22. Josh
JOSH
“You have to admit, her timing is suspicious,” I heard one of the guys say as I stepped into the locker room from our morning skate.
Game three was in about an hour, and I needed the time to get my head straight. I hadn’t performed as well today as I should have, and I knew Abrams noticed. He hadn’t mentioned pulling me, but I had a feeling if I didn’t shake off this block, he wouldn't hesitate to replace me.
The guys already had their bad game; I couldn’t do the same if we wanted to have a chance of winning this tournament.
“Taz said she was there when our uniforms were hanging up too. First person he saw,” someone replied, and I realized who they were talking about.
“You think Victoria is the one pranking us?” I asked.
Levi shrugged. “It could be.”
“Yeah, people seem to really like the videos,” Micah added, holding up his phone.
“It’s a clever way to create content,” Bryce smirked.
“She’s a journalist, not a social media creator,” I reminded them.
“What’s the difference these days?” Ted asked.
I wanted to stand up for her, protect her, but that wasn’t my responsibility. As a professional acquaintance, I had no reason to defend her.
“You’ve seen the videos her company posts—they’re just the normal interviews we give,” Hartman stepped away from his locker. “They don’t get crazy views.”
“Sports Now isn’t posting the pranks,” Micah explained. “She is.”
I moved in with Hartman and watched the screen replay the guys coming down the stairs yesterday. It was from her personal account.
And there were over five hundred thousand views.
“Wow,” I remarked. “It’s popular.”
“The one with our uniforms has over a million.” Ted showed me on his phone.
“It’s just a little too convenient, that’s all I’m saying.” Holden crossed his arms.
“Someone has to be tipping her off.” Levi pressed his hands on his thighs. “Whoever’s behind the pranks.”
“And what if they are?” Tyson asked.
Ted shrugged. “I guess it doesn’t matter.”
“Exactly,” Tyson glanced at me. “It shouldn’t impact our interviews with her.”
Why was that directed at me?
“No blowing off any of the reporters after the game,” he told everyone. “Win or lose.”
Ah, yeah, that’s why.
“Tyson, what’s your strangest pregame ritual?” Micah asked.
“What?” Tyson turned to him.
Micah was looking at his phone. “It’s a question in the comments.”
“People are asking questions about us?” Hartman asked.
“Yeah, there are hundreds,” Ted scrolled on his phone. “Some are pretty unique.”
“Like what?” Tyson asked.
“What your diet looks like through this week. How do you maintain energy with only one day between games? What’s your oldest piece of equipment?” Micah riddled off.
“Those are all for me?” Tyson asked.
“Well, some of them are asking Victoria to ask us, and some are directed to one or two players.”
“Should we answer?” Micah looked up.
“Sure,” Tyson shrugged. “When you have time.”
“No,” I jumped in, an idea forming. “Wait until you’re with Victoria. Let her ask you and film the response.”
“Good idea,” Hartman agreed.
No one argued, and I relaxed, moving to my locker. If her prank videos were doing well on their own, I had a feeling her asking the questions her viewers wanted to know would take off.
She could ask the questions her bosses wanted, then do the fan questions for her own accounts. I wanted to text her to give her a head’s up, but was slapped with the reality that I still didn’t have her number because I never got the chance to ask.
But this was a professional matter. It had everything to do with work.
“Hey, Hartman,” I stepped closer to him to keep everyone from listening in.
“Yeah?” he asked as he pulled on his base layer.
“You have her number, right?”
The corner of his lip quirked. “You still don’t.”
I narrowed my eyes. “No, and I’m not asking you for it. I just wanted to give her a head’s up about this idea. Let her prepare before the post-game interviews.”
He held my gaze for a moment before finally nodding. “Good idea.”
“Thanks.”
“You sure you don’t want to tell her?”
Was he offering to give me her number without jumping through hoops? I hesitated, then decided against it. She wanted boundaries, so I’ll respect that. “Nah, doesn’t matter who it comes from, I just want her to know.”
“Okay,” he pulled his phone from his locker, and I went back to my chair to pull on my gear.
A moment later, he dragged another chair over and dropped into it, facing me.
“Things were awkward when we saw her.”
I nodded. What else was I supposed to say?
“And she didn’t come over after the women's game yesterday.”
No, she did not.
“Something happen?”
Obviously. “She just wants to keep things professional between us.”
He looked away for a long moment before speaking. “But you still want to help her?”
“Yes, and this will help her professionally.”
“Because you care so much about her career?”
