Chapter 16 Ava #2
The team is caught up in the moment. No one is thinking about their losing record or personal grievances or the pressure to win.
When time is up, I reluctantly blow the whistle. There are snowballs everywhere, but there are just as many smiles, including my own.
“Now I want everyone to grab one snowball and we’re going to take turns reading them aloud. The goal is to guess the player based on the clues.” They quickly collect the crumpled paper and there isn’t a single protest, which I’m counting as a win. “Who wants to go first?”
“I’ll go,” Bouchard offers, raising his hand tentatively. He uncrumples his paper and begins to read. “I am good with ladies, I like real vodka, and—” He snickers, the paper shaking in his hand. “I hate when Bates does not wash his socks.”
The entire group bursts into raucous laughter, and Dvorak buries his face in Knox’s shoulder, his entire body vibrating.
“Screw you, Fedorov!” Bates glares at his winger, but there’s no malice in it. “You know it’s bad luck to wash’em when I’m on a heater.”
Fedorov shrugs. “I suppose athlete’s foot is good luck too.”
A grin tugs at the corner of my mouth, and I press my lips flat to suppress it.
“That was too easy. Let’s see who’s up next.” Knox flattens his own paper. “This player attended University of Minnesota, his favorite meal is something called a tater tot hotdish, and he likes wildlife documentaries.”
A quiet murmur makes its way around the room.
Johnson jerks his chin toward Smith. “Didn’t you go to Minnesota, Smitty?”
Smith makes a face of disgust. “Fuck no. I was a Wolverine.”
Curious glances are exchanged, but no one seems to have a clue who it could be.
Finally, Kristiansen speaks up, his voice gruff. “That one is mine.”
Sebastian Kristiansen. Twenty-eight. Right wing.
He was a last second trade from the Rangers, which might explain why no one could figure out his clues, but it’s a red flag for me.
After three weeks of training and traveling together, at least one person on this team should’ve known he played for Minnesota or that he’s into wildlife if it was important enough to write down.
Knox holds up the paper. “What the hell is a tater tot hotdish?”
“It’s a Minnesota thing. You mix meat, vegetables, and cream soup together, and then you layer tater tots and cheese on top before you bake it.” He pats his gut. “It’s delicious, especially on a cold day.”
“Okay, that name is trash, but I’m not gonna lie, it sounds good as hell.” Johnson groans. “Great, now I’m hungry.”
“How about you go next, Joe? It’ll keep your mind off your appetite.”
And it’ll keep us on track.
We work our way through the snowballs and I can see the guys starting to connect, learning little things about their teammates they didn’t know before. Details that humanize them in a way the game doesn’t.
The team guesses Coach easily, and me as well.
When we finish, I circle the room with a wastebasket, collecting all the paper as they finish suiting up and head to the ice.
Coach hangs back, and when it’s just the two of us, he says, “That was fun. I learned quite a few new things today.”
Pride wells up from the pit of my stomach. “Thanks. I think everyone did, myself included.”
“I didn’t realize you were a competitive gymnast,” he says, shoving his hands into his pockets. “If I remember correctly, your mom was too?”
“Yeah.” I tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “It was a long time ago though, so…I guess I didn’t really think it mattered.”
He flinches almost imperceptibly. “If you have any pictures or videos, I’d love to see them sometime.”
He would?
I nod slowly. “I’m sure I’ve got some. I’ll dig around on my hard drive and bring them to dinner Sunday.”
He smiles. “I’d like that. A lot.”
His interest melts something inside of me, and I find I actually want to share this piece of myself with him.
To show him who I was and how I became the person I am today.
We may not share a love of the same sport, but we’re both athletes—competitors at heart—and maybe it’s the foundation we’ve been missing.
“Well, I better get out to the ice,” he says, shifting his weight. He turns to go and pauses. “You did great work today. Just be careful you don’t blur the line between personal and professional too much with these guys. I don’t want them getting any ideas.”
It’s a little too late for that, so I just smile and nod—like always.
I want to be offended that he would suggest such a thing, but since I’m sleeping with his star player, I don’t exactly have the moral high ground.
It’s just sex. He’s talking about a relationship.
Right. They’re two totally different things. One is strictly physical, the other is emotional.
Something he clearly understands all too well. It had wrecked me when he explained to Arlo why he didn’t want me dating a player, stating how hard it was to maintain a healthy relationship with the grueling schedule and constant travel.
Not to mention a fluffle of puck bunnies.
So not going there. But it did make me wonder if things could have been different for him and my mom.
You’ll never know.
Just like he can never know that Knox and I are dat—sleeping together. He’d never forgive me, not when he’s made his position so clear.
I spot a ball of paper in the corner and move to collect it. Did we miss someone? Or maybe I accidentally gave one of the guys two sheets of paper?
Or maybe it’s a balled-up receipt, and it has nothing to do with the snowball fight.
Out of curiosity, I carefully unfurl the edges and read it.
I’m exhausted.
The pressure is getting to me.
I’m not sure how much longer I can hold it together.