Chapter 9
NINE
HE WHO SAYETH, “ERGO.”
THE FOLLOWING EVENING
“It’s a little early to have scouts out, isn’t it?”
I glance to my side and see Callan has taken a seat next to me. “Hey.” I shove my popcorn at him. “Want some?”
“Thanks, Denver.” He scoops up a handful and points to the scout I’ve also been watching. He’s the reason I’m on the empty upper deck of the stands and not the lower level. “Why is he here so early?”
“He’s with the Stars.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah. Zach’s dad’s a douche so he sends out a scout every now and then to keep an eye on him.”
“Is he allowed to do that? Isn’t that a misappropriation of company funds?”
“Whoa there, baby accountant.”
His nose wrinkles. “You know what I mean.”
“I guess I do, but I figure he gets away with it because Zach’s heading for the top. He has to impress this year because he missed the combine. Hey, you’re Canadian!”
“I sure am. What was it that gave it away? My killer tuque game?”
“That and the fact you like cheese and gravy on your fries. Zach’s Canadian.”
“I know.”
“How? He has an American accent!”
“It’s the Canadian genes. We sense one another wherever we go. It’s why Americans think we know every Canadian they’ve ever met.”
I shoot him a sheepish grin. “True. Anyway—”
“Anyway,” he drawls.
“Anyway, you’re into hockey?”
“Sure. We’re a big hockey household.”
“With a name like yours, that makes sense. How weird is that, huh? You and Cole Korhonen share a last name.”
“Never heard that one before,” he mutters as both of us watch Zach and Pecan fight over who’s the last guy on the ice—Pecan only does it to be annoying. Zach has to be the last man out after warm-up.
As goalie, Pecan’s allowed to be weird, but hands down, Zach has more quirks.
Eight pulses of the blender when he makes his pregame protein shake.
Eight bites of a banana.
Pecan says he dries his crack eight times, too, during his morning shower before a game, but I can’t corroborate that one.
Eight is his mantra. Has been for as long as he started taking hockey seriously.
Only his number doesn’t fit the pattern—87.
He says it does though because it starts with 8.
Boys.
“Hey, Cole Korhonen’s Canadian, right?”
“I think so.”
Humming, I ask, “It’s the first time you took a seat with me.”
“Figured we knew each other well enough to endure a game together.”
“Ha!” Something about his droll humor never fails to get me chuckling.
“Plus, it’s kind of empty in here. I didn’t think it was wise to switch seats before.”
“Yeah, Alec’s on a campaign to get more butts in the stands. Right now, it’s mostly alumni watching.”
“Why?”
“They sucked last season. Who wants to watch their team suck? It’ll get better now that Zach’s here so they’ll win more consistently,” I predict. “He’s like watching magic happen.”
“You know why Zach didn’t play in the NCAA last year?”
I stiffen at the question. “Why do you ask?”
“Curious why he’s only a walk-on when he’s damn good. I saw him play a couple games when he was in the CJHL but he never moved into the CHL.”
“He got into Oakwood at the same time as Pecan and I, was invited to play and everything, but he deferred a year because—” My voice turns wary. “You a secret Zach stan or something?”
Zach doesn’t know the half of the bullshit I go through as his friend. He thought that scene with Addison was bad? I’m his ladder—get to him through me. Story of my life.
“I guess I am? I want the Oakwood Dukes to win and he’s the fastest way to get that to happen, but I’m not sitting with you because of him, if that makes sense.” He chows on popcorn. “After that showdown with Addison at Dopie’s, I guess you’re used to people using you.”
“How intuitive of you.”
“Well, I like hockey but I don’t eat, bleed, and sweat it.”
“Reassuring.”
“Anyway, you’re my study buddy, aren't you?”
It’s the way he ducks his head between his shoulders, like a tortoise, that makes me realize he’s being that weird combo of shy/blunt.
It’s a welcome reminder that Callan doesn’t know how to be underhanded and I’m just being overcautious.
If he does, then he fucked it up the first time he read my ‘How Did the Roman Army Affect Modern Civilization?’ essay and told me a fourteen-year-old could have done better.
I hadn’t even had it in me to gape at him before he was tearing apart my words and helping me make sense of the topic at hand.
Honestly, he should be a teacher.
He clears his throat. “I kinda thought you were dating.”
“Who?”
“You and Zach.”
I scoff, “We’re not dating.”
His expression turns dubious.
“What?!”
“You’re not together?”
“No.” The surge in my blood pressure is perfectly normal. “What made you think that?”
“The amount of time you spend together? You hang out at the rink with him? You attend all his games? You’re always at Dopie's together? He goes to that cat cafe in town you like when Pecan says they make him sneeze? And you’re literally wearing his name on your back as we speak.”
