look at the gruff request. What did I do this time?
With Coach glaring at me across the room, I don’t have time to quiz my housemate about his comment regarding my girlfriend’s attire. But his remark piques my curiosity. Knowing Bailey’s bad luck, was there another wardrobe mishap?
“This might take a minute,” I mutter to Otto. “Can you let Bailey know I’m detained?” Otto nods and gives me a thumbs up. Unsure of what penalty I've committed this time, I hustle to Coach’s office, bracing for a five-minute major.
As I step inside the door, I notice a big burly guy standing there. He’s wearing a suit and tie and looks vaguely familiar.
"Meet Hal Bennington," Coach says as way of introduction. I extend my hand and we shake. The man has an impressive grip, as strong as a goalie clenching the Stanley Cup. My brain spins as I try to place his face.
"Impressive game tonight," Hal says, his grin as wide as a rink.
"Thanks," I reply, still trying to put a name to the mystery man.
With a chuckle, Hal says, "I'm the scout for the Anaheim Ducks. Pretty sure we bumped into each other at a Stars exhibition game before the season started."
Click!
My mind finally connects the dots. I met the guy months ago, but he wasn’t wearing a suit.
“I’ll leave you two to talk for a few minutes,” Coach says, then bolts out the door like a puck off a slapshot.
We each take a seat in the chairs in front of Coach’s desk. Sweat forms on the back of my neck, but I resist the urge to tug at my collar.
“The Ducks season is in the dumpster,” Hal says, stifling a sigh. “But we’re on course to get the first pick in the draft.”
I nod. “That’s what all the media are saying as well.”
Jutting his chin and acknowledging my comment, he says, “If your play continues at this high level, we’d love for you to join our organization. At current course and speed, the Ducks are planning to select you with their first pick.”
Although I’ve been hoping for this, my heart skyrockets when I hear him say the words and practically offer me a position in Anaheim. “I’d be honored to join the Ducks!” I reply, enthusiasm gushing from my voice. I’m a kid from a tiny, Podunk town who always dreamed of playing in the big leagues. But until right now, this very minute, I never really believed it could happen. Worrying that I’ll jinx myself if I share this news with my parents or my housemates, I vow to keep this information to myself until the draft. However, a little voice in my head is saying: You should tell Bailey.
Hal describes what to expect on draft day, as well as providing me with his own glowing reference of the Anaheim Ducks organization. He’s like a PR, HR, and marketing man rolled into one as he expounds on all the great things I can expect. My excitement grows exponentially as he motors through his speech. I can’t get a word in edgewise. All I do is nod and smile, but that seems to be ok as Hal continues to babble on.
What must be at least a half hour later, Hal rises and extends his hand, so I follow suit. “Keep up the great play, Levi and you’ll be hearing from us.”
Leaving Coach’s office, I wander down the hall in a daze. Images from Hal’s glowing descriptions of living the high life in California and playing professional hockey spin inside my head. A highly secure, high-end condo outfitted with fancy finishes and a hot tub...A luxury black SUV with tinted windows and leather seats...Enough money to afford to take my girlfriend on a trip to one of those all-inclusive resorts...
Bailey! My stride lengthens as I dash towards the friends and family waiting room. There’s no one left in the hallway and I worry whether she’s still here waiting for me. Opening the door, I skid to a stop, my eyes landing on the one person remaining in the room. She stands and gives me a shy smile.
Wow! Otto nailed it on the head when he described her as a hot tamale. Her bright pink T-shirt hugs her curves like a second skin. There’s a star in the center of the shirt with the Stars weird slogan spelled out inside it. Her shirt sparkles like a disco ball in the bright fluorescent lighting.
“You look amazing with all that glitter and sparkle!” I say as I walk towards her, awe leaking from my voice.
She puts her hands on her hips and scowls. “I’m only wearing this ridiculous shirt because of a run-in with a kid and a pretzel slathered in mustard,” she huffs.
Oops! I should have known not to lead with that comment, Bailey’s not a fan of glitz. Striding over, I pull her into my arms. “You look like the brightest and most beautiful star in the sky,” I say as I nuzzle her neck, then spread kisses across her jaw.
My caresses seem to make up for my faux pas remark about her outfit, although most women I know would be pleased with my compliment. She scrunches her shoulders up, giggling when my lips make contact. “You know this isn’t my look, right?” she says in a breathy voice.
