2. Benji
Benji
“You ready for this weekend, boys?” Coach Anders bellows, the slam of the heavy locker room door following his arrival. I push back my dripping hair and straighten as he continues, leaving my skates half-untied. “It’s time to bring the game back home!”
“Hopefully not home to the sin bin,” Levi says, shooting Grant a shit-eating grin. “We know our penalty box is always ready for Sando. It’s been too long.”
Grant simply grunts in response, rubbing sweat off his mustache.
Coach ignores their exchange entirely, though he knows better than anyone that Sanderson leads the league in penalties, and tonight’s game was no exception.
Grant’s a fucking nuisance sometimes, but when he’s not in the box, he’s an absolute unit on the ice, and that’s what matters.
“First time back on home ice for the season. You all better show up with your game faces tomorrow night. Two hours before, as usual, and dressed like you mean business. Suits, ties, and no hats.” Coach pauses, giving us all a withering stare.
I know what’s coming next, just as much as he knows it won’t make a lick of difference to those who have heard and disregarded it for ages now.
“And behave tonight,” he warns before stalking out of the locker room. A chorus of chuckles follows as the team continues tugging equipment off.
It’s only nine in the morning, but a good ass-kicking on a freezing sheet of ice can wake anyone up, even if they aren’t a morning person.
I don’t think I’m naturally a morning person, but years of routine changed that.
I love getting a workout out of the way first thing in the morning, and hockey is the only thing that I’ll wake up at the crack of dawn for.
Even though we don’t have practice the morning of games – and therefore have tomorrow morning to sleep in – I tend to wake up and do a quick shakeout workout. We all have our pre-game rituals, and I like to stay consistent.
Jordie groans happily and snags a towel, heading to where steam is already spilling out from the locker room showers. “I’m so happy to have the night off.”
I nod and follow him to the showers. Grant smacks my shoulder blade as I go.
Right over my brand new tattoo.
“Fuck, man! I know it’s technically healed and all, but still.” I rub it gently. “I don’t want you ripping off parts of it.”
He simply laughs. “Coffee after this? We need to get amped if we want to stay awake to celebrate tonight.”
I grin. “Yes to the coffee, no to the night out.”
“Seriously?” He groans. “Shit, man, I know you’re trying to win the captain position back and all, but that doesn’t mean you need to forget how to have fun. You’ve gotten boring, dude. It’s painful to watch.”
The jab at my goal for the season stings. I push it aside and attempt to get the fire off me. “You know what's painful? The way your sister threw herself all over me. I haven’t had that kind of secondhand embarrassment since I turned down your ex."
Laughter echoes around the shower room, and Grant narrows his eyes. “Damn, dude, talk shit about my ex all you want, but leave my sister out of it.”
I smirk. “No promises.”
“We can leave your sister out of it, but we’ve gotta talk about your ex,” Goody chimes in. “You always said her…” He pauses and gestures to his chest, both hands cupped. “Were unreal.”
“Please,” Levi scoffs, squirting a dollop of shampoo straight onto his red hair. “Everyone’s seen photos. That was a free-for-all.”
“There’s a reason she’s my ex,” Grant says with a chuckle. “She showed those pics to everyone.”
I laugh along with everyone else, but keep a careful eye on Grant, unable to shake the role of captain that, as he mentioned, I had once before.
It’s all good fun now, but Grant had been cheated on, many times.
Despite his violent tendencies on the ice, he has a soft heart, and it took him a while to get to the point where we can all joke about it.
It’s something we all have to figure out about relationships, given what we do.
It’s far simpler to hook up, mostly outside of town, where we’re less likely to be known.
Women usually want to tag along for the fame, the clout, the bragging rights – and when they get what they want, they move on to something better.
Sometimes, that includes other members of our team. Which can get…awkward.
It’s simpler to take dating off the table entirely and just be clear up front that there are no expectations. That way, things don’t get messy.
As ex-captain of the team, there are more eyes on me than on the others, especially after all the news articles from the past year.
I’ve had to change how I get around town to avoid the kinds of people who sniff out news of me like hunting dogs.
The heart of the city and the college area are the worst for it.
The silver lining is that now, I can basically become invisible in ten minutes.
Ten minutes one way from our apartment? It’s all the hustle and bustle.
But ten minutes in the opposite direction?
It’s the older parts of the city, full of retirees who stay off of social media and follow the same routines that I’ve discovered: the same places, the same food, the same people.
Low-stress, predictable environments where nobody new ever winds up. That’s how I’ve operated for months.
And that’s why her face stood so far apart yesterday.
Someone who interrupted the routine. Fair-skinned, light brown hair, long and pulled back into a ponytail. Big blue eyes, sharp and assessing as we all tumbled into the elevator the other day, with that cute dog velcroed to her side.
