13. Maverick
THIRTEEN
Me
Rise and shine!
Redheaded Assassin
Are you texting me while someone is sleeping next to you?
Me
You saw me leave the bar alone.
Redheaded Assassin
I don’t know what you got into when you went home.
Me
Just a bag of Oreos. I ate six.
Oh. By the way. Coach wanted me to tell you you’re on first line tonight.
Redheaded Assassin
Don’t fuck with me, Miller.
Me
I’m not forking with you.
Ducking
Jesus Christ, Siri. Fucking!!!
Redheaded Assassin
Are you serious?
Me
Isn’t that the opposite of not fucking with you?
Redheaded Assassin
You’re going on my shit list.
Me
Shit list? Sounds positively titillating.
Tell me more about your disdain for me.
Redheaded Assassin
Look at you using big words.
Me
You know what else is big?
Redheaded Assassin
This was fun while it lasted. Blocking you now.
Me
I was going to say the round of applause you’re going to get tonight!!!!!!
Hartwell?
Red?
Damp it.
“There’snothing like playing for a sold-out crowd, is there?” I ask Hudson as we stand in the tunnel and wait to take the ice. “It’s amazing what winning a couple games will do.”
“Brings out the whole city.” He fastens his helmet and moves his hips in a circle, ignoring my snicker at his stretches. “When’s the last time we filled the upper bowl?”
“It’s been ages, hasn’t it? Definitely didn’t happen last season.”
“I think it was when they gave out those shirtless calendars of the team to all the fans in attendance. Remember the line to sign your photo after the game? You were here until midnight.” Hudson bursts out laughing at the memory. “The woes of being attractive.”
“Says the man who has two million Instagram followers who go crazy when you post a shirtless photo of you and your dogs.” I flex my fingers under my glove, wincing. “My hand hurt so bad that night, but half the ticket sales that night went to charity. It was worth it. Maybe we should do that again.”
“Smile, boys,” Maven says, interrupting us to snap a picture. I sling an arm over Hudson’s shoulder, and we both grin. “We should do the calendar idea again.”
“Is your man joining tonight?” I ask her.
“Yeah, up in the boxes,” she answers. “June too.”
“Oh, shit. My favorite girl is here? How did you convince him to let that happen?”
“It wasn’t me. June batted her eyes and Dallas had no choice but to say yes.”
“What a deviant. She could ask for eighteen ponies and I’d give them to her,” I say.
“Are you going to come say hi after the game? She’ll want to see you.”
“I’d love to, but I have a commitment. How about ice cream when we all get back to the apartment later? I’ll bring it by.”
“We’d love that. You’re such a good neighbor.” Maven pinches my cheek and hustles down the hallway toward the rink, her large camera tucked safely against her chest. “Have a good game, boys!”
Hudson pouts. “I want ice cream.”
“Get your own,” I say, and I flick his ear. “And get your head in the game. It’s almost go time.”
“You feeling good this afternoon, Cap?”
“I’m feeling fantastic.”
Adrenaline courses through my veins like it does before every game, but today is different.
I’m riding the high of a few stellar performances over our last couple of games. The pieces are sliding into place, and we’re getting close to the point where magic happens on the ice.
I fucking love it.
It’s exciting to love playing again. To look forward to every game and know that my teammates are going to give every ounce of their effort because they want to win just as badly as I do. I’ve never gotten to experience that pinnacle in the NHL before, and the last two weeks are the closest I’ve ever been.
“They’re going to be chanting your name soon, Mavvy,” Hudson jokes, grabbing his stick off the wall. “Where’s Emmy?”
“No clue. I haven’t seen her since morning skate. Maybe she’s doing an interview with Piper.”
“Speaking of Piper, she looked queasy when she shoved me into the press room an hour ago. Is she okay?”
“Probably hungover. She was at Johnny’s last night with Maven, Lexi and Hartwell. When I left, Piper was on drink number four.”
“Wait a minute.” He frowns. “You hung out with Emmy outside of practice and lived to tell the tale? I’m impressed.”
“We didn’t hang out.” I take a sip of my sports drink and swish it around my mouth. “We were at the same place at the same time. Alien babies were involved. I turned down an invitation for sex, and the best part? I didn’t get a beer thrown in my face.”
