Chapter 2
MAVERICK
Two months later
The puck glides across the ice straight to my stick. I dig in with my skates, guiding the small black disc to the cage where the goalie is on his knees, tracking my every move.
He thinks I’m going to take the shot, but at the last second, I flick it around to Owen, who’s waiting in the wings.
My boy Sly scoops it up before making a quick pass to Gavin, who the Beavers’ defensemen didn’t see coming from behind the net. I grin, watching him follow the steps we’ve drilled over and over at practice.
Gavin sends it to Hancock, and it’s almost my turn again. I’m gearing up, ready to make the score and win the game when a shoulder hits me right in the sternum. The breath grunts from my lungs as I’m pinned against the boards.
It takes me a second to catch my breath again. I shake the stars out of my eyes and the Beavers’ giant of a defenseman grins down at me like he’s having the best time attempting to break all my ribs.
Rage sparkles at the edges of my vision like singes on a sheet of paper. I lunge forward and grab him around the neck, not even caring he’s a good three inches taller than I am. I drag him down to my level, punching the side of his neck and shoulder pads repeatedly.
“Give it,” Schultz grunts, and our six-foot-five brute of an enforcer glides up and drags the asshole away.
They’re going at it, and I’m pissed. I’m not headed to the penalty box, but it doesn’t matter since I missed the shot. Owen saved it, which is the important thing. Our newest trade has fully bloomed this season, scoring hat tricks, rescuing important plays.
It stings a little to be left out of my signature layup, but our winning streak is still intact. Our path to the finals is wide open.
The fans go crazy. Our faces flash on the Jumbotron to the chorus of air horns and our newest victory anthem, “All I Do Is Win,” by DJ Khaled. Yeah, I might have had something to do with that selection.
My helmet is off, and I glide around the ice, grinning up at the swinging shirts and girls jumping up and down. Number 74, my jersey number, is all over the stands. Lifting my stick, I wave at them, and the cheers grow louder.
In our family’s section, my cousins wave and dance in their jerseys. I remember a time when they were all in 74 as well, but a lot has changed in the last two years.
Haddy wears Gavin’s number 5. Gina wears Owen’s number 13 along with Owen’s sister Heather, and the little ladies—baby Lucy and Owen’s daughter Maddie wear jerseys with Daddy on the front, and Numbers 5 and 13 on the back for their dads.
It’s all good. Seeing them happy, cheering, having fun makes me smile. That’s what it’s about for me. I’m still the star, but it’s a team effort now. That’s just how I like it…
For the most part.
“Good game, bro.” Gavin pulls me by the neck into a hug. “If Schultz hadn’t pulled that guy off you, it would’ve been a dogpile.”
“You okay?” Owen glides up on my other side. “That looked like a rough hit.”
I circle my arm, feeling a slight catch in my upper ribs. “Nothing I can’t handle.” Then I nod at the line of fans cheering for him on the other side of the glass. “You’d better see to your public.”
His chin dips, and he huffs a laugh. “Our public.”
Owen’s older than all of us by about five years. A single dad, he played in the minor leagues his whole career before being a late-season trade in October.
He lived with me the first half of the season before falling hard for my cousin Gina, stealing my last roommate and all the dogs with her. I’ve been going home to an empty house since Christmas, but all of that’s changing this weekend.
“We going out tonight?” Aiden Akers, our goalie and my first friend on the Champions team, waits for me beside the bench.
Lifting my chin, I hear my name chanted on the other side of the glass and see a line of girls in 74 jerseys jumping up and down and blinking wide eyes at me.
It can be a lot to process for a young player. When I first joined the team and I was still on social media, I’d get back to the locker room to find my phone exploding with all the texts and pictures and phone numbers.
I’d heard of girls getting dick pics they didn’t want, but I didn’t realize that phenomenon went both ways. I had more breast photos than I knew how to manage.
I confess, when I was a rookie, just getting started in the NHL, I made some dumb choices. I let a few things happen in bars and bathrooms after a few rounds of shots and some pretty intense games. Hell, I’m only human and it was only blow jobs.
Still, that’s the best way I know to get a bad reputation, and to be honest, I felt pretty shitty after the fact. I’ve got a great mom and dad and a big family of professional athletes who’d be very disappointed in me.
It was a big part of my decision to live with Haddy and Gina instead of getting my own place. Idle hands and all that, not to mention, I don’t really like living alone. We grew up in a small town running around together all the time.
But now everybody’s pairing off, and I’m not sure where that leaves me.
Standing, I give Akers a nod. “Yeah, I’ll go out with you for a minute.”