And again, later that night, when I noticed her eyeing me up from across the room at Wunderbar. She clearly knew who I was in a vague sense, but seemed to be trying to place me. Or maybe she was trying to find an in to talk to me without my friends around.
I’ll admit, I was intrigued at first. Why wouldn’t I be?
She was fucking stunning. But the more I think about it, the more it rubs too closely at that old wound.
She’s more than likely a potential puck bunny, trying to make her way into my space.
The space I’ve carefully crafted for myself and my teammates alone.
Those feelings kick around in my head as we walk to the coffee shop. There, they hit high speed as I see none other than the mystery girl herself, working behind the counter.
I skid to a stop, feeling Jordie bump into me from behind.
“Argh – what is it, dude?” he asks.
I swipe a hand over my face. “It’s that girl.”
“What girl?”
“The girl with the dog,” I say, motioning at the girl behind the counter. “She was in the elevator at our apartment, and then at the restaurant, and now here.”
Grant lets out a low whistle. “Three run-ins in two days? That’s…a lot of coincidences, man.”
“Do you think she’s…?” Levi ventures, letting the question trail off.
He doesn’t need to finish it; I know exactly what he’s asking.
Do you think she’s like Sheila?
“I don’t know.” I grit my teeth, scenes I’d tried to leave buried for months flashing through my mind before I can stop them. “But I’m about to find out.”
I stalk up to the counter as she sorts through the cash from the last customer. When she looks up, I barely let the surprise register on her face before I practically shout at her. “Are you serious right now?”
The question I choose isn’t eloquent, but it’s effective. Even in my rage, I note that my tone was a bit harsher than intended, and I feel a pang of guilt as she visibly shrinks away from the question.
“W-what?” she stammers.
“You heard me. Are you kidding me? What are you doing here?”
“I… I work here. Today is my first day.”
“Of course it is,” I scoff. “Did you get this job because of me?”
“Excuse me?”
Irritation floods me as I’m forced to explain that I know exactly what’s going on here. Does she think I’ll be flattered? That I’ll be impressed?
“It seems like quite the coincidence that we’ve had this many run-ins in the past day. In my experience, this has gone past chance and into something else. And I am not amused.”
I watch as she sorts through this information, her cheeks coloring as she takes her time to answer. When she does, her posture is stiff, those wide blue eyes swimming with – what is it? I can’t quite place the emotion.
“I don’t know who you think you are, but I work here. And I work at Wunderbar. And in case you forgot, you climbed into my elevator ride, by chance.” Her voice is soft but firm, trembling slightly with what I assume is embarrassment as she backtracks through our run-ins. “I’m not amused, either.”
It’s true. She doesn’t look amused. She’s leaning back as though the countertop is a person she can place between us, and her grip on the countertop has her knuckles growing white. Her eyes flash to her coworker, who is shooting her curious glances as he foams milk nearby.
“Today is my first day,” she’d said.
I hesitate as I realize I may have gone a bit too far, storming in here and accusing her of stalking me. If she did just start, it’s…entirely possible that this is a coincidence. One layered on top of several others, but a coincidence nonetheless.
I open my mouth to apologize, but then Grant claps a hand on my shoulder in solidarity, and I clamp it shut. Nope, there’s no way this all happened by chance. Working at two places I frequent the most still means she likely got those jobs with an ulterior motive.
I can’t afford coincidences anymore. Not after what my family has been through.
“You can’t tell me you don’t know me,” I say, exasperated.
“I don’t even know your name.” Her eyes flick to Grant beside me. “All I know is that you’re friends with young Tom Selleck here.”
Grant clears his throat, but it’s a strangled sound, as though he’s covering a laugh.
“Funny,” I continue, “but I’m still not convinced.”
She sighs, gaze shifting to the line growing behind me. “Please. Order, or get out of the way.”
I blink, taking in the obvious dismissal. Jordie leans in and whispers in my ear. “Dude, we can figure this out later. Just order.”
I’m hit with a wave of embarrassment, thinking of the line I’ve held up behind me with my accusations. Not that I’ll ever admit it was on me, though. It’s on the cool-eyed barista behind the bar, the one who’s currently fixing me with a steely look.
“I’ll take a medium drip coffee,” I mutter.
“Room for cream or sugar?” She oozes fake politeness.
I bite the inside of my lip. “No, thank you.”
After I pay, I wait diligently at the other end of the bar to hear them call out our order, which she put under the name Tom, much to Grant’s enjoyment.
Grant and Jordie keep looking between the girl and me, but I watch closely to make sure nobody spits in my drink for the shit I just pulled. I don’t see anything, but I’m not entirely convinced. I might even deserve it.