“Um, um,” I reply, my lips too busy roaming up her jawline and my brain swamped with too many endorphins to form a sensible reply. I finally capture her luscious lips with mine and the attraction jolts to life between us, like making contact with a live wire. We kiss for seconds or possibly minutes, all my senses focusing on Bailey and certainly not on any outside forces like time and space. When she stands on her tiptoes and twines her arms around my neck, I adjust my position so my lips are sealed to hers and our bodies are fused together. We’re as close together as we can get, but I want to pull her closer.
The piercing sound of someone clearing their throat interrupts our intimate moment. Bailey and I spring apart like we’ve been caught raiding the cookie jar, and we both stare at Coach’s tomato-red face. “Got any questions for me, after your conversation with Bennington?” Coach rasps, sounding like a bear with a sore throat.
My eyes pop wide open. He tracked me down for this?
Bailey throws me a quizzical look. So much for keeping my conversation with the Anaheim Ducks scout to myself for a while.
“No, no questions,” I say with an expression that screams “leave me alone,” but Coach is oblivious.
Instead, he turns to Bailey. “Levi, please introduce me to your lady friend,” he says, grinning like he just won the lottery.
My brain screeches to a halt like a defenseman ramming into the boards. Several awkward moments tick by, then Bailey nudges me with her elbow. She probably thinks I’m ashamed of her, so I trip over my words as I rush to reply.
“This is Bailey. Bailey Adams, my fake, but now really, truly, real, girlfriend,” I stammer with a nervous laugh. “I met her on a DoorDash delivery, if you can believe that. What are the odds?” I ramble on, my lips clearly outpacing my brain. “We’ve moved past fake dating, at least I hope we have,” I say, staring into Bailey’s beautiful eyes, looking for any indication of her agreement. When she blinks, I take it as a positive sign, and plow on. “A few months ago, we pretended to be a real couple at a family wedding to keep her grandma from playing matchmaker and that’s when I knew we should quit pretending to be fake real boyfriend/girlfriend and make it really real—” My voice trails off, and my face burns like I just chugged a bottle of Texas Pete hot sauce. Mortification at the overuse of boyfriend, girlfriend, fake, real, and almost all the other words in between make me cringe worse than missing a shot at an open net.
Two sets of eyes stare at me as if I’ve lost my mind, and clearly, I have.
“Nice to meet you, Bailey,” Coach says, barely suppressing an eye roll. “Congrats on winning over this guy’s heart, fake or otherwise,” he adds with a chuckle. Bailey and he exchange a handshake, then Coach saunters off as if he didn’t just cause an emotional upheaval between my probably now ticked off, sort-of real, girlfriend and me.
Swiveling my eyes towards Bailey, I say, “Sorry! That was a bad case of diarrhea of the mouth. I apologize.”
“Did you mean what you said about moving past fake dating?” she asks.
My heart soars. If that’s what she took away from my awkward, cringe-worthy speech, I’ll take it!
“Yes, yes, I did! Are you in?”
She nods her head, amusement peeking out from behind her smile. “What girl could resist an info dump like that? I especially liked your clever use of real, truly real, and really real.”
Squeezing her closer, I plant another kiss on her lips, showing her with actions, not words—which obviously I’m not very good at—exactly how I feel about her. When I brush my lips to hers, I feel a shiver course through her body. The kiss goes on and on, I kiss her to make up for my bumbling speech which didn’t express the depth of my feelings for her. Eventually I need to come up for air, my heart pounds, and it takes all my willpower to pull away. Gazing into her eyes, I rub my thumbs gently over her cheeks and say, “Hopefully that convinced you.”
She nods and I don’t know whether she’s speechless from my kisses or if she realizes the virtue of remaining silent in this emotionally packed moment.
“Let’s go to dinner and I’ll tell you about my conversation with the scout from the Anaheim Ducks.” Unfortunately, my innocent reference to the Ducks breaks the passion-filled bubble around us, thrusting us back into the real world.
I feel the air leave the room and her smile slips. “Okay.”
Kicking myself for killing the mood, I realize that my future looms bright, but I haven’t given her any indication of how I want her to fit into that future. Tonight, I’ll set the record straight. Bailey needs to be a part of that future, there’s no doubt in my mind.
We hold hands as we leave the stadium, but something has shifted between us and I’m worried that she doesn’t want the life I was so excited about when Hal laid out his vision of my future. The fancy condo, luxury SUV, and expensive trips don’t seem so great anymore if Bailey isn’t part of them.