Chapter 4
Chapter Four
Elliot
We take the win against Pittsburgh, and now it’s time to face Montréal on the road.
It’s always a fun time playing there as the crowd is incredibly passionate.
They love their team hard, and with it being the largest arena in the league, you can really sense their loyalty when you’re the visiting team.
I may have been voted the fans’ favorite goalie in various random polls over the last few years, but I don’t feel the love in Montréal.
I mean, I get why, but I can’t say I don’t let it get to me.
Knowing I’m not liked is an issue because I want to be liked by everyone.
Even by the opposing team’s fans. Make that make sense.
Staring at the empty bag on my bed, I run a hand through my hair and question why I always leave things until the last minute. Blaine will be here any second now so we can head to the airport together, and I haven’t packed a single thing. Not even my toothbrush or a pair of boxers.
Sure, we’re only in Montréal for one night, so I won’t need that much stuff. But even as that thought runs through my brain, I can’t seem to get myself moving.
Closet.
Bathroom.
Put stuff in the bag.
It’s a simple task, really. It shouldn’t be this hard. But my limbs are like a heavy weight, rooted in place. My brain fighting itself.
Instead of doing what I should be doing, I flop down on the bed and start scrolling through my phone. My social media feed is full of otters, a mix of sea, river, and Asian small-clawed otters, and I laugh at one as it twirls in a circle while hanging from someone’s sweatshirt sleeve.
I love animals. I think they’re the best thing on this Earth.
Whenever I’m asked what I would do if I weren’t a goalie, I always say I’d work for some kind of marine rescue. Rescuing injured sea otters and seals. Nurturing them back to health before releasing them back into the wild.
I got a degree in marine biology in college.
I didn’t end up entering the NHL draft, unlike Blaine.
Goalies have a tougher time as it takes longer to develop, to hone the skill it takes to play on a professional level.
It made more sense to wait for free agency, and it was during my senior year that I was scouted.
After graduation, I headed to training camp in Penticton and ended up meeting my agent, Hayden Cassidy.
I played a season for Vancouver’s ECHL farm team in Michigan before moving to Abbotsford to play for their AHL affiliate team for a season.
I had this level of focus that saw me grow from strength to strength in the crease.
I was breaking franchise records, and it wasn’t long until I was called up to the big leagues and spent three years in Vancouver.
Blaine wasn’t happy to be apart for so long. It was the first time in our lives we hadn’t been living in the same place, but I had a great agent in Hayden. We put in the work to make me hot property in front of the net, and soon enough, Chicago came knocking with a deal we couldn’t pass up.
And the rest, as they say, is history.
I’m not sure how much time has passed when Blaine’s voice startles me, and I launch my phone into the air with a surprised yelp. It lands next to me on the bed with an audible thud as I roll over to pierce him with a glare.
“You haven’t packed yet?” he sighs, but it isn’t with annoyance. We do this dance every single time we go on the road.
I’m almost thirty, yet I have to be saved by my twin brother because I struggle to function like a “normal” human being.
Throwing my arms over my face, I let out a loud groan. “No. I don’t know what to pack.”
“You don’t need much. Whatever you sleep in, toiletries, a clean T-shirt. Maybe a sweatshirt ’cause it’ll be freeze-your-balls-off cold like it is here, and whatever you want to wear to the game.”
At the sound of my dresser opening, I shift one of my arms to see Blaine rummaging through my stuff.
“Which ones do you want?” He holds up two pairs of novelty socks. One pair has cacti shaped like penises on, and the other pair has crocodiles wearing sunglasses while drinking a cocktail on a pool float.
I laugh because they’re funny, then shrug. “Both. You can never have too many pairs of socks.”
He nods and shoves them into the bag before packing my dress socks too.
“Why is the plural form of cactus cacti, but the plural form of penis isn’t peni?” I ask, grabbing my phone from where it landed and twirling it between my thumb and middle finger. “Peni sounds much more fun than penises.”
Blaine glances up from the bag to me with wide eyes. “Uh… I have no idea? I didn’t pay attention in English class,” he says, turning toward my closet. “Hey, where’s the laundry Alex did for you the other day?”
“In there.” I point to the far side of my closet.
Blaine slides open the door, and sitting on the shelf is the laundry, still folded neatly in the same pile Alex delivered it in.
He snickers. “Did you just put it in like that?”
