Chapter 45
Forty-Five
It’s Easier to Take Your Money
Forest
Beck flies off for a week-long West Coast road trip. San Jose. L.A. Anaheim.
I set an alarm on my phone to remind me to text or call every single night. I need him to know that he matters. I’m not going to drop the ball again.
Except we only connect about half the time. He’s been sucked into the vortex of a new team and their wild schedule. The tables have turned, and now I’m the guy who can’t stop checking his phone, hoping that Beck has a minute to talk to me.
“Will you be playing your hand, Forest?” Kenji asks with a smirk in his voice. “Actually, we like you distracted. It’s easier to take your money.”
“Shit, sorry.” I tuck my phone in my shirt pocket and pick up my cards. Pair of fours. Not much else to work with.
Denny chuckles. “Still no text from your guy?”
I shake my head.
CJ clears his throat. “Is there any chance he’s sending you some kind of message? Must be a big ego boost to suddenly level up like this.”
It takes me exactly half of a second to shake my head. “Beck doesn’t play games like that.”
“Sorry,” CJ says quickly. “That was a dumb question. It’s just that you look so fidgety.”
“No, it’s…” I pause for a moment as it sinks in how well I really do know Beck. He’s not ghosting me. He’s busy. “The thing is…” I let out a nervous chuckle. “The Cougars’ coach will be fixing the starting lineup for tonight’s game about now. And since Beck is too busy to get back to me…”
Kenji’s eyebrows disappear under his hair. “You think they might put him in the net tonight?”
“You never know,” I say, afraid to jinx Beck. “Middle game of a road trip, and back-to-back with tomorrow’s game. They want their primaries rested for the playoffs.” I take another glance at my phone, because I can’t help myself. But the screen is dark.
“My dudes,” Big Bob says. “We gotta play some poker now, so we can stop to watch the game if Beck is in the net.” He kicks me under the table. “Focus, Forest. I need to take your money by… What time does the game start?”
“Eight, our time.” It’s six now.
Big Bob chuckles. “Let’s wait to order dinner. I think we might have a hockey game to watch. Let’s play, damn it.”
So we do. I get terrible cards and I fold almost every hand. It doesn’t matter. I’d happily give all my luck to Beck, if luck worked that way.
Kenji is dealing out another hand when my phone finally vibrates with a text.
Beck
Can’t talk, but pls tune in to the game tonight.
My stomach lights up with fireworks, and I pump my fist.
“Is it happening?” Kenji demands.
“It’s happening.”
Beck
There is no good emoji for nerves. Except the green puke one. I hate that one.
Forest
You got this. I believe in you.
Beck replies with the green puke emoji.
I’m a ball of nerves myself as the game begins. L.A. is two points behind the wild card line with two games left, which means they’re hungry and desperate. The Cougars, on the other hand, are locked in for the playoffs, so this game isn’t crucial for them.
It is for Beck, though. This is a big test of his abilities and his composure.
Denny orders Indian food, but I can hardly eat. I’m too busy shouting at his TV screen. Right from the first period, it’s a weird, high-scoring game.
L.A. comes out flying—like hair-on-fire, playoff-or-bust energy. They throw pucks at the net from everywhere. Their forecheck is relentless. They pin our guys in their zone for long stretches, and Beck is just—Jesus. He’s everywhere. Glove, blocker, pad, repeat.
But the Cougars’ skaters are loose. Too loose. They’ve already punched their ticket to the postseason, and it shows. Lazy backchecks. Fancy drop passes that don’t connect. We’re not winning puck battles, and Beck is getting hung out to dry.
“I’m so angry right now,” I grumble, shoving a samosa in my mouth.
“He’s doing it, though,” CJ says. He’s on the edge of his chair, too. We all are. “Your boy has moves.”
By the end of the first, it’s 2–2, and he’s already stopped sixteen shots. My stomach’s in knots, and Denny’s yelling, “This is the most stressed I’ve ever been watching a game that doesn’t matter!”
Except it does matter. To Beck. And therefore to me. I hope he finds rage-texting romantic, because I keep firing off my thoughts to his phone.
Forest
What are they doing tonight? Napping?
Ugh. That turnover is NOT your fault.
The rest of the game gets even more unhinged. We go up 3–2 off a fluke deflection that bounces like a pinball past their goalie. But then we take two dumb penalties in a row, and L.A. buries both power plays. One of them is a backdoor tap-in that Beck had zero chance on.
I’m pacing now, arms crossed over my chest, my food going cold on the coffee table. Denny’s dog is hiding under the couch from all the yelling.
Then time runs out, and Coach Powers pulls Beck with ninety seconds left. The team rallies to give L.A. the same kind of barrage that Beck had faced all night.
But it’s not enough. We’ve lost 3-4 when the buzzer sounds.
I text Beck.
This is not on you, and Powers knows it. You played really well tonight, and you kept your composure like a champ.
“We gotta take a selfie,” Big Bob says. “Let Beck know we were pulling for him.”
“Yes!” Kenji shouts. “Wait, Denny? Got a notepad? We need a message.”
A few minutes later, after I’ve loaded up Denny’s dishwasher with our dishes, I’m summoned to take a selfie with the guys in front of Denny’s poker table. Kenji holds up the sign that says in Sharpie print, YOU SLAYED TONIGHT!
I laugh when I see it, and then Big Bob takes the pic, because he has the longest arms.
When I drive home, I feel strangely satisfied. The game didn’t go how any of us wanted, but Beck can hold his head up high. And my friends are awesome.
After I get home, Beck responds.
Beck
I know, I know. That shit show wasn’t my fault. Hoarse from yelling at them from the crease. Still kind of sucks though. I’ll call you from the bus if you’re still up.
Forest
I’ll be up! This sucks the way ANY loss sucks. But some smart guy told me you have to live by goalie rules. So you’re not allowed to think about it tomorrow.
He hearts my text, and I discover that I like it a hell of a lot better than the thumbs up.
Too bad I fall asleep before he calls me. The next morning I wake up in an empty bed, a missed call on my phone.
Damn it all.