Chapter Twelve Daphne （In Mason’s Body） #2
“Yes! Fuck yeah!” I yell down the ice.
This time, when the players turn and look at me, they don’t seem suspicious that something’s off. Some are elated by our goal, and others are annoyed that they’re now losing.
Sucks to be them!
Since there are no refs for this scrimmage, the puck is simply set on the ice between the guys before they fight to get it. Ross’ team wins. They skate into our zone, and my three players are perfectly positioned between me and our opponents.
Come on. I got this. I got this. My inner thoughts become external mumbling, “I got this. I got this. I got this. I got this.”
One of the opponents pulls his stick back and slaps the puck hard. It flies across the ice, straight toward his teammate. As it glides in front of him, he winds his stick back and shoots the puck toward me.
“I got this. I got this. I got this. I got this.” Pushing off with my left leg, I skate to my right, blocking the opening with my shoulder right as the puck sinks into the net behind me.
Dammit!
Disappointment rings through me, and I smack the top bar lightly with my blocker out of frustration. I know I shouldn’t be upset; even though this is my first time playing goalie, I wanted to be perfect—a trait I’ve always had.
It’s what made me such a good skater all those years. I wouldn’t quit until I perfected a skill and was able to perform it ten times back-to-back. Or until my mom dragged me off the ice.
“Sorry.” I rub the bar and whisper, “I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.”
My teammates skate over one by one, tapping me lightly with their stick, which I’ve seen players do in games to other goalies. I’ve always wondered if it makes the goalie feel better about letting one in. As of right now, maybe a little, but not much in the grand scheme of things.
“That was my bad,” Chet says. “I turned it over. Sorry, Mase.”
“Don’t apologize. I should’ve had it,” I mumble.
“Next time.”
He smiles, and I smile back, pride blooming in my chest.
I’ve missed this competitive feeling. Granted, I always performed alone, but I missed this fire, this drive. I haven’t felt it in years, and I wish more than anything that I could keep it.
The first period comes to an end with our team losing zero to one, but my determination has never been stronger.
During the second period, I manage to block five shots, my posts assisting with two of them. We also tie the game up one to one by the time the clock runs out, leaving us to head into the third period with a tie.
I want to win this. We have to win this. It might not seem like the biggest deal in the world, but it somehow has become the only thing I care about right now.
As I take my place on the ice for the final period, I have a hunger in the pit of my stomach for the victory. Forget about the switch with Mason. Forget about the injury haunting my return. All I want at this moment is to win this game.
Does it come with a trophy? A medal? A cash prize? No, and I don’t care. It’d come with the pride that I earned it. I need to prove to myself, in some weird way, that I still have that competitive edge.
“Here we go!” Chet shouts as he skates toward me, tapping me with his stick and giving me a head nod.
I nod back, mentally locking in for what’s to come.
The other team is good, built of two forwards and one defenseman—I did a little research on my phone before starting this period.
This means they’re fast on their skates but might lack on defense, which I’m hoping will give Chet and our other teammates, Marcus and Zach—I learned their names during the water break after the first period—a chance to win this game.
But in order for them to succeed, I need to keep pucks far away from our net, and I certainly can’t afford to let another one in.
The opposing team wins the first face-off, and they skate toward me while my teammates set up for defense, skating backward into the zone.
Ross passes it to his teammate, Ryan, who dishes it over to Jake on the right wing. Ross cuts through the slot, and it’s like I can see the play in my mind before it happens.
Jake chips the puck at Ross, who is going to try to deflect it into the net, but I line myself up.
The puck hits Ross’s stick, and flies toward me, but instead of scoring, it bounces off my chest.
Sticks fly on the ice in front of me, some poking me as everyone fights for control of it. Before anyone can get it, I remember that I can hold on to the puck and stop the play.
I pounce on the puck like a cat on a toy, and the play slowly comes to a stop.
They reset on the face-off dot near us as the clock continues to tick down. Their team wins it again, and Ross attempts to shoot it straightaway, throwing it as hard as he can toward me.
Oh shit, that’s coming in hot!
Closing my eyes, I hold my glove up to where I think it will be and pray for the best.
I feel its weight flick my hand back, and a bolt of electricity shoots through me.
Peeling my eyes open, I look down and find the puck in my glove, eyeing it as if it were the holy grail.
“Yes!” I cheer loudly—loud enough that the other guys look at me kind of funny but dismiss it after a beat.
“Nice save, Mase,” Ross praises me as he skates by me, tapping me with his stick. “Bet you don’t stop the next one.”
“Yeah, we’ll see about that,” I chirp back with a shit-eating grin on my face.
I can feel Mason’s stare on the back of my head, and I can’t resist the pull to look up at him in the stands.
I find him instantly, wearing a hoodie and sunglasses. He proudly gives me a thumbs-up, and my heart jumps out of my chest with pride.
Turning back around, I check the clock. There’s five minutes and fourteen seconds left until the game is over. We need a goal, and I need to keep the other team from scoring.
They reset at center ice as I toss my bottle back down atop the net after getting a quick drink and spraying my face with cold water, feeling refreshed. “Phew. I got this. I got this.”
We win the face-off, and they fly into the other zone, quickly getting off a shot before finding the rebound and setting back up.
They attempt to score again, passing back and forth and cutting through the slot, trying again and again. But the other goalie is hot right now, and they can’t find an opening.
Damn .
I shake it off as the players skate down the ice toward me.
It’s okay. There’s still three minutes left.
Ryan tries to no-look-score on me, but he fails, hitting one of my posts. Of course, I take a second to thank it afterward when the guys skate the other way. The opposing team gets the puck again, their passes clean and precise.
