Chapter 20
LIVELY
“There will be a one week team bonding retreat at Blackwater Bay for both teams. We leave in three days.”
The words were still bouncing around inside my skull like ping pong balls, and it wasn’t as if I hated the idea, it was quite the opposite, in fact.
Coach Gunner had spent the last twenty minutes ragging on us about the whole prank war thing.
I’d never seen the man so damn red in the face for so many minutes at a go before.
Of course, I’d taken the full brunt of his rage, yelling about how I should have reported it as soon as the pranks started, or how I shouldn’t have encouraged them.
He’d even gone as far as to pull out the “I’m disappointed in you” card, but, if I was being real honest, more than half of everything he’d been yelling about passed through one ear and went out the next.
The only thing I’d been able to fit into my one-track mind were Coach Hawkins’ parting words:
“There will be a one week team bonding retreat at Blackwater Bay for both teams. We leave in three days.”
And it looked like that’d been all my teammates could think about as well because, the second he left, our locker room erupted into noise before I could even get my brain to click into gear.
“Team bonding camp? In the remote ice fortress that is Blackwater Bay?” Mason snorted, swinging his gaze on me. “She's going to murder him.”
“Nah,” Dylan grinned. “This is basically Christmas for our boy here. Right, Liv?”
Oh, hell yeah. I gave him a shit-eating grin that probably should've been dialed back on account of the trouble we were in, but I couldn't help it.
One whole week of high-intensity training with the Blizzard Belles.
One week of Hailey Baleman unable to escape my presence.
One week of shared meals, and shared spaces, and shared suffering.
A giddy rush shot through my veins, making me feel lighter than air despite the bruise throbbing at my lower back and side. This was better than any Christmas morning; this was like every birthday and holiday rolled into one, wrapped up with a goddamn bow.
“Look at this sick bastard's face,” Logan laughed, shaking his head as he tugged his bag over his shoulder. “He's already planning his goddamn funeral all by himself.”
“You think Baleman's gonna be the one who offs me?” I arched an eyebrow, even though I was totally opposed to the idea, either. Hailey could do whatever she wanted to me, as long as she didn’t push me away.
Randy scoffed. “One week in close quarters with your thirsty ass? Yeah, she's definitely going to snap.”
I rolled my eyes at that.
“Hey, Cap, you okay?” Matt asked, and I looked up to find the guys all staring at me with varying degrees of concern. “That crash was…pretty bad.”
I mean, yeah, my sides and my back hurt like a motherfucker, but the pain was pretty much submerged in the sheer euphoria of the news. “Peachy as fuck. It wasn’t even all that bad.” I said with a grin. I’d probably have to check the extent of the injury later, though.
Dylan gave me a deadpan stare for a second too long before letting out a defeated sigh. “You better get that shit checked out, man.” He said, and a lull in conversation spread through the room.
It didn’t last long, though.
“Man, they're really serious about that pairing system though…” Logan mused, taking the reins of the conversation with ease. “Who'd you guys rather be stuck with for one week?”
“Anyone except Whitehall,” Dylan muttered. “That woman scares the shit out of me.”
“She's all bark,” Logan said with a chuckle, his shoulders shrugging beneath his practice jersey, and I wondered where he got his seemingly endless supply of sheer audacity. “It's Curtis you've got to watch out for. That goalie has a temper worse than a rattlesnake with a sunburn.”
“I call dibs on Ferguson,” Matt announced, slinging his bag over one shoulder with a grin that made me want to smack him. “She's got that whole quiet-but-deadly vibe going on. Hot.”
“Jesus Christ,” Dylan groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Is everything a conquest to you?”
“Told you before, I prefer the term ‘opportunity,’” Matt corrected, completely unfazed.
“And what did I tell you before?” I gave him a hard stare, remembering our earlier conversation about which Belles were ‘off-limits’.
Matt held up his hands in surrender, though the shit-eating grin remained firmly in place. “Hey, come on, don’t be a cockblocker, man.”
Randy snorted. “I think they’ll cockblock you all by themselves,” he said, and the guys all burst into laughter.
“Haha,” Matt grumbled, “Very funny. I’m telling y’all I can pull her.”
“Oh, I’d like to watch you try,” Dylan said, smirking. “My money's on Ferguson breaking his nose within the first twelve hours.”
The guys all burst into another round of laughter, and I couldn’t help but join in.
“Are we placing bets again?”