Hudson blinks at me. “That sounds a lot like hanging out to me.”
“It wasn’t. More like the universe having a laugh.”
“And you turned down a night with a woman? You never do that.”
“Alien babies, Hud. Aren’t you listening? There were more important things happening.”
“You didn’t miss anything, Hudson,” Emerson says, appearing at my side in her jersey. “But it would’ve been more fun if you were there.”
“Ouch.” I put my hand over my heart. “I thought you enjoyed our chat, Red.”
“We have very different definitions of enjoyment, pretty boy.” She fixes her hair and tosses it over her shoulder, two white ribbons fluttering behind her. “Why aren’t you all warming up?”
“Because it’s your first start.” Hudson drapes an arm around her, and I see the way she smiles up at him. She doesn’t look at me like that. “And, per Stars tradition, it deserves a minute of celebration.”
“I had three pieces of marble loaf cake when I got home last night to celebrate two weeks on the team,” she says, and his eyes go wide. “We really don’t need to do a first start ritual or anything.”
“Where the hell did you get marble loaf cake?” he practically whines.
“He has an unhealthy obsession with food. Dessert especially,” I explain to her. “Come to the team dinner on Tuesday and see for yourself.”
“Team dinner means more time with you, Miller, and I’m at my capacity as of late. Piper made the loaf,” Emerson tells Hudson. “I’ll sneak you a piece at practice tomorrow. I’m a dessert fiend too. If you ever want to do a food crawl around the city so I can find all the places with the best slices of cake, I’m down.”
“My kind of woman.” He shakes her shoulders, and a real laugh falls out of her. “Are you ready for tonight?”
“I guess. I’m still kind of in shock that this is my life. I’m waiting to wake up from a dream and have it all taken away,” she says.
“You’re going to be stuck with us for a while,” I say, desperate to be a part of their conversation. I don’t like that he’s making her laugh and I don’t like how close they’re standing. “We have months to go.”
Emerson’s eyes meet mine. “There are worse people to be stuck with, I guess.”
I touch my gloved fingers to my temples, concentrating. “Probably the highest compliment I’ll ever get from you. I need to commit it to memory.”
“Is he always this weird?” she asks.
“Always,” Hudson says.
The grin I give her earns me an eye roll, but I don’t care. At least she’s looking at me. I lift my chin toward the rink and the flashing lights. The thumping music and the screaming fans. “You deserve to go out first.”
“Liam always goes first,” she says.
“Not tonight.”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive.” I give her a gentle nudge. “Go on, Hartwell.”
Emerson takes a deep breath. Collects herself before she nods and shimmies out of Hudson’s grasp. She walks across the mats, and without another look back, she disappears onto the ice.
“I want to say I can’t believe she’s doing it, but I actually can,” Hudson tells me, and we watch her wave to the crowd. He bumps his shoulder against mine. “I’m proud of you.”
“For what?”
“Not holding a grudge just because she made you look stupid. Being mature and welcoming. Keeping your dick in your pants.”
I laugh and elbow him in the ribs even though he can barely feel it through his pads. “I do have some self-control, motherfucker.”
We follow behind Emerson, and I barely make it out of the tunnel before I dig my blades into the ice and brake hard into the boards.
“What’s wrong, Cap?” Connor asks, skating past me.
“You good, Mav?” Grant knocks his knuckles against my helmet, and I stare at the crowd.
“Holy shit,” I whisper.
Half the arena is women, which isn’t anything new. What’s different are the signs and jerseys they’re holding. None of them are for me or the boys.
They’re all for Emerson.
“Wicked, isn’t it?” Ethan grins. “I’ve never seen anything like this.”
I look for Emerson and find her talking to Coach near the bench. She’s nodding along while he draws a play on his whiteboard, totally chill and totally un-fucking-fazed.
I guess she senses me watching her, because she glances up. Our gazes meet again, and I stare at her.
It hits me then.
Right near center ice and in front of twenty thousand people.
A thought I’ve been having more and more lately these last few weeks, but becomes solidified right now: this woman is fucking incredible.
Special.