Nodding, I sit up and dangle my legs over the edge of the bed.
“Yeah. After it sat on the dining table to marinate for a few days, but I didn’t have the spoons to put it away properly at the time, so I just…
” With my hands out flat, I motion picking up the pile of laundry and placing it on the shelf.
Should I be embarrassed that my brother-in-law has to do laundry for me, otherwise it would never get done?
Maybe. Before Alex moved in with Blaine, I tried so hard to be organized enough to do laundry.
I’d get it in the washing machine, but I would often forget to turn it on.
Or if I did turn on the machine, then forget to take it out until several days later, by which point it would need washing again because all I could smell was damp.
I even tried taking it to a laundromat once, but then they called me a week later to ask when I was planning to collect it, and I was too embarrassed to go back after that.
Then one day, Alex came over and found me lying on the floor in my living room, surrounded by the contents of my suitcase from my ten-day road trip. I was close to having a breakdown, and he offered to help me.
There was no judgment or snide remark that I was lazy like my mom, or my roommates at college, or my teammates in Vancouver would say to me. He seemed to understand that I was trying, but I couldn’t seem to do it on my own.
It’s another thing to add to the never-ending list of how I need to rely on my brother to survive, I guess.
Blaine takes the pile and places it in my bag. “That’ll do. Now, go grab your toiletries and whatever else you want to bring.”
Sighing, I haul myself up off the bed and into my bathroom. I shove my toiletries into my washbag, then head back into my room to drop it into my duffel. I change out of my pajama bottoms and into some Thunder-branded sweatpants and swap my Crocs for Vans.
Blaine grabs various cables and my iPad while I pull on a jacket, and wordlessly hands over my phone I left on the bed.
“Oh, I need snacks,” I announce and quickly head to the kitchen to raid the pantry. I load up the front pocket of my jacket with packets of cookies and chips, then follow Blaine out of my apartment.
Thirty minutes later, Blaine pulls his car into an empty spot in the private parking lot at O’Hare airport and offers me a tired smile.
“Ready to kick some Montréal ass?” he asks, reaching over to grab his coat from the back seat.
“You bet.” I clap my hands together. “You better score all the goals too. You can’t leave it all down to me. I can’t sweet-talk the posts in Montréal because I don’t know any French.”
He snickers. “I can’t help you with the French, but I can help you with the goals.”
I hold my fist out, and he bumps it in return.
Stepping out of the car, I shiver at the bitter December air as it sends chills down to my bones. I let out a loud burrrr noise and tug the collar of my jacket higher up my neck.
“Fuck me, it’s cold!” I shout, hiking my duffel bag onto my shoulder before shoving my hands deep into my pockets.
I wonder how Hunter works in these conditions. Are his big, bulky clothes nice and warm? The firehouse was warm when I visited the other night to drop off the cookies, but when they get sent out on a call, they are outside a lot of the time.
Did he enjoy the cookies? Should I make him more? Maybe I could decorate one with icing. Will you go on a date with me? I could throw it at him, then run away. But if the cookie broke in half, he wouldn’t be able to read it.
I inwardly sigh. All this stuff is hard.
We go through immigration and security, and when we go back outside, another blast of wind has me tensing. I tuck my chin beneath the collar of my jacket, trying to hide the bottom half of my face.
“I don’t know why this is called a windbreaker because it doesn’t break the wind,” I mumble into the fabric.
Blaine’s brow furrows. “I don’t think it’s called it in a literal sense.”
“But then it’s false advertising,” I argue. “They shouldn’t call it something if it doesn’t do that. Like you wouldn’t call it a nutcracker if it didn’t crack nuts.”
He opens his mouth, but whatever he’s about to say dies on his tongue. His expression turns thoughtful. “You’ve got a point.”
I give him an I know look, then pick up the speed of my steps so I beat him to the stairs of the jet.
I wave at Colleen as she stands with her assistant, snapping photos for the team’s social media.
I pop my head out from my jacket to give her a bright smile.
The people of the internet won’t know my balls have retreated up into my body from the icy breeze.
Once I’m on the jet, I find my usual spot in the row next to Blaine and Zach and shove my duffel bag into the overhead bin. Jackson is sitting in the window seat, tapping away on his phone.
“How are my two favorite Wilde spawn?” I ask, dropping down into the seat next to him.