6. Benji
Benji
“Thank you, Jim,” I say, and hit end on the call. What the fuck?
“So?” Jordie plops down next to me and shovels popcorn into his mouth. “Anything?”
I shake my head, trying to sort the pieces together in my mind. Everything I’ve learned about Lisa in the past week has left me with more questions, and it’s making me increasingly uneasy. But it also makes me more determined to uncover the truth.
The obvious answer would be to just drop the hunt and work to get her out of this building, but there’s a piece of the puzzle missing, and I can’t seem to let it go.
Maybe it’s because she’s rejected me at every turn, going against all the obvious signs she would be stalking me.
Or maybe it has to do with the way I can’t get her piercing blue eyes or her stunning body out of my mind.
Or maybe it’s because she’s a goddamn mystery that just became a dead end.
“There’s nothing,” I respond, scrubbing a hand over my face.
“Nothing?” Jordie echoes. “At all? That’s impossible.”
“You’re right. It’s impossible.” I stare at the slip of paper in my hand.
Lisa Graham is written on it, alongside a phone number and an apartment number.
The information cost me a hundred dollar bill and one of my most winning smiles, both given to the apartment receptionist. I have no doubt the information she gave me is accurate from Lisa’s profile, but…
“The phone number leads to a burner phone. The kind you buy minutes for.”
“That’s still a thing?” Grant asks, entering the room.
He twists the lid off a beer and tosses it behind him as he saunters over to the couch.
He plops down heavily, kicking his feet up onto the table in front of him, and takes a long drink.
I narrow my eyes at him. We still have one more practice tonight, and if he shows up half-cocked, he’ll end up sobering up halfway through practice.
When that happens, his headaches become our headaches.
He sets the beer down on the side table and belches, keeping eye contact with me as he grins.
I sigh and continue. “Yes, it’s still a thing.
Though I can’t for the life of me understand why that’s the kind of phone she would have.
She lives on the top floor, so she’s clearly not hurting for money, even though she’s working shit-paying barista and bartender jobs.
But,” I lean in and both Jordie and Grant follow suit, raising their brows curiously.
“Jim couldn’t find any trace of online payments. So she’s clearly paying in cash.”
“What the fuck, dude!” Grant exclaims, slamming a palm down on the table.
“Right? I’m not sure how she’s got things set up with her work, but he couldn’t find a trace of those payments, either. And don’t even get me started on her name.”
“What do you mean?” Jordie asks.
“Jim couldn’t find anyone by the name Lisa Graham that would be around her age in Cody or Sedona.
Or here, outside of this apartment, for that matter.
” A nervousness bubbles up in me as I think through what our family’s private investigator said.
“Keep an eye on this one. I don’t know what her story is, but if she’s got the same intentions as Sheila, she’s going about it in a much cleverer way. ”
“Look, I get the appeal. She’s a fucking smoke show. But with all these loose ends, I don’t think she’s worth the trouble, brother,” Jordie warns.
I simply blink at him, trying to sort out the weird mixture of apprehension and jealousy at his words.
He saw her in that skimpy bikini, too, her body boasting all the same contradictions that the information about her did.
She was slender and pale, but lined with hard muscle, giving possible truth to the fact that she did enjoy working out – possibly at odd hours, and probably too hard.
Her light blue bikini top had barely hidden those perky breasts.
Ones that I’d given thought to taking in my mouth when I threw out the idea of hooking up with her.
I’d thought about it a few times after, too, until I realized Lisa Graham was merely a ghost.
“I don’t think Benji’s trying to slam this one, Jordie,” Grant puts in, and turns to face me. “I think he’s just trying to figure out what her deal is. But, Benj… are you saying you don’t even think it’s her real name she’s using?”
“I don’t know,” I say slowly, “but I plan to find out.”
Gabbi: Good luck today!!! Cheering you on from the couch. Love you
I smile as I read the message, and type out a quick reply before Coach can come in and yell at me for having my phone out before the game.
Me: Love you too, sis.
Gabbi: Kick Liam’s ass for me.
I smirk and put my phone away as Coach enters the room.
He walks around, rubbing his chin and assessing us.