Changing the future of the sport and inspiring girls and women everywhere, all while wearing ribbons and mascara.
Simon Buttecker is going to be pissed,and that makes me giddy.
“Circle up,” I bark out, and my teammates huddle around me. “Every win is important, but we have to leave everything out there tonight. The media crucifies us on good days, and they’re going to go after Hartwell’s first start hard. Let’s not give them any ammunition. Lock it up. Focus. We’ve gotta play strong for all sixty minutes.”
“Hell yeah, Cap. I love when you get fired up,” Riley says, and he looks over his shoulder. “Emmy! Get over here.”
She joins the group, slotting between Connor and Seymour. If she’s nervous, she doesn’t let on.
“What’s going on?”
“We wanted to tell you we have your back,” Grant says smugly, like this pep talk was his idea. “I’m bummed you’re not going to be on my line, but I guess Mavvy is an upgrade.”
“Debatable,” she mumbles.
“Hands in,” I say, and everyone stacks their hands on top of each other. “Together on three. Count us off, Hartwell.”
“One, two, three,” she says.
“Together,” we all yell at the top of our lungs, and I know we’re going to be on fire tonight.
“The fuck is your problem?” I scream as I skate past the ref who’s been giving me shit since the puck dropped.
I got hit with a cross-checking penalty earlier, and now I’m being sent to the sin bin for slashing like I’m some high schooler.
We’re getting obliterated in front of the home crowd, and all that momentum we had before the game has left the building.
The refs won’t give us a break. We can’t find a rhythm. Our transitions are sloppy, and we’re a half second late on every breakaway.
It’s excruciating to watch.
There’s a whistle signaling another penalty. It’s followed by a chorus of boos, and I crane my neck to see who’s the lucky one to join me.
“Assholes,” Hartwell curses, throwing her stick next to mine as she collapses on the bench beside me.
“Pleasure seeing you here, Red,” I say, and she snorts. “What are you doing time for?”
“Closing my hand on the puck, which is bullshit because I dropped it the second I had possession. I know the rules.” She stretches out her legs and groans. “Why have a replay system in place if you’re not going to use it?”
“I like when you get feisty.” I hand her a bottle of Gatorade, and she takes it. “I’d ask how you’re enjoying your first start, but I think I know the answer to that.”
Emerson rubs her jaw. Her right cheek has a nick on it, a small cut from a stick to the face. “All these people are here to see me, and I’m playing like I’ve never been on the ice before. It’s embarrassing.”
“We all have bad days,” I reassure her. “The good news is we still have the third period ahead of us. You know how quickly things change.”
She takes a sip of the orange drink, and I watch the bob of her throat when she swallows. A drop hangs to the corner of her mouth, and her tongue sneaks out to lick it away.
That’s distracting.
“It’s a lot harder to shift that momentum when nothing is going our way. Jesus. What is all that banging?” Emerson asks. She looks behind the penalty box and snorts. “The girls are trying to get your attention, Miller.”
I follow her line of sight and see a group of five women wearing my jersey right against the glass. They’ve cut the fabric to show off their stomachs and cleavage, and I give them an awkward wave.
“Do you ever wonder what it would be like if we went to someone’s office and held up signs that say ‘can I hold your stick? or ‘put a baby in me, Miller’ while they were working?” I ask Emerson. “Probably a lawsuit waiting to happen.”
“Kind of like the alien babies,” she says under her breath, and I grin.
“Hey.” I tap her skate. “Sounds like someone had a good time last night.”
“With my new friends, yes.”
“But you enjoyed yourself while I was in the area, so we’re getting somewhere.”
“The bar is low, Miller.” She sets the bottle down on the ledge of the box. “You’re back in thirty seconds.”
“Thanks for keeping an eye out for me, Red. I’m going to pretend it’s because you care, not because you’re trying to get rid of me.” I scoop my stick off the ground and check to make sure my helmet is tight. “Chin up, buttercup. We’ve got time to turn this shit show around.”
“If you ever call me buttercup again, I will end you,” she says, her arms folded across her chest and an evil gleam to her eye.
“Atta girl,” I say when I jump back on the ice, grinning when her cheeks turn as red as her hair.