I fold my arms across my chest. “We’re not dating. I don’t do dating.”
And that’s the truth. 100%. I’m just not sure what’s with me right now. I have no desire for a boyfriend to derail my life like men have the habit of doing. But… that didn’t stop me from thinking about Zach last night in the shower.
Which is so wrong.
Zach’s my friend.
“You don’t date?”
Realizing that I need to keep my wits about me with Callan, who makes it hella easy to overshare, which is a problem for a chronic oversharer, I grace him with my full attention. The last thing I need is to blurt out the strange resurgence of my crush on Zach.
Damn Freya. Talking about him taking me to the top. And damn Zach. Always having my back.
“No offense but men suck. They either cheat or they lie or—”
“Your best friends are guys!”
“Precisely. Who’s better placed to watch them fuck around and spout bullshit at the women who flock to them?
Though, granted, neither of them stay with anyone long enough to cheat.
” I pause. “Well, Pecan’s doing great so far.
I’m surprised he’s stuck it out with Hailey this long.
But that’s not my point. Those two aside—”
“Lemme guess—your folks are divorced.”
“That has nothing to do with it.”
“Uh-huh.” His lips quirk. “From one divorce baby to another, I know all about the trust issues. On behalf of malekind, I can’t tell you that we don’t all suck because a lot of us do, but I try not to.”
“Why do you think I hang around with you?” I nudge him with my elbow. “I have good taste in people.”
He smiles, and I can see the tension in his shoulders lessen. Huh—my opinion of him genuinely mattered to him. That’s sweet.
“But, okay,” he continues, “you’re not dating, so why did Zach risk a place in the NCAA by deferring a year? I know he went off the radar last season.”
“How do you know that?”
“I googled him the first time I thought about approaching you in philosophy so we’d have something to talk about.”
I bark out a laugh. “You googled him for me?”
“Hey, it was nerve-racking! I hate meeting new people and I needed an icebreaker.” He hitches a shoulder. “Then, I got nosy. There’s little to no chatter about why he took a year off. Which is hella sus. A promising player? Easily ditching a season for… what? Shits and giggles? Nah.”
“It wasn’t as tough for him to give it up as you might think.” At Callan’s disbelieving look, I shrug. “Zach loves hockey, don’t get me wrong. He lives and breathes it. But at his core, he hates it too.”
Callan fidgets in his seat. “I know it’s none of my business, but you have to explain that. There’s no way he could dedicate himself to the game if he loathed it, and you’re just making me even more curious with these half-answers!”
“I know, I know. Like I said, if you asked him about it, he’d argue with me. But it’s there. An inbuilt disdain.”
“Because of his parents?”
“Well, his dad more than his mom. Joanne could do no wrong in Zach’s eyes,” I say wistfully. She was a cool mom. Tolerant and kind. When I got my first-ever period, I went to her and not mine.
“Past tense?”
“Yeah.”
See? He picks up on too much.
“Ah, shit. Last year?”
I nod. “So, Pecan, Zach, and me, we grew up in Florida—”
“Say no more.”
I shove him with a snort. “Shut up.”
“Hey, more Canadians in Florida than Floridians. At least, until Devere became president. Anyway, go—”
Both of us pause as Zach steals the puck from a UConn forward the second it drops and the period starts.
It’s a reminder that I’m actually here to watch a game and not shoot the breeze with Callan.
Zach breaks away, soaring down the ice. With the other Lions chasing after him, he’s just too damn fast for them to catch up.
My heart races in time to each of his skates brushing the ice. He’s like Hermes. If Hermes didn’t have feathery wings on his sandals, but knives strapped to his boots.
I jerk to my feet in anticipation, having watched Zach pull this stunt a thousand times. I take note of the goalie shuffling from one side of the net to the other because Zach’s fucking around with him via big, loping strides that have the other guy shifting left and right.
But it’s not enough.
Zach showers the crease with a spray of ice as he comes to an abrupt stop. He toys with the puck before sliding it through the goalie’s knees.
When the guy drops into a split and stops it from heading over the line, Zach pulls some monkey magic that sees him toss the puck up like he’s playing goddamn lacrosse and hitting the top right of the net.
Roaring, Callan jostles me as he jumps up to cheer with me. Zach pumps his fist, expression a grim rictus until he catches me in the crowd and beams a grin my way. He sticks out his fist, points it at me, then the cocky asshole winks.
Dick move or not, I bounce on my heels and wiggle with delight until the team draws him into a post-goal celly.
Still buzzing, I glance at the scout, who’s taking notes.