He knows we’re fired up; the Pirates are our biggest competition, and we’ve swapped more cheap shots with them than any other team.
I can tell he’s gauging whether or not to stoke the fire further or bring us down to ensure we’re going to play with level heads.
“Listen,” he begins. “This won’t be as easy as last week’s game.
But we have three chances to beat these guys.
One hundred and eighty minutes to fight against them, and sixty of those happen today.
I know we’re all eager, but don’t come out too hard.
We still have a whole season to get our legs under us.
I want quick shifts. When we get tired, we get scrappy, and we take stupid penalties. ”
He pauses, eyes narrowing on Grant. Grant blinks back innocently.
“Keep your checking fair and play the puck, not just the body,” he continues. “I don’t want to see any of you taking a run into their numbers. Hurting them will only hurt us.”
A murmur of assent goes up from the team and Coach nods, satisfied that he’s made his point. “Now let’s play some great fucking hockey!”
We cheer, leaving the locker room, but it becomes clear to me within minutes that our rough edges are still showing.
Two periods of tense hockey have us down by one.
The newer players, still riding the high that got them to the professional level, begin to try their hand at taking the puck all the way up the ice alone, forgetting to – or choosing not to – pass the puck.
The game turns chippy as players begin hooking and tripping, attempting to cover ground with their sticks instead of moving their feet.
I can feel the Pirates gloating every time we face off, though I keep my eyes down. I like to think I’ve learned to remain calm on the ice, but an ill-timed chirp from the other team in moments like this, when we’re down a goal, can still make me snap.
I throw my helmet down as we enter the locker room between the second and third period.
I’m fine with losing if there are valid reasons, but this has been some shit hockey we’ve been playing, and I need to at least try to rectify it.
The C that was on my jersey last year still meant something.
Jordie locks eyes with me and nods, settling back into his cubby to let me speak.
I shoot him a grateful look before I eye the rest of the players in the locker room.
“Listen,” I begin, “I know this is going rough. But we can’t keep playing selfish hockey.
Games aren’t just won north to south, we need to be moving the puck east to west. Konner – you’ve got JJ wide open on the other side of the ice every time we break it out of our zone. Keep your head up and look for him.”
Konner and JJ exchange a look, and Konner bows his head in acknowledgement. I continue. “Goody – keep battling for control in the corners. Even if you’re not the first to the puck, that doesn’t mean you won’t win the fight for it. Don’t just give up on it.”
Goody nods, and I turn to our last new addition, our goalie. “Mac.” Mac meets my gaze with a surprised expression. “Keep it up. You’re getting absolutely pummeled out there, and you’ve let next to nothing in. It’s on us to serve you this period.”
He flushes at the praise, and I turn to the coaches, who entered behind me while I was talking. “Anything to add?”
“Nope, that about covers it.” Our goalie coach, Anders, gives me a long, approving look, and turns to exit.
Coach Henderson nods in agreement, adding, “Let’s take this game back.”
I settle in next to Jordie, who slaps my breezers with his hand.
“Good to have you back, captain,” he murmurs.
I toss him a tight grin and duck my head, attempting to keep my emotions in check.
Jordie never wanted the leadership, but I inadvertently handed it to him.
It’s on me to earn it back this year, and we both know it.
In the meantime, I couldn’t ask for a more supportive friend and teammate.
When the time comes to go back out on the ice, we toss our helmets and gloves back on, silently focusing on what comes next.
As the last period commences, I’m relieved to see my advice has been taken seriously.
As Konner and JJ tear down the ice as a unit, Konner looks up and passes the puck to JJ, making a beeline for the net.
JJ skates to the side and then puts the brakes on, sending ice flying, and backhands the puck straight to where Konner is headed.
Konner is there before any defensemen can reach him, and doesn’t so much as catch the puck before redirecting it to the net.
It’s wide open. The goalie didn’t move in time to follow the play back in Konner’s direction. The puck hits the back of the net with satisfying speed, popping right back out from the force, and the buzzer for the goal goes off. Our entire bench leaps to their feet, yelling and cheering.
“What a fucking beauty!”