We start for the locker room, pausing a minute to sign jerseys. It’s a sea of Murphy 74s waiting for us, but there’s also quite a few Akers 29 for my buddy to sign.
“Sign here, Sniper Spice.” A girl with long, dark red hair and really big breasts slides her fingers across her collarbones, stretching the white fabric tight over her tits for me.
My brow twitches, and I take the black Sharpie, doing my best to keep my tone light. “Haven’t used that nickname in a long time.”
“I’ve been following you a long time.” She blinks up at me, and for a minute I’m distracted by the thickness of her fake lashes.
Her skin is pale, and when she smiles, her cheeks bunch under her eyes, and her puffy lips reveal small teeth that remind me of a rabbit. Jessica Rabbit.
“Thanks for your support.” I pass the marker to her, and start for the locker room behind Akers.
“Mr. Murphy… Wait,” the woman calls to me, and I hesitate, not really wanting to go back to where she’s standing.
She’s dressed in black leggings and boots with fluffy tops, and the 74 Murphy jersey she’s wearing ends at the top of her slim hips. I’m pretty sure I know what she wants, and with what’s coming this weekend, I’m not interested.
Aiden glances at me, a cocky grin curling his lips. “If you don’t, I will.”
“It’s a deal,” I mutter beneath my breath before slowly returning to where she waits. “You need something?”
“In a manner of speaking.” Her eyes glide up and down my body, and her voice is a purr. “This is for you.”
She extends her hand, stuffing a piece of paper between my thumb and forefinger where I’m holding my stick.
I look down at the stiff card now lodged in my hand. “Do people still pass notes?”
“Call me old fashioned.” She sweeps her hair behind her shoulder and turns, walking away from me standing there with all my gear and whatever this is.
I go back to where Akers is waiting, his head tilted to the side as he watches her walk away. “You are so freakin spoiled, man.”
“What are you talking about?” I check his shoulder with mine as I pass on the way to the locker room. “You know that’s just a bad decision waiting to happen.”
He turns, following me to the locker room still shaking his head. “I’ll take that chance.”
“It’s a power imbalance between professional players and fans. Remember?”
“Trust me, dude. That woman has all the power, and she knows it.”
Tossing my skates into the bottom of my cubby, I notice Gav is already showered and changed into his suit. Owen is right behind him, equally clean and runway ready.
“You know we don’t have to wear the suits anymore,” Saxon Walsh, our best D-man who doubles as a winger when needed quips.
He throws his jersey into the bin for washing. I’ve started doing the same since Haddy and Gina moved out. There’s not enough laundry for just my stuff.
“Gotta look sharp for my girls.” Gavin runs a hand through his dark hair.
“Translation…” I lean over, giving my longtime buddy a shove. “Haddy likes a sharp-dressed man.”
“I like the old ways,” Owen says, pulling on the front of his blazer. “It makes us special.”
“Go on home to your wives and children.” Sax waves from where he’s standing in jeans and a bomber jacket with a cap on backwards. “You coming with us tonight, Mav?”
“Yeah.” I toss my pads into the bin for cleaning, feeling Gavin’s eyes on me. “For a little while.”
“When did you turn into a priest?” Hancock walks up, resting his elbow on Sax’s shoulder. “You used to stay out all night and drink us all under the table.”
Reaching into my locker, I lift my chin. “Don’t think I can’t still do it. I was raised on hard likkahhhh. Purple draaaank!”
Akers holds his nose, snorting a laugh, then he lifts his arm for a fist bump. “That’s what I’m talking ‘bout!”
I give him a bump then pull him in for a back slap, but Gav is still giving me a look.
I grab a towel, stopping where he’s standing. “You got a problem, Dad?”
“Just making sure you don’t have a problem.” His voice is low, and I make a face.
“What are you worried about?”
“Nothing, just, you know.”
Gavin and I were young players together in Atlanta, making a name for ourselves as the Dynamic Duo, Mav and Gav. We were pretty wild, but we had each other’s backs. Now he’s here with me in LA, carrying on the tradition on the ice.
“I don’t have a wife and baby girl to go home to.” I pat the top of his shoulder. “Don’t worry about me, Cuz.”
Now that he’s married to my cousin Haddy, he’s also family.
“Call me if you need a ride or anything.” He’s acting like he’ll drive all the way downtown in the middle of the night if I’m in trouble.
Okay, he probably would.
“Relax—I’m using the car service. I’m good.”
His lips press, and he nods. “Don’t know why I’d worry. You drive like an old grandma.”