Jake trips Marcus, who falls to the ice. Ryan sees the opportunity and skates toward me, one-on-one, and tries to sink it into the top-right corner. But he’s not getting through.
I stand up enough to seal the gap, and the puck bounces off my shoulder. I catch it, pinning it to my chest and stopping the play.
One minute and twenty-nine seconds left.
The other team wins the face-off again, and I curse as I’m forced to handle defense nearly by myself since my team isn’t in place. Which my opponents take full advantage of.
But again, I stop their two shots, and we finally take control of the puck, flying back toward the other end with thirty-five seconds to go.
“Let’s go! Come on!” I shout at them, nerves building up more and more with every second that ticks away.
We pass it around, but their defense is top-tier, not giving way to any weakness or gaps.
Twenty seconds.
Marcus and Zach pass it back and forth while Chet dekes his defender out and enters the empty slot. Zach dishes it to Chet, who deflects it toward the goal, finding an opening right in the five-hole—between the goalie’s legs.
“Yes!” I scream as the buzzer rings out, sounding victorious and musical to my ears.
My teammates take off for me, shouting and hollering as they pump their fists into the air. They barrel into me, slapping the top of my head with their gloves as we all jump up and down.
“Fuck yeah, Mase!” Chet cheers, bumping the front of my helmet with his, followed by Marcus and Zach.
My heart soars in the arena as I celebrate with the guys, cheering each of them on. The guys start chatting each other up as we head to the bench and down the tunnel to the locker room.
I can certainly see the appeal of playing the sport, especially if a win feels this good every time.
God, I don’t know how I’m going to top a moment like this. I needed this, more than I could’ve realized.
I despise Mason for many reasons, but I’m damn thankful that he pushed me to do this today. Maybe he knew that I needed this too. Somehow, in some weird brain-switch way.
Something catches my attention out of the corner of my eye, and I turn?—
Oh my God!
I smack my hand over my eyes, but it does little to erase the image burned into my mind.
Most of the guys are butt naked, changing out of their clothes and gear.
Acting like this is only going to draw more attention, so I remove my hand, carefully opening my eyes and avoiding them.
I shouldn’t look, but my eyes wander the room of their own accord. And I definitely shouldn’t still be looking.
But I’m a bit taken aback …
I would’ve assumed that Chet had the biggest, given his ego, but it’s surprisingly … average. But Ross? Jesus, that man is packing. I don’t know how he fits that thing in a cup.
Daphne, stop!
Slamming my eyes shut, I turn back to my cubby and take a couple of breaths. I should’ve been prepared for this. Obviously, these guys change in here. But I didn’t have to deal with it before the game because I was dressed and on the ice well before all of them.
Chet walks up and slaps my bare back between my shoulders, and I have to pretend that I didn’t just see his dick swinging about as he asks, “How’s it going with your girl?”
My girl?
Oh my God, is Mason seeing someone?
Pain radiates outward from my heart, slicing me to pieces. It’s not my business if he is, but I can’t ignore the agony the mere thought is causing me.
“My girl?” I scoff jokingly, hoping to pry a bit more information from him on who this secret girl is.
He eyes me worriedly, like I’ve lost it. “Yeah, you know, the girl you’ve been in love with forever.” He lifts his arm to the middle of his pecs. “About this tall. Red hair. Bit of a sassy thing. Hates you. Your sister’s best friend. Ringing a bell?”
“Oh, that one .” I chuckle as my mind goes numb.
He’s in love with me?
No way.
He stares at me, waiting for my answer, and I twiddle my thumbs nervously.
“She’s good. Still busy hating me.”
“Have you tried talking to her, like I told you to? About mending what happened between you guys? You can’t go the rest of your life regretting letting her get away, man. It’s going to eat you alive. More than it already has. Just talk to her, okay?”
I nod slowly, and he accepts that as my answer and walks away, leaving me more confused than ever.
Well, I certainly wasn’t expecting that conversation in the locker room today.
What is Chet talking about? What is Mason supposed to tell me? And why is he talking to his teammates about me at all?
Questions run rampant through my mind as I rinse off and quickly get dressed, heading out to Mason’s pickup, where he’s waiting for me outside the driver’s door.
“Daphne!” he shout-whispers and throws his arms around my waist as I approach. “You were amazing! Incredible! Oh my God, I couldn’t believe it!”
My body begins to vibrate from excitement, and his encouragement catches me off guard. “Really?”
He scoffs. “Are you kidding me? You were perfect.”
I feel my cheeks burn, and I look away, hoping he doesn’t notice. But when I turn back and find a twinkle in his gaze, I know he saw.
“I guess it’s my turn to perform for you, huh?” he asks, and my stomach flutters.
Perform how?
“For your Mini Mammoths,” he clarifies, a knowing look on his face and a smirk that tells me his mind went in the same dirty direction as mine.
I hate that even while I’m in his body, he can read me clear as day.
“Unless you want me to perform for you in some other way? I’d definitely be open to the idea.” He smirks and tucks his tongue into the side of his teeth.
“Oh, really?” I bite down on the inside of my cheek, my core pulsing with warmth. “Good to know.”
“Name the time and place, and I’ll be there for you. Always, Sunset.”
He smiles genuinely, and I know he means that in every capacity. That I could call him anytime, day or night, and he would show up for me.
My pants twitch, and, oh my God … it’s happening again. “Let’s just go home. You don’t have to worry about them until tomorrow.”
Walking around the truck, I hop into the passenger seat, covering my growing crotch, which quickly calms as the giddiness in my chest shifts to concern.
This is exactly how I used to feel, and the familiarity of the joy brings up pain from the past. I want to believe him—I do. But how can I when he said all of those things before and then left anyway?