Chapter 16 Fletcher
FLETCHER
Jovi is trying to use Google Translate to talk to the Finn, who is stoically ignoring him and reading his book on North American wildlife.
“Google, how do you say ‘We’re going to get slaughtered’ in Swedish?” He frowns at the phone. “Google, how do you say—”
I snatch the phone from Jovi. “Stop it.”
“You think there’s any more breakfast casserole?”
“That’s not in the diet plan.”
“Does it really matter at this point? Google, how do you say—”
I throw the phone at Jovi. It misses and hits Cookie, who looks like he’s about to start crying.
“I hope you’re not going to shoot with that kind of accuracy,” Carlsson chirps from a few rows in front of us.
Ellie bustles over to reset the therapy toys and give Cookie a bag of Goldfish crackers.
I am in hell.
Jovi raises his hand. “Coach Ellie, can I have some Play-Doh? I want some Play-Doh.”
Ellie pulls down his tray for him. “Fletcher, don’t let him get that over the seat.” She pulls out a wet towel and wipes Cookie’s face then reaches over like she’s about to wipe mine.
“The hell—”
“Sorry!” Ellie’s cheeks color. “Force of habit.”
The Finn is smirking.
I watch the gray clouds outside the window. Try to think about anything other than the fact that we’re about to lose worse than we did against the Direwolves. There’s also the small matter of repaying Hudson’s debt. “Maybe Emil Maynard will give us a mercy killing,” I muse.
Christmas carols blare over the sound system as we file into the hotel. Christmas trees and garland festoon the lobby. One of the staff has added hockey ornaments to an oversized tree in the lobby.
The rookies snap selfies in front of the decorations as Ellie hands out room assignments. “Put your things down. We have practice in an hour. Do not miss that bus.”
I’m rooming with Zayne Murphy. Kid me is currently having an aneurysm and writing his thank-you letter to Santa. Adult-ish me is wondering if he’s going to be kept awake by Zayne puking up his liquid dinner.
Zayne dumps his stuff by one of the beds. “Gonna grab ice.”
The door unlocks a few minutes later as I’m changing into my workout gear. “Yeah, I didn’t think those fancy hotels had ice—oh shit.” I stand up as one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever met saunters into the room.
She perches across from me on Zayne’s bed and crosses her long legs.
“Hudson send you here to kill me?”
“Was in town working on a job,” Skylar says, pulling up the delicate strap of her silk jumpsuit. “Seeing as it’s the season of giving and everything, your cousin says you’re striking out with a certain cougar.” She trails her fingers up my bare arm. “Your hot body’s not enough for her?”
“Does your wife know you’re talking to me like that?”
Skylar laughs—it’s musical, intoxicating. I shake off her spell.
She’s Hudson’s highest-paid employee and his secret weapon. She can get any man to give her anything she wants. Always. She never misses.
“Dana talked to me. She definitely checked me out. She’s interested,” I insist. “Though I’m not as pretty as you,” I joke.
She preens. “So then why are you so scared?”
“I have the game,” I say quickly.
“Dana’s in the city.” Skylar inspects her nails.
“I’m gonna try again after the game,” I say in response to her unspoken question.
“Hudson’s trying to make an actual profit off this job,” Skylar warns. “He doesn’t want to have to send in a team. Word to the wise—do you need to write this down?”
“I’ll remember.”
She sniffs. “Dana enjoys a challenge. She won’t respect you if you give up too easily. You want to be upfront. She doesn’t have time for back-and-forth. Just go up to her.”
Skylar approaches me. It’s fake, it’s fake, this is what she does, my mind screams as Skylar’s breath kisses my ear.
“And whisper in her ear, ‘I want to know what it’s like to fuck a billion dollars.’” Skylar hasn’t even touched me, and I already feel like fucking like a rabbit.
“She’ll appreciate it.” Skylar’s eyes flick down my chest then up.
My T-shirt feels tight. “Also, her password is 9-0-2-1-0. I know, right?”
The room’s door clicks unlocked. Skylar picks up her silky jacket, throws it over one shoulder, and saunters to the doorway.
I follow her, mainly so Zayne doesn’t think I’m getting laid the night before a big game. He might be a drunk, but he’s still my idol, and I don’t want him to think I’m not taking my NHL shot seriously.
I huff a laugh at the irony right as the door opens.
Ellie’s standing there in the hallway, mouth slightly open. Skylar looks her up and down and gives me a pointed look. “Evening, doll.” Skylar blows her a kiss as she saunters by.
“I, uh…” Ellie stammers.
“Trying to round up the troops. Didn’t know you were, uh, busy.” Her hands are doing a nervous fluttering.
I pull on my sweatshirt. “Yeah, I’m ready.
