20. Josh
JOSH
Without the lows, there are no highs. I learned that as a child, but it didn’t make this moment any easier.
I wanted to slam my helmet into the glass and disappear into the locker room, but I had to stand next to the bench and watch us lose the second game.
As much as I wanted to take all the blame on myself for the East’s two-point lead, I couldn’t believe the way my teammates were playing.
The chemistry and flow they had in the first game was nowhere to be seen.
It was awful to watch and even worse to expect my defense to be where they should and find massive gaps. There’s only so much I can do when they’re taking four times the number of shots we were.
Sure, we’re losing, but I’ve blocked over forty shots.
They’ve only made fifteen.
Where were their heads?
I glanced down to the coaches, slightly validated they looked as displeased as I felt.
Hartman came to the bench, throwing his leg over the boards and giving a death glare to anyone dumb enough to look his way. He was shaking his head. If we were home, we’d all be bracing for the talk he’d give us, but this was Tyson’s team, and he was part of the problem.
“It’s just one game. We’ll be back for the third,” Kitcher said behind me.
I nodded as if that mattered.
There was just something so frustrating about underperforming when we all knew we could do much better.
Getting pulled, through no fault of my own made me––
“GOAL!”
And there was the final nail in the coffin. An empty net goal just to really drive it home. There was only ten seconds left, but Coach Abrams gave me the wave to go back out. It was a pretense at this point, but I couldn’t argue.
I got to my net and turned to watch the last face off. Miraculously, we won it, and the puck soared away from me. I watched it drop as the final buzzer sounded.
Habit kept me in place.
I wanted to storm off. I wanted to get to the locker room and rip into them, but decades of good coaching kept me from making a scene.
I skated toward our benches as I swore to never take my home team for granted again.
“That sucked,” Schultz said as I stepped past him. He had the ability to let bad games roll off him. Something I wished I could mimic more than ever.
Hartman and I were more similar. We took each win and loss personally.
The locker room was silent as I finally shuffled in, holding my helmet at my side. I looked around, but no one met my eyes. They sat with their heads down, looking defeated. As if they’d just gone to battle, fought their best, and their enemy bested them.
I’d feel a shred of sympathy if I thought any of them had given it their all.
“What was that?” I finally cut through the tension.
“Leave it,” Hartman warned.
He held my gaze before I finally relented and went to my locker and pulled off my jersey and shed my equipment. I headed to the showers without waiting for the coaches or Tyson to start a speech.
With our Utah team, I was all about winning and losing together, but that was not at all what happened today.
I wanted the water to wash away my mood, to be the fresh start I needed before going out and facing the press. Facing Victoria.
Fans didn’t need to see this side of me either.
By the time I changed and walked out, I felt marginally better.
Until the first microphone was shoved in my face and a reporter started without a hello or how are you. “Why did the team fall apart?”
“Ask them.” I shoved past him and was approached by another journalist, who at least had the decency to talk to me first.
“That was hard to watch, Henson.” He gave me an apologetic smile. “Defense just wasn’t there.”
I started to nod, but my media training kicked it. “East was better prepared today. They saw how well we performed and came ready. Now that we’ve each had a chance to feel out the other, game three should be interesting.”
He smiled his thanks, and I moved on to the next. Unfortunately, they were more like the first, either wanting to place the blame on me or demanding an explanation of my teammates’ poor performance as if I controlled them.
The Stripes players had started filtering in, so I was soon getting waved on as they wanted to get their moments with the winners.
I was on edge and ready to head back to my hotel room to decompress by the time I finally saw her.
Victoria was at the end, no mini sticks or toys in sight. She gave me a soft smile. Cambrie was leaning against the wall, her camera pointed at the ground. They were giving me a break.
“Where was the defense?” Victoria whispered. “Did Tyson have anything to say?”
I shrugged. “I didn’t wait around to find out.
“Are you going to get in trouble?”
I didn’t know or care. “I’ll find out.”
“Oh.” She looked up at me, and I turned away.
“I’m going to head out.”
“Okay,” she took a small step back. “I’ll see you later?”
“Not tonight." I walked away, not giving her a chance to respond, but I wasn’t in the mood to be around anyone.
It wasn’t fair––or right––for me to let my frustration boil over into our interactions, but when I got like this, I was out of control.
I could think about how I should act or respond, but I ignored that.
Like I was on autopilot. Rejecting the things that might make me feel better so I could languish in my frustration.
I got back to my room, called for room service, took another shower, ate dinner, and silenced the world.
When I woke up the next morning, I felt almost like myself.
The oppressive guilt of acting like a complete jerk was a jarring reminder of the day before.
I’d apologize to my teammates. They’d understand and let it go easily, but I was worried I’d really messed things up with Victoria.
Although she’s been a player herself and knew just as well how much a bad game could mess with your head.
Since the women were playing their third game, I knew she’d be in the crowd watching, and I wanted to catch her before then.
There was just one problem.
We never exchanged phone numbers.
Cambrie and I swapped at the festival so I could ask her, but that felt wrong.
One of the guys might have it. Maybe even Amelia.
I could ask, but that would lead to questions and teasing.
The only other option I could come up with would be pretty close to stalking. Go to her hotel and wait in the lobby, or go to the arena and try to spot her there.
Which was the least terrible? Or creepy?
Before I could overthink it, my phone buzzed.
