Chapter 8
Chapter
Eight
Dad: Michigan State is not a contender. What’s the problem tonight?
Dad: Put the puck in the net and score. How are you losing this badly?
Rooting through my duffle bag, I want to punch a hotel wall in frustration. Not just because I can’t find my toothbrush.
We lost to the Spartans a few hours ago, and I can’t shake it. If I was a better leader, if I really deserved to wear the C on my jersey, I could get our team to gel. Then we could put together a win.
I heard the freshmen whispering on the bus back to the Holiday Inn Express. They think we’re cursed. It won’t be long before they question their decisions to come play here. Now I know. This is how a great sports program crumbles. Years of building it up, then it slips away in one rough start.
My phone buzzes on the nightstand, and I abandon my duffle on my queen bed to check it.
Dad: Wow, you guys suck. I’m glad I don’t have to cover your games, because there’s no way to be diplomatic about it.
Dad: Cooper had some good passes. Why couldn’t you get them in the net?
Dad: Looks like you need to spend some extra time in practice if you expect to get signed next year.
I don’t reply, because what would I say? Gee, Dad, thanks for the encouraging pep talk? I guess I should be thankful that he took the time to watch my game, but I just feel rage bubbling inside me.
Once Cooper is out of the bathroom, I’ll brush my teeth and sleep this off.
Setting down my phone, I go back to my search. My fingers feel around the deepest corner of my bag, but no luck.
I growl at the duffle when Cooper steps out of the bathroom, raising a brow at me. “Bro, what’s the problem?”
“Can’t find my toothbrush.” I spit the words out, looking at my bag like it’s to blame.
“You can go get one from the front desk, you know.” He stares at me, a wrinkle between his light brown eyes. “And Hunter—it’s not your fault.”
“What?” I cross my arms over my chest and pretend I don’t know what he’s talking about, but he sees through me.
“The games. The bad start we’ve had. It’s not your fault.”
“Whose fault is it, then?”
He shrugs. “We’re a new team. We lost some good seniors. It takes time to hit a groove, ya know?”
“I don’t remember it taking us this long last year.” I know I sound whiny, but I don’t care.
“Doesn’t matter.” He rolls his shoulders, then his neck. “That was last year; this is this year. Comparing them is fruitless.”
“Fruitless?” I huff a sarcastic laugh. “Where is this wisdom coming from?”
He blushes. “Okay, Jasmine may have given me a pep talk earlier. But she’s right. Maybe we just need some team bonding.”
That’s not a bad idea. Last year, I’d always encourage the guys to go out and blow off steam. This year, I’ve barely come up for air, so focused on being a good captain that I forget to relax. I need to set an example that it’s okay.
“Yeah.” I nod. “When we get back to Lafayette tomorrow—win or lose—we’ll do something fun as a team.”
“The Cactus?” Cooper’s eyes light up and I shake my head.
“You and that horrible bar.”
“Is it horrible, or so horrible, it’s great?” Cooper raises a brow, and I laugh.
“It’s just horrible.” No one understands why he loves the worst bar in Lafayette, but he picks it every chance he gets. I need to make sure he doesn’t make the plans tomorrow, or else we’ll be sorry.
“You need to chill a little and have fun. You don’t seem like yourself lately.”
I’m not sure how to reply. I haven’t been relaxed, that’s for sure. But having a plan to help the team is a good first step, and an invisible weight lifts off my shoulders after our conversation. I jerk my chin towards the door. “Good idea about getting everyone together. And the front desk. I’ll go get that toothbrush now.”
I grab my room key, and he nods, palming his phone. No doubt calling his girlfriend again. What a lovesick fool. I’m happy for him, but it doesn’t make him any less crazy.
The door clicks closed behind me, and I head to the bank of elevators. After pushing the down button, I shove my hands in the pockets of my athletic shorts and wait.
My gaze flicks over a gorgeous sight as the silver doors slide open. I pick my jaw up off the floor. It’s Natalie, standing in the middle of the elevator car, her cheeks turning pink. Tugging her tiny sleep shorts down an inch with one hand, she holds an ice bucket in the other.
My eyes meet hers, and I can’t look away. Which is good, because if I did, I’d be tempted to look at her long, tan legs again in those little shorts. But I don’t. I may have been a grouch to her, but I won’t ogle her and make her uncomfortable.
“Getting on?” Her voice comes out in a squeak, and if possible, she gets even redder.
