Chapter 20 Fletcher
FLETCHER
It takes a second for the crowd in the club near the stadium to recognize her, but with the pink suit, there’s no mistaking it. She chews on her lip, looking around as the drunk patrons start pointing and snapping photos. She seems surprised when people want her autograph.
I watch her in the crowd, in that bright-pink suit. The coach responsible for one of the biggest upsets in hockey history.
She sees me in the corner and hesitates like she’s not sure if she should come over. I jerk my head and follow the bright pink as she makes her way through the crowd toward me.
Most of the team is floating around the dance floor, where girls in Orcas jerseys are flirting with our players. And Zayne is actually controlling himself, only nursing a light beer while the younger players crowd around him, reliving the game while he laughs with them.
Ellie slides into the booth next to me.
“Didn’t want to go barhopping with your grandmother?” I slide my scotch over to her.
She takes a sip and winces.
“What? Do you need a pink lemonade and vodka?” I tease, taking it back from her. Because I’m drunk on the beer and the win, she’s actually, for once, not annoying. I try to get the attention of one of the servers.
“Don’t. You don’t need to,” Ellie says in a rush. “I’m not staying.”
“You’re not going to celebrate your first win?” On the TV above the bar, they’re replaying highlights of the game. Cookie floats through the air to score the overtime shot. Then there’s a clip of Ellie taking a swig from a bottle of tequila. “You can’t be that much of a lightweight.” I nudge her.
“Um,” Ellie says. She’s fiddling with her headband. “Sorry,” she says finally, “for, you know—” She nods up to the TV.
I tilt her chin up. “What?”
“You know, for the pink suit and the Barbie music and the, uh, feminine products all over the ice.”
“Don’t care.” I lean in, rest my forehead against hers. “We won,” I whisper. “I won my first NHL game ever in my life, and I scored and got an assist, and we won, Ellie. You can play the Barbie music after every game if we keep winning. I don’t care.”
“I won’t,” she promises, picking at the pink polish on her nails.
“No?” I tease her. “You don’t want to petition Dana Holbrook to officially change the Islanders colors to hot pink and rose gold?”
“That is a superior color combination to the burgundy and gray.” She sniffs.
I set my glass down and tense up when a group of Orcas players head into the club. “What the hell are they doing here?”
“You’re probably in their hunting ground for picking up women,” Ellie says with a forced laugh.
One of them, a defender, Kessler, who smashed me against the boards, sees the pink suit then sees me. Eyes narrowed, he heads in our direction. I stand up and shove away from the table as the guy approaches too fast, calling, “Hey, Barbie!”
I’m going to kill this motherfucker. “What did you just say to my coach?” Kessler takes a step back as I get up on him, the glass clutched in my hand like a weapon. Wish I had my rifle.
“Whoa, whoa there, big guy.” He holds his hands up. I keep my body between him and Ellie. “Man, no wonder you’re a menace on the ice, Sully,” he says conversationally. “My mom and little sister really wanted to meet Ellie. They’re big fans.”
Ellie peeks around me. “Hi!” She waves as a smiling middle-aged woman drags a teenage girl over.
“I love your outfit!” the woman gushes as the Orcas player looks on, bemused.
“Can you sign my phone?” the girl begs, holding out an iPhone in a pink case.
“Oh, um—”
“Gold pen.” The girl hands it to her.
Ellie writes her name with a flourish and a heart over the i.
“You were amazing out there.” Kessler’s mom sweeps Ellie into a hug. “Such an inspiration. Even if you did beat my son.”
“Told you you were going to lose.” The girl tosses her hair at her brother. He sticks his tongue out at her. “Gross!” she yelps.
“Thanks, man.” He shakes my hand. “Good game.”
Ellie slumps down in the seat as the server brings our drinks. “That was really strange.”
“You’re the hot ticket in the NHL now.” I toast her. “You could get us all big endorsement deals.”
She blows at some of the loose hair falling over her face. I tuck it back behind her ear.
“Maybe I’ll get you a real coach,” she mutters.
I grab her jaw, turn her toward me. “You kidding me right now, Ellie?”
“I mean—” She tries to wriggle away, but I cup her face.
“You are a real coach. You’re the best goddamn coach in the NHL.”
“You’re just saying that because you’re drunk.”
“I’m saying that because it’s true,” I tell her sincerely. “You’re probably the best coach I’ve ever had. You get on the ice with us, you seem to have a real plan, your plays aren’t just scribbles.” I release her. “You beat Seattle. Don’t sell yourself short.”
Her lip catches in her teeth. I want to bite it. “Seriously, you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, Ellie,” I murmur. I want to tell her, make her understand, how she finally made the team matter, made me matter.
“Is it cliché to want to kiss your pretty, game-winning coach?”
“You can’t kiss me.” Her eyes are big in her head, almost black in the dark, pupils blown wide-open.
“I just beat the shit out of the greatest NHL team in the country. I think I can do whatever I want at this point,” I murmur. “Don’t think, just shoot, right?”
Over her shoulder, there’s a well-dressed woman entering the club. A blond, well-dressed man next to her helping her with her coat as she chides him. She looks across the dark club, and her eyes lock with mine.
Dana Holbrook’s eyebrow raises. I sit back. Ellie looks over her shoulder.
She plays hockey, I remind myself. She’s not some dumb puck bunny. She can read my body language like a book.
“Why is Dana talking to Fitz Svensson?” Ellie says slowly. “He owns the Orcas.”
Why? Because maybe Hudson is right and she is running some deal.
I snap a photo.
“What are you doing?” Ellie hisses at me as I roll the video.
“The hockey gods are on my side tonight.”
“Are you recording Dana?”
“Nah. Your granny’s doing shots off the Finn’s naked chest.”
“I don’t see guys like you in the retirement home!” Granny Murray whoops.
“That’s how she got kicked out for sucking dick in the lobby.” Harlowe downs several shots.
“Ah, shoot, Gran,” Ellie yells. “Gran! Stop licking my players!”