Tyson: Flag day, wear your assigned color
Oh right. Someone, I wasn’t clear on who, planned out how the men could form the flag based on where we sat. We’d been given strict instructions to sit in our assigned seat and not mess this up, or else.
I texted Hartman and Schultz.
Josh: We’re blue, right?
Schultz: I’m white
Hartman: I’m blue
Schultz: Are we not next to each other at this game?
Josh: Maybe you’re a star
Schultz: I know I am
Hartman: Or you’re next to us and the start of a white stripe
Schultz: I don’t want to be a stripe. I’m a star
Josh: Sorry, you got traded overnight
Schultz: Take that back
Hartman: Can’t. Sorry man. See you back home
Schultz: Henson, trade me seats
Josh: Nope. Captain said we can’t
Schultz: Henson!
I grinned, seeing my chance.
Josh: You can be blue if you send me Victoria’s number
I stared at the screen, wondering why they suddenly stopped replying.
Schultz: You don’t have her number?
Hartman: You’ve kissed her but can’t text her
This was a terrible idea.
Schultz: I have it, but I’m not sending it without her consent
Hartman: Good call
Josh: Please
Schultz: No
Hartman: Go get dressed. We need to meet in the lobby in ten
I ignored him and texted Schultz directly
Josh: Please
Schultz: No
Josh: It’s not like she wouldn’t give it to me. I just haven’t asked
Schultz: Why
Josh: We’ve run into each other enough
Schultz: No, why do you want it now
I groaned. Why couldn’t he make this easy on me?
Josh: To apologize
Schultz: What did you do?
Josh: I wasn’t in a great mood yesterday
Schultz: I’m aware
This was almost not worth it. I could just wait to talk to her in person and ask for her number myself.
Schultz: Are you going to ask her on a proper date?
I hadn’t thought about it. I wanted to, but this was also a bit of a crazy week for both of us.
Maybe we could squeeze in some time, though. . .
Schultz: I’ll only give it to you if you ask her out
Did this count as blackmail? It was something I was going to do anyway, but letting him think he was getting something he wanted made me want to tell him no.
Josh: I’ll just see her later
Schultz: If she even speaks to you
Was his main goal in life to irritate his teammates? I’d been a rookie when he started dating Madi, so I hadn’t been in a position to mock him at all. But she was our head coach’s daughter! I heard whispers of the drama they caused. If anyone knew about making stupid mistakes, it was him.
I ignored him, deciding that would drive him crazy and be even more satisfying than getting her number.
My best chance of running into her was at the arena, so I hurried and changed into my designated shirt and made it to the lobby before Hartman could give me a hard time for being late.
“You didn’t reply,” Schultz glared at me while taking in my outfit. “Why am I the only one in white?”
I glanced around and noted that he was, in fact, one of the few guys from our team in white.
“You’re special,” Hartman said distractedly, his eyes scanning the crowd before he stopped and walked away.
I watched until he reached Tyson and turned back to Schultz. “I’m going over now.”
“You’re going to walk? It’s so far.”
“I don’t want to wait for the bus just to sit in traffic.”
“I’ll get us a ride.”
“That wasn’t an invitation,” I pointed out, but he followed me out the doors and onto the sidewalk.
I was perfectly fine walking; it was just under an hour, but he stopped me on the corner, and a rideshare car pulled up.
“Thanks,” I caved after we stepped out in front of the arena.
“Are you going to ask her out now?” Schultz asked as we showed our passes and entered through a side entrance.
“Probably won’t be the very first thing I say to her, but I’d like to.”
“Good call, always own up when you’re in the wrong. Be accountable.”
I shot him a questioning glance.
“It was in this book I’m reading.”
“You read.”
“Quite a bit, actually,” he snapped back. “Mostly at night to my kids, but I still squeeze in some adult books.”
“Adults books?” I laughed.
He glared, “As in not picture books.”
“Sure, sure.”
He followed me through the tunnels until we reached the press room.
It was empty, so I immediately made my way to the rink.
“There she is.” He pointed across the ice to the same area she stood during the last women’s game.
“Great, now leave me alone.”
He frowned. “But then I’ll be alone.”
“Good,” I eyed his shirt. “Go be a stripe."
“I’m not a stripe,” he called after me, but I didn’t look back.
His yelling caught Victoria’s attention, and she turned toward him before finally noticing me heading toward her.
She stepped away from Cambrie and met me in a corner.
“Hey,” I smiled, but faltered when I realized she wasn’t.
“Hi.” She crossed her arms. That was a bad sign.
I decided to jump into it. “I’m very sorry for how I acted last night. I was upset, but I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. I knew I wasn’t going to make for good company.”
She relaxed just slightly. “I understand, Josh. I didn’t take it personally. I know exactly how frustrating a loss can be, especially when you feel out of control.”
So, she wasn’t mad? That was easier than I expected.
“Thanks,” I offered a small smile. “I was wondering if maybe you wanted to go out tonight.”
Her arms dropped to her sides. “I get how emotional playing is, but it’s also one of the biggest reasons I don’t date athletes.”
I tried to hold her gaze, but she was staring down at her feet. I had no idea what to say. I thought. . .I thought there was something between us. I thought she felt it too.
“I think maybe we should keep things professional between us,” she announced before meeting my eyes.
I managed not only to get rejected, but I didn’t get her number either. A double blow.
“Okay,” I had no choice but to accept her decision.
I wanted to apologize, to take back yesterday as a whole, but that wasn’t an option. All I could do was walk away before I made it worse.