Randy grinned, “Oh, I’m totally down for this one, because I’m totally sure of my odds.”
Matt finally broke and pouted like a sulking toddler. “You’re all a bunch of assholes.” He said, but Dylan merely ruffled his hair as he walked past.
“You’ll survive.” He simply said.
“Alright, guys,” Marcus said, slinging his bag higher on his shoulder. “I'm out of here. Some of us have shit to do before camp.”
“Yeah, I'm heading out too,” Randy added. “Got a study group in twenty.” Somehow, it didn’t shock me that our quiet defenseman was a freaking top student with a business minor he didn’t play around with. Man was on that 4.0 GPA for real.
One by one, they started filing out of the locker room, bags in tow, until only Dylan and I were left. He eyed me suspiciously. I eyed him right back, amusement crawling up the back of my neck.
“You coming or what?” he asked, one brow arched that told me that he already knew the answer.
I shook my head, grabbing my gear bag with forced casualness. “Nah. Think I'll hang around for a bit. You know... to see what the damage is to the rink and all.”
Dylan's expression was torn between exasperation and amusement. “Practice is canceled for the day, Summers. There's literally no reason for you to hang around with the state the rink is in, too.” That arched brow stayed up.
But I didn't say anything, my silence more telling than any excuse I could have offered. Dylan sighed deeply, shaking his head like a disappointed parent.
“Y’know, sometimes,” he said, shouldering his bag, “I feel sorry for Baleman.”
I frowned. “What's that supposed to mean?”
But he was already heading for the door, tossing a dismissive wave over his shoulder. “See you back at the apartment, lover boy. Try not to get yourself killed before dinner, yeah?”
Tch!
“Asshole.” I called after him and he turned to flash me a cocky grin. Just looking at it irritated me so much, I began to understand why Hailey Baleman called me ‘fuckface’ whenever I flashed a grin her way, too.
The locker room fell silent after the door swung shut behind Dylan, leaving me alone with my thoughts and the dull throb of pain across my lower back where I'd hit the boards.
I winced as I straightened up, rolling my shoulders experimentally.
Not too bad. I'd definitely had worse hits during games.
I could raw dog this one; no need to go to the hospital.
Doing that would only cause more trouble than it was worth.
With a steadying breath, I made my way out of the locker room and positioned myself near the entrance to the rink, leaning against the wall with what I hoped looked like casual indifference rather than the nervous anticipation that was actually knotting my insides.
The thing was, I had no idea if Hailey would even want to see me after what happened. But I had to try. I needed to make sure she was okay, that Coach Hawkins hadn't come down too hard on her about the prank gone wrong.
She’s been in Coach Hawkins' office now for a while now, too. How long has it been? Fifteen, maybe twenty minutes? Shit, what if she was getting suspended or something? The thought made my chest tighten uncomfortably.
Yeah, no, I didn’t like that idea at all.
Just as I was pushing myself off the wall, determined to go inside and.
..well, I wasn't sure exactly, but do something , the double doors to the rink swung open. The Blizzard Belles filed out, their faces somber, conversations hushed. Couldn’t say I blamed them; they’d probably had their asses handed to them by their coach.
They came to an abrupt halt when they spotted me, though, the sudden silence stretching between us like a rubber band pulled too tight.
My eyes immediately found Hailey, standing slightly behind Whitehall. The sight of her made my body freeze with tension, because I didn’t like what I was seeing; she was pale, paler than she usually was.
Before I could say anything, Dani Ferguson surged forward, breaking away from the small cluster of women, like she’d been pushed.
Her face was still slightly red where the glitter had irritated her skin, but her expression wasn't hostile—it was guarded, yes, but there was something else there, something that looked almost like gratitude.
“Uh, so…you…you helped me out there,” she started, tone awkward, but sincerity was embroidered into the seams. “So, uh, thanks, Summers. You're, like, 5% less of a jerk now.”
Did…Did a Blizzard Belle just thank me?
That was enough to startle a huffed laugh out of me. “No problem,” I managed, even as my brain continued to whirr, trying to process the fact that one of the Blizzard Belles was actually speaking to me without open hostility. “Anyone would've done the same.”
Her eyes narrowed slightly, not buying my casual brush-off. “Is that a humble brag?” She asked and I blinked.
“What?”
“Anyone would’ve done the same.” She repeated back at me. “That sounds a whole lot like a jerk humble bragging.”