BETTSY
Ever had one of those rare moments where everything goes your way? Yeah, me neither, because I’m usually a magnet for crap and drama. Though imagine my delight on Monday morning—still recovering from a booze-heavy Saturday—when I learned Langer was sick, delaying defensive sessions until Wednesday.
Honestly, I could kiss the guy. Something I never thought I’d be saying. But I only allow myself a second to dwell on that, because deep down, I’m still bubbling with rage about the fact he’s texting Ellie.
Ellie.
“How are your nerves?” Danny says, as we suit up.
I push my anger aside as I switch to focus mode.
“Alright, yeah,” I say. My tone has an air of confidence which it has no business having.
I’m positive I can manage whatever today throws at me, especially after Coach gave me a rundown of what to expect yesterday.
Luckily, the shower I took before stopping by the rink had washed away enough of the hangover to grant me a free pass from a lecture he would have, no doubt, given me.
And when I arrived at the hotel, far later than I would have liked, I collapsed into bed and passed out until my alarm went off at six this morning, feeling considerably fresher.
But as I look at Danny, his face a pale shade of grey, I conclude that he’s not feeling all that fresh.
He looks like he’s about to puke into his lid as he sits down next to me. If I didn’t know any better, I’d assume he’d eaten the same thing as Langer.
I search my mind for something to say to make things better .
Danny and I are the same age, and we’ve both been waiting for this opportunity for as long as we can remember.
For a period, we both played on the U18 team, but there was a lot of competition for positions at the next level.
Ultimately, we both know this is likely going to be our only chance to bag a permanent spot on the adult roster.
“We’ve got this. You’ll be fine,” I say, almost pathetically.
“Yeah. Fine. Absolutely fine,” he says, keeping his head angled towards the gap between his knees.
I’ve known Danny long enough to know he’s the opposite of fine. But I’ve also known him long enough to know he wouldn’t want me pressing him. He’s the type of guy who keeps himself to himself from a feelings perspective.
“You know, there’s still time to relieve some of the stress, if you know what I mean.” I wag my brows at him, trying to lighten the mood.
He scoffs.
“Still on your drought?” he asks.
“Of course,” I grin.
I googled the whole ‘no sex or personal time’ thing and by all accounts, the body just absorbs back what it doesn’t expel—but I’m feeling it. I have this strict rule against happy endings before games or practices, but I know later I’ll be desperate for a release.
Before I can stop my sub-conscious, it’s playing out a scenario where I’m texting Ellie, asking what she’s doing.
I can see her now, scowling and rolling her eyes—which only serves to get me a little more excited.
I have to force myself to think of something else—anything else.
And the GM pings to the forefront of my mind and, thankfully, kills the excitement. Instead, I’m lumbered with the memory of the conversation I had with him, then the follow-up I had with Vicky—something that dominated my thinking space during the drive here last night .
“Hey, do you know anyone who makes websites?” I ask Danny, remembering the trail of thought I led myself down last night.
Danny cocks a brow at me.
“Websites? You’re so random at times.”
“Yeah, websites. You know, a set of related webpages typically used to provide information.”
Danny blinks at me. “I know what a website is, you idiot, but why? Are you scheming something?”
“Nah, nothing—just wondering … I know someone who needs one, and I just thought you may know someone,” I say.
“Of course, I know someone, and so do you,” he says.
I glare at him, puzzled, and he stares right back at me, as if he’s waiting for the metaphorical penny to drop.
“Jenna, you dull bastard.”
Jenna? Well, why the hell didn’t I think of her? She’s decent at it too, but—I audibly gasp, causing Danny to raise both his eyebrows.
“What?” he says.
“Jenna does websites and Vicky does social?—”
“What the fuck is going on with you?” he asks.
But we get a five-minute warning, killing the conversation.
Danny stands up, reaching to grab his gloves and I reach for my own pair, slipping my hands inside and flexing my fingers.
“You’ll get used to them,” says Callum Greer, the Team GB starting goalie, stopping behind me.
Even though the guy plays for the worst team in the league, he’s a pretty decent fella.
I’ve known him for years. He’s the same height as me, a little over six-two, but he easily has another ten kilos on me—all muscle.
I make a mental note to see what he does in the gym next time the opportunity presents itself.
“How’s it going, boys?” he says. “Looking forward to camp?”
“I guess you could say that, yeah,” I say .
“Honestly, you’ve got nothing to worry about,” Greer says, stretching his arms above his head. “Hey, what’s going on with that gossip mill then, Betts? Any idea who it is?”
I scoff. “Well, I think so, but can’t prove anything.”
“Honestly, some people have nothing better to do. But at least there’s someone on your side now. Have you seen the hashtag they’ve got going? ‘Justice for Bettsy’?”
He smirks, as my jaw drops open.
“What?”
“Have you not seen?” Greer moves back to his cubby, telling me he’s going to grab his phone. He wades back over moments later, his eyes fixed on his screen. “See, here it is.”
He extends his phone and I pull my right hand out of my glove, taking it from him.
There’s a new post from Rochelle, but it’s one of the replies to that post which has my attention.
Posted by: StrugglingtoSleep1
Subject: RE: Bettsy the Playboy
Wow. Incredible journalism. Really compelling evidence. A man who eats plain pasta with ketchup? Unforgivable. Someone call the food police … immediately!!!!
I mean, I get it. He’s a hockey player, not a Michelin-star chef. But let’s be honest—this whole post screams ‘bitter ex with a vendetta’ more than ‘public service announcement’.
What is your problem? He told you he wasn’t looking for a relationship and then you got mad when he didn’t commit?
Make it make sense.
And you’re telling me Bettsy, a guy who literally plays for a living, watches hockey highlights of himself to understand his opponent? Groundbreaking stuff. Honestly. Next, you’ll be exposing him for owning multiple sticks and drinking protein shakes. The horror!!!
If Bettsy’s such a ‘walking red flag’, then why are you still obsessing over him? Do you have nothing else do to?
I urge people to consider the integrity of this post and the poster … where is the evidence? Because all I read was a compiled pile of crap.
#JusticeForBettsy
A grin slips over my face—I can’t help it, it’s brilliant … aside from the fact there’re people out there who think I like ketchup, let alone with pasta.
I read over the last paragraph several times, revelling in the moment, though a small part of me wonders who it is and why they feel compelled to jump to my defence.
I skim over the replies, but before I can read those properly, the door to the dressing room opens and Greer whips his phone away in a flash.
The coaching staff file in and the chatter dies down as every single guy looks in their direction. They stand in a line, each surveying the room in turn.
Coach Harris catches my eye. He jerks his head in the door’s direction, gesturing for me to follow him. The amusement of the forum reply dies quickly, replaced with discomfort.
What does he want? Why do I need to be singled out?
I let all the possible outcomes cycle through my mind before realising he’s waiting for me, and with a nudge from Danny, I force my legs to move.