Chapter 7
CHAPTER 7
I held my first hockey stick at eight years old. My Dad set up a makeshift net on a frozen pond in our backyard one winter. He dragged me from my video game console and insisted I learn a sport. Before he married my mom, my idea of playing a sport was how fast I could eat a sleeve of Oreos before getting caught. I don’t believe in magic, fate, or any other bullshit. I’m a realist. If you want something, you make it happen to yourself, but something that day was ethereal.
The weight of the stick had surprised me. While Dad explained how to position my hands and the importance of tape, I marveled at the velvet smoothness of the paint against my skin. I rolled it in my palm, getting comfortable with the shape and size of it. Time felt suspended, the voice of my dad far away. I vividly remembered the black paint and white lettering. It was brand new and all mine. I never owned something brand new before that moment. Mom was thrifty, but most of my clothes and toys were from Goodwill or the Salvation Army. Fuck, even the gaming console Dad dragged me away from was given to me by a neighbor. It wasn’t just that the stick was brand new. No, the power I felt wielding was exhilarating. My life changed forever that day.
That memory was one of my favorites. But seeing Maci in the stands might dethrone it. Cheers and yells filled the locker room while we all changed. Collectively, we were on a high from our win. Tonight, Hockey House will overflow with people, and I bet that most of the team blacked out tonight.
Axel untied his hair and shook it out, dancing around the locker room in his pads, “Fuck yeah boys! That’s how it’s mother fucking—” He cut himself off as Coach Grimes stomped out of his office.
“Go on,” Coach crossed his arms, smirking. No one could get a read on the man. He was a hard ass to a fault and the locker room died down as he stared intently at Axel.
If this were Coach Rae, he wouldn’t have batted an eyelash. Locker room talk was just that—talk. We were loud, obnoxious, and cursed like rowdy sailors. God, I hope this prick didn’t give us sprints for celebrating a win.
Axel gulped, but he wasn’t one to back down from a challenge, either. When we were freshmen, one of the Senior players dared him to streak through the quad. Axel, being Axel, had to up the ante. The big Viking wannabe dropped trout and ran through Greek row during welcome rounds of Sorority Rush. Girls flooded the street, walking to the houses they would visit. Easily, over a thousand Freshmen saw his dick. Sorority girls stopped their door chants and stared unabashedly as he hooted and hollered down the road. The cherry on top? He had Crew write his phone number on his chest and back in Sharpie. That man drowned in pussy for a year.
“We’re dying in anticipation, Andrews,” Coach raised an eyebrow.
The determination in Axel’s eyes settled it. He committed to whatever he was about to do. He inhaled and yelled, “That’s how you mother fucking show those pussies how to eat their own dicks!”
Coach Grimes’ smirk was like the proverbial green light of the locker room. A cacophony of cheers and bangs of sticks sounded off. Axel, loving the attention of the team, threw both his arms up in the air, encouraging them to keep up the noise.
“Who are we?!” He yelled.
“BU!” We screamed back.
“What do we mother fucking do?”
“WIN!”
“Gentlemen,” Grimes waved in farewell before retreating behind his office door.
The guys continued to undress and someone played Avenged Sevenfold from a Bluetooth speaker.
“See you fuckers at Hockey House!” Axel cheered, climbing over benches to get to me.
He plopped down, tied his hair back up on the top of his head and leaned into my shoulder, “You ready to watch the rookies get trashed tonight St. James?”
I snorted, “Cooper is on puke duty.”
Crew, whose locker was next to mine, chuckled, “You guys better not pull that shit on him. He’s been bitching for weeks about how he keeps having to clean up even though he lives in.” Crew threw the last of his gear and closed his locker before adding, “It’s bullshit, too. Coop’s not a rookie anymore. You need to stop treating him like one.”
Crew had a point. We treated Cooper like our little brother instead of as an equal teammate. Especially Axel. He didn’t mean any harm by it, but he didn’t have any siblings of his own. To him, Cooper was his baby brother.
Axel rolled his eyes. “Fiiiine,” He drawled before looking for Cooper in the room, “Coop!! You’re my wingman tonight. I want to see you make out with at least three puck bunnies before you pick one to ride!”
I shook my head, watching Axel make his way over to Cooper’s locker. Searching for my bag, Crew slapped me on the back. “Heard Baby Rae was in the stands tonight. ”
Looking over my shoulder, Crew’s indigo eyes crinkled with his smile. “You noticed her too?”
He shrugged, walking alongside me, exiting the locker room. I adjusted my bag on my shoulder before he responded, “Maci’s always been nice, she’s had a shit year,” He paused, looking around to make sure no one was within earshot before continuing, “Jackson is just as much a mess, he doesn’t think anyone notices it, but I do.”
I furrowed my brow. What did he mean by that? Jackson was a golden retriever—always happy and willing to have a good time. What did I miss?
“What are you talking about? Like how he treats his sister?” I stopped walking and waited for Crew to explain.
He shook his head, running his fingers through his auburn locks, “No, I mean, yeah he’s been a complete asswipe about Maci, but I mean, haven’t you noticed he disappears and comes back with bruises and cuts on his hands and face?”
I tried to recall noticing something like that, but came up blank. “No, its Jackson. He gets rough on the ice. You sure it isn’t a coincidence with practice?”
He shrugged. “Do me a favor. Start paying attention to it. Something is up with our favorite puck boy.”
Crew left me to mull over that information. By all accounts, Jackson made a rapid recovery from losing his dad. He processed it in his way and moved on. Not that a person can ever truly move on from a death like that. But enough that he wasn’t drowning in a bottle of tequila like his sister. Mentally, I conceded to keep an extra eye out on Jackson.
My thoughts shifted to the party tonight. The idea of Maci making her reentry into Hockey House was exciting. She used to come by all the time before, even if she never stayed. Maci used to do a celebratory shot with Jackson and me before she headed out with her teammates. She made it known that she didn’t party at Hockey House. It was just a pit stop on her journey for the night. I couldn’t blame her. Any guy who looked at her wrong would answer to Jackson and ultimately me. We were the biggest cock blocks ever. Maci's coming back was like a breath of fresh air. Just maybe, she could see herself out of the dark hole she found herself in.
I could only hope I still held firm that I would intervene if necessary. Jackson Rae be damned.