” I step up to her. Her brown eyes are huge in her head, her eyebrows raised.
The pulse in her neck jumps as I close the distance.
“You gonna let me by, or are you gonna give me a big speech about how you’re disappointed and you might have to drag me to time-out again? ”
“Oh, uh…” Ellie jumps about two feet in the air then over as I swing past her.
I wait for her to make some snide comment about Skylar, but she just chatters nervously next to me about the plays, about the Orcas, about the strategy.
On the fancy bus—not a school bus like my U18 team used to travel around in; this one’s got Wi-Fi and AC—I snarl at one of the rookies. He jumps out of a seat near the front, and I stretch both of my legs out across the seat.
Ellie keeps chewing on her lip as the bus drives to the stadium.
She can’t be jealous, right? Ellie can’t stand me. She’s the hardest on me of everyone, and I’m neither a drunk nor mouthy, and I actually do try in practice. Usually.
Ellie turns in her seat to fuss with the useless rookies and catches me staring at her. She startles, sending her sparkling pink mug clattering to the floor.
She seems to calm down at practice, herding us like one of those corgis my cousin’s always threatening to buy as she acts out the plays with probably way more enthusiasm than is decent for an NHL coach to have.
After practice, she bounces over to me.
“I hope you’re not wanting to come up to my room to burn off some game-day jitters.” I wipe my face with a towel.
“God, no.” She wrinkles her nose.
So she’s not interested after all.
But there’s that rash of red on her neck.
So maybe a little.
“I need you to do something for me.”
I lean down. “This better not be another manipulation tactic from you.”
“It’s for the good of the team.”
“The team?” On the ice, the rookies are playing around, kicking snow at each other. One of them screeches as ice is shoved down his jersey. “If you cared about the team, you’d chuck us into the river in full gear and put us out of our misery.”
“I think we can win tomorrow.” She’s stubborn.
“No, you don’t.”
“We have a good team.”
“We have a terrible team.”
“We have Zayne Murphy.”
My idol is leaning against the boards and resting his chin on his stick, watching the rookies play with a pained expression on his face. “That man never should have been on this team.” I feel sick saying it, but it’s true. “They gave him a pity contract.”
“He’s fine if he’s not drunk or hungover.” Ellie grabs my wrist and slaps something into my glove.
I stare down at the handcuffs gleaming against the fabric.
“You know, princess, this really feels like you’re coming on to me. I might need to file a report with HR.”
Ellie sighs. “HR quit. Dana refused to give her Christmas off.”
“Maybe I should quit too.”
“No!” Ellie yelps. “Just…” She grabs the front of my jersey, pulls me down.
“You’re the alternate captain. It’s your responsibility to keep Zayne Murphy sober for tomorrow’s game. That’s the only way we stand a chance of winning.”
“You can’t do it?”
“We’re dividing and conquering. Or you can take the rookies. They keep talking about going to clubs. There’s talk of sneaking down the laundry chute. I’m organizing a board game night. Maybe that will keep them occupied.”
“I don’t think half of them can read, so good luck with that.”
“Please,” Ellie begs. “I don’t want to lose again.”
“This team? That’s all we do, Candy Cane.”
She grabs my arm. “Please, please, please.”
“Fine. Only if you make Cookie play.”
Ellie makes a face as we look across the ice to Cookie, who is slowly spinning around in a circle, staring up at the ceiling.
“We are so fucked.”
I can’t even enjoy the perks of finally being in the NHL, because I have to babysit.
Zayne Murphy heads for the lobby bar as soon as we shuffle off the bus in front of the Soundview Hotel.
“We should go over plays for tomorrow,” I say desperately, “and watch game tapes.”
“Yeah,” Zayne says, “yeah, I guess we should.”
I round up Bramms, Carlsson, and the Finn so that it doesn’t look like I’m trying to manage Zayne.
“Got anything of the good stuff?” Bramms opens up my minibar fridge.
I wince as the little glass bottles clink together. “Let’s just see if they can send up some room service or something. The team is paying.”
The Finn says something garbled and shoves a menu in my face, pointing at the steak tartare.
“Yeah, yeah, you want your raw egg and meat. I got it.”
We eat steak, watch old Orcas games, and do a deep dive into Ellie’s proposed plays.
“No, man, like this,” Bramms is saying, demonstrating with his stick, pretending the desk chair is the Orcas defender.
Zayne keeps not looking at the fridge—like, he’s looking everywhere but the fridge. Keep him sober. “Protein bars,” I say loudly. “Protein is good. It’s better cold, though.” The fridge door slams open, and I grab all the bottles out of the fridge.
“I’m just going to take these to management. Ellie’s got cheese I can put there instead,” I say lamely so it doesn’t look like I’m treating Zayne Murphy like a child who can’t control himself.