It snaps me out of my trance, and I lurch forward. She pulls at the hem of her t-shirt, and I can’t help it—I give her legs a once-over. Her skin looks so smooth, my mouth waters.
Shifting the ice bucket, Natalie pins me in her stare. “What happened to our deal? You hid from me after the game.”
“I didn’t hide.” I totally did. “I was just… busy.”
“Uh-huh.” Her incredulous tone says she doesn’t buy it. “Well, you have time for me now.”
“Now?” The elevator stops on floor two, but she brushes past me and pushes the ‘door closed’ button. I get a whiff of her citrus perfume—or maybe it’s her shampoo?—and it hits me right in the groin.
“I’ll come back for my ice later. Where are you headed?”
“The lobby.”
“Perfect. We can do an impromptu interview, and then you can get back to your ‘busy schedule.’” She makes air quotes around the words, and I roll my eyes.
“Look, I have a lot of responsibilities as captain. It’s not inconceivable that I was busy.”
“Inconceivable?” She raises a brow. “That word. I do not think it means what you think it means.”
A laugh bursts out at her Inigo Montoya impression, but then I remember—she wants to interview me. Ask me questions about my dad. I press my lips together.
When the elevator doors open to the lobby, I head to the front desk and request a new toothbrush. Natalie stalks behind me and hovers, waiting. Is she trying to block me from escaping? She must know I could get past her.
Although it’s not like I’d use force or anything. I’m not that big of a jerk, even if she thinks I am. After I get my replacement toothbrush, I turn around to face the music.
She has the ice bucket propped on her hip like a baby and is standing in front of the elevators, making sure I don’t make a run for it.
I run my hand through my hair and gesture at a secluded little sitting area in the corner by a modern fireplace. It’s the gas kind with funky rocks in the basin that I always want to touch.
“Alright.” I sit in an armchair. It’s too small for my bulky frame and my legs stick out. Holding up my hand, I say, “You get five questions.”
Natalie sits in the chair right next to mine and tucks her feet underneath her. “Only five?”
“That was one.”
“Doesn’t count.” She puts her ice bucket on the floor and crosses her arms over her chest. Then she clears her throat. “Okay, question one. Why do you think the Griffins haven’t won a game yet?”
My pulse trips up a notch and sweat dots my back. “What the hell? I thought this was just for social media crap.”
“It is. People keep asking about it in the comments. I think we should address it.”
“I think you’re wrong,” I say under my breath, picking at a loose thread in the hem of my shorts.
“You said I could have five questions. I want to know.”
“Fine.” My words are clipped. “We just haven’t gelled as a team yet. We’re working on it.”
“What’s your plan?”
I hold up two fingers. “Is that one of your questions?”
“Hmm.” She taps her chin as if thinking. “Yes.”
I feel dumb admitting out loud that my big plan is to get all the guys to go out drinking.
“Um, some bonding activities. You know, team building stuff.” At her raised brow, I elaborate. “We’ll spend time together, get to know each other off the ice, be more comfortable. It will transfer to our playing style.”
For some odd reason, her eyes light up. “Oh, that would be a great thing to feature on our socials. Fans would love to see—”
“Nope. That’s off limits.” Parents and alumni should definitely not see footage of the team out together.
Her face falls, but she rallies. “Question Three. Why do you play hockey?”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“I’m supposed to do a profile on you.” Natalie shrugs. “People want to know this stuff.”
I sigh. “My dad, I guess.”
Because it’s a given that I would. Because it’s all I’m good at.
Natalie purses her lips. “Do you even like it?”
“I love it.” I lean forward in my chair, hands braced on my knees. “Hockey is life. It’s the best sport in the world—takes so much talent and is an incredible rush. It’s demanding, but the payoff is worth it. The guys, the team—everything about it lights me up inside. My dad got me started, but I play because I love it.”
It’s true. I don’t know what I would do without hockey, and I never want to find out. The words are from my heart, and she must see that, because she licks her lips and says, “Can I quote you on that?”
“Yep.” I stand and toss my toothbrush up in the air, catching it. “That’s five, and I’m excluding the first one as a gift to you. Good night.”
I spin on my heel and jog to the elevator, jamming the button and getting on before she can chase me down.
Our eyes meet across the lobby as the doors close. Hers snap with fire. “Hey! I get one more.”
I shake my head, mock pity in my voice, and flash her a taunting smile. “Sorry, but you’re wrong. I don’t lose count.”
On the walk back to my room, I think about the spark in her gaze, and I can’t seem to wipe the grin off my face.