“That’s the way you do it!”
“Way to fucking take it, boys!”
I grin as they skate by, bumping gloves down the line of teammates.
I can already see the trust settling in – they’re discovering they can count on one another to be there, and from now on, they’ll play as a team.
No more selfish hockey. Coach Henderson slaps me on the shoulder, and when I turn to look at him, he bends over and murmurs, “That’s why you’re here, Benji.
Keep it up, and you know what comes next. ”
I nod at him in thanks, but his implication tugs at knots inside me. What comes next is not just the C. It’s getting called up to the NHL, and though I’ve been working all my life for that goal, it’s become a complicated one over the past year. I distract myself by glancing at the scoreboard.
Tie game, with five minutes left. I surge forward as Konner comes back to the bench for a line change, ready to keep up the momentum – but during his shift, the tide has turned, and two Pirates players are now coming down the ice with only Highcloud to defend against them both. I tear after them.
Highcloud works to push the player with the puck to the corner and I go for the other player barreling to the net, noting belatedly that it’s Liam. The player Highcloud is covering takes a shot on net, and Mac makes the save, dropping to the ice and covering the puck.
I begin to slow, but Liam doesn’t. He continues full-speed toward the net, stopping hard and covering Mac’s face in a spray of ice.
Cries of outrage spring up from our bench as the players clock the insult.
Rage burns its way up my throat. Before I can shove Liam to the side, he’s at it again, slashing at Mac with his stick under the guise of going for the puck.
Abso-fucking-lutely not.
If there’s one rule, it’s that you do not fuck with the goalie.
Liam knows this, and he knows exactly what it means to do this to Mac in front of me.
We lock eyes and he gives me that stupid fucking grin, one I’ve seen too many times over the years.
My stick and gloves are on the ice in a flash, and I grab his jersey bare-fisted, tugging him into me.
He shucks his gear off as well, but my fist connects with his face before he can so much as raise his hand.
Two, three hits in rapid succession, and I hear a sickening crack.
Whether it’s his nose or my knuckles, I don’t know, and quite frankly I don’t give a shit.
Liam finally gets his first punch out, but it’s laughably slow.
I tilt my head to the side to avoid it, following through with my fourth punch.
This time, his helmet goes flying, skittering across the ice.
My eyes follow it for a moment, and I see other players are barreling towards us to join the fight.
If the crowd is cheering or the refs are yelling, I’m not sure.
All I hear is the blood pounding in my ears.
Liam fists my jersey in his hands, tugging me closer.
“I’m surprised to see you’re playing again, Estes,” he sneers.
Blood trickles from his nose, and I yank at his jersey, causing us to spin on the ice as we square up once more.
“I thought after how last season ended, you’d be out for good.
But here you are. How’s it feel, getting demoted and still trying to take what was his? ”
His eyes travel pointedly down to where the C used to be, and that’s the final straw.
I brace myself, twisting both hands in his jersey until I’m grabbing his shoulder pads, and I lift him straight off the ice, only to send him slamming into the ground.
I’m on top of him before he can react, but I’m only able to get a few punches in before the refs are on me.
“All right, all right, break it up! Who wants to hurt their team more, huh?”
“He started shit out of nowhere.” Liam spits, leaving red splatters on the ice where he lays.
Grant bursts through the two Pirates players he’s got held up.
He doesn’t have a scratch on him, but I’m unsurprised to see the other players both sporting busted lips.
“Oh, eat dog shit! You know better than to fuck with a tendy.” He flicks something off his fist – someone’s contact, maybe?
– and fixes Liam with a glare. Liam at least has the sense to shrink back.
“Come on, Estes. Roberts. Let’s go. Five for fighting.
” The ref looks resigned, as though he knows on some level that it’s an unfair call.
But it’s the price to pay, and I did throw the first punch.
I skate away with him, and the sounds of the crowd banging on the glass finally reach me as the rage dissipates into cold grief.
I barely register the goal the Pirates score in the last thirty seconds, officially clinching the win. Instead, Liam’s words are on repeat in my head as I clench and unclench my fists.
How’s it feel, getting demoted and still trying to take what was his?