“Because I want her to be happy and successful,” I countered.
“A woman you barely know and only began to see as a person and not a nemesis a few days ago.”
I stared him down. “Yes.”
“That doesn’t sound like you.”
“You don’t think I’d help someone out if I could?”
“I just don’t think you would have noticed to this degree.”
Should I be offended by that?
“I’m trying to say that I think you care about her more than just as a professional acquaintance. I think you care about her as a person, and I haven’t seen you do that.”
I narrowed my eyes. “I care about people.”
He blew out a breath. “Fine. I haven’t seen you interested in a woman before. Not enough to make me text her. Not enough to defend her in front of your teammates.”
That was fair.
“So, are you just going to let this go?”
“I’m going to honor her decision. I can’t make her have feelings for me––”
“You and I both know that’s not the issue.” He was looking at me as a captain right now, and I wanted to blow him off but knew better. “She’s scared. I’m not sure of what, but she’s putting distance between you two because she’s scared of getting hurt.”
“I wouldn’t––”
“You wouldn’t mean to, I know. But there’s something in her mind telling her to stay safe by staying away.”
“He’s right,” Schultz dropped into the chair on my other side, and I groaned. “Madi tried running away. My sister ran from Reese. Kendall probably did, too.”
Hartman nodded. “They don’t want to get hurt.”
“But I––”
“That means her heart is already involved,” Schultz cut me off. “She has feelings for you and is scared of what that means.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because I’m just that good,” he smirked. “I know women.”
Hartman rolled his eyes. “Because if she didn’t have feelings, she wouldn’t say anything at all. She simply wouldn’t care.”
Huh. That actually made sense.
Plus, I really thought there was something between us.
And that kiss.
That was not a professional colleague's kiss.
We were falling apart. I couldn’t pinpoint why, but we dominated the first period, leading two to zero. It felt like the first game. We were in sync, finding each other and playing like we’d been together for years.
I don't know what was said or threatened in the East locker room, but it set a fire in each of their players. One we couldn't match. I was blocking and deflecting as much as I could, but these guys were suddenly on another level.
By the middle of the third period, I was exhausted. They were dominating, not giving my guys a chance to control the puck. They barely left my zone, and Abrams signaled for me to come to the bench with two minutes left, as if that would give us enough time to close a two-goal deficit.
They outplayed us. We held our own, but sometimes the other team can’t be caught.
Abrams slapped me on the shoulder, “You did your best.”
I nodded, squeezing a bottle between my mask and letting the water hit my face. There were some close calls, impossible saves I made, but in the end, it wasn’t enough.
At least we were all trying our best. It was more than I could say for the previous game.
“Goal!”
I dropped my head as the roar of the crowd took over. They were now up six to three with less than a minute left.
I glanced at Abrams, and he pointed out, so I grabbed my stick and went back to protect us from yet another empty net goal.
As I waited for my teammates to come back and slap gloves after the final buzzer, I looked around the arena. The crowd was on its feet, cheering and clapping. They had fun. They witnessed a great game. At the end of the day, that’s what this tournament was about, and I needed to remember that.
“Good game, man.” Tyson bumped my glove, and I skated back to the bench with him.
“They were on one today.”
“They’ve been having some locker-room issues. I guess they either got it figured out or decided to make us the common enemy,” he laughed, and I shook my head as we headed down the tunnel.
That was an effective way of uniting a group.
Coach let us off with a speech about not letting two losses get into our heads, and I appreciated that he saw our effort and didn’t make it a bigger deal than it needed to be.
If he were too hard on us, it would cross the line from motivational to insulting.
We were here for a reason; we were the best in the league facing off, and not everyone could win.
“Let’s end their winning streak on Sunday,” he finished, and we clapped.
I left to shower and was changing into my street clothes when Colt and Joel walked by talking about rubber duckies.
“What’s that about?” I asked Schultz.
He chuckled. “Evidently East is being haunted by them, and they’re getting bigger.”
I pulled my shirt over my head. “Rubber ducks?”
“Yup, Jayce Brady can’t escape them.”
I laughed and tugged on my shoes. “It could be worse, I guess.”
“Very true,” he stretched his neck. “Madi and I are going to dinner at some seafood place she heard about if you want to come.”
I studied. “Is this a pity invite?”
“Nope, it’s a friend invite.”
“Yeah, sure. Thanks.”
“I’ll text you the details later. I’ve got to hurry through press. Madi wants to go to a museum this afternoon.”
“Have fun.” I grinned, and he waved as he jogged out of the room.