Chapter 12
Mason
I never found out what Coach wanted to talk to Cass about, or why he had interrupted our makeout session in the maintenance room. But it must not have been about me, because Coach was his normal angry self at practice that day—rather than his don’t touch my daughter self.
I wasn’t expecting anyone at our team’s morning skate the next morning, so when I spotted two familiar figures standing behind the barrier—one tall and stiff like a board, the other with wild black curls, waving excitedly—I nearly dropped my stick.
I went over and leaned my stick against the glass. “Dad? Hallie? What are you guys doing here?”
“Surprise, dummy,” my kid sister deadpanned, and gave me the most unenthusiastic high-five known to man.
My dad hung back with his hands-in-pocket stance he always defaulted to in unfamiliar places. “Son.”
Laughter bubbled out of me, and I pulled them both into an unsteady hug. I held onto them while I tried to make it off the ice, and although my dad muttered under his breath, he didn’t fight it.
“Okay, enough.” Hallie twisted out of my grip, painfully aware of the stares coming from the rest of the team. “You need to calm down. People are looking.”
“Those people are my team,” I said, and turned back to wave at Coach.
He looked from me, to my dad, then gave a thumbs up and flashed five fingers.
“We have five minutes,” I said, leading them to some empty seats. “Explain yourselves.”
“Dad wanted to know why you were so embarrassing,” Hallie spoke first. “That viral video turned you into a thirst trap back home, and now our doorstep’s permanently covered in gaggles of horny teenagers.”
“Hallie.”
“Sorry, flocks of horny teenagers.” She rolled her eyes.
My dad’s eyes nearly jumped out of his head, and I burst out laughing. It was fun watching Hallie do what I never had the guts to… give him a hard time. Sometimes I loved her most because of that.
“You guys are staying for the game, right?”
My sister sighed a sigh that weighed a hundred tons. I was surprised she didn’t sink the whole rink with it. “The plan was just to come here and give you that message in person, but we might as well see what the hype’s about.”
My dad threw another warning glance her way, and she slid lower in her seat. “You’ve been doing real good, Mason. It’s past time we watched you play.”
Never one for many words, or many emotions, hearing that from him was enough to make my whole week. It was better than if he’d gone all misty-eyed and sentimental.
“Thanks, Dad. And I’m sorry that you only have one child making you proud.”
Hallie didn’t need to take her eyes off the ice to land a whopping slap to the back of my head. “Ow!”
“No fighting.” My dad shook his head, staring us both down. “Together two minutes, and you’re already acting up.”
“She started it.”
Hallie echoed me, but added a whiny twinge to it while also pulling her face like that of a crying baby.
“Real mature for a high school graduate,” I said with a grin. “I would’ve thought you’d grown up by now.”
“I could say the same about you.”
“She wears your jersey at home,” my dad said, breaking us up with perfect timing. My jaw dropped, and Hallie glared at him. “Brags to all her friends about you too.”
“The betrayal,” she said, folding her arms in a huff.
“Aww, little sis, you really brag about me?” She bit her lips to keep back her smile, and pretended to ignore me completely. “What about those girls on your doorstep? Get any numbers?”
This time she grinned wide and looked right at me. “Who said they were girls?”
“Damn. Okay. You got me.” I held up my hands in surrender. Then I looked at my dad and said, “Where did we get this one?”
“Same gutter we found you,” he replied, without missing a beat.
We all started laughing and I was just beginning to forget where I was, and what I was supposed to be doing, when—
“Calder! Ice!” Coach bellowed from the bench.
*
The Seattle Kraken had a rowdy fan base, whether home or away, and without winning much of anything. Their game was speed and unpredictability, peppered with wild passes and random aggression.
“We can’t afford to get cocky,” Grayson said to his top line.
Which included me.
“Calder,” he went on, “you’re not just filling space tonight. You’re setting tempo, so play smart and skate hard.”
“And don’t forget to slip your sister my number,” Tucker said, leaning over Shawn with his full weight.
Grayson, unmoved, looked at me, and said, “No distractions.”
I nