Chapter 49
Chapter forty-nine
Duncan
Nick Cage On Ice
"I feel like I'm bringing some Nick Cage to the ice tonight." I say as Crosby and I slide over on the bench. "Power, action, wit. My chirps have been especially funny."
"Yeah, Pritchard loved your quip about holding a stick like a limp dick."
I chuckle. "And that wasn't even my best one."
"If you didn't already have your teeth knocked out I'd say you're on your way to getting a punch straight in the mouth." Crosby says.
"You’re not wrong. But I'd like to see them try."
"Incorrigible."
"See what happens when a man gets his Big Guns Movie Night?" Bryson asks as he hops the boards. "It fuels you."
I’ve seen the transformation Big Gun Movie Nights have had on my teammates and I’ll never doubt again. I am still fired-the-fuck-up from the good guys winning.
Nobody knows I invited Rhys to the game as we left Felix’s hotel room. I figured if Franklin Gates can take all the advice from Riley and all the pouting from Abigail and still take action? Yeah, I can send a text.
He said he’d try.
It’ll have to do.
Crosby swallows some water and then squirts a bit out onto the ice. "Mine was a little depressing though."
"It is tough to watch all the original six Star Wars at once." Emmett agrees. "You realize how little plot there actually is."
"Hey I loved 'em!" Bryson says with a squirt of water in Emmett's direction.
"They all serve a purpose." Felix says as he hops the boards during the commercial break.
I glance up at the jumbotron for a lookalike game where they find fans and compare them to movie characters or celebrities.
One guy gets compared to Homer Simpson and it's unfortunately accurate. A girl gets compared to Wednesday Addams. A guy gets compared to Dolly Parton and then they show a picture of Rhys on the screen.
My heart stops.
Is he here?
My head swivels around searching the suites for him.
Coming up empty, I focus back on the gigantic screen.
The graphics team reveals a regular guy in a cowboy hat and that's where the resemblance ends.
There's no sparkle in his eyes, no sharp cut of his square jaw. No scruff.
No lips that beg to be kissed.
The fan drinking a beer and eating wings in his seat is not Rhys.
I can feel my teammates analyzing me so I squirt water in Bryson’s ear and skate out before they can decode the disappointment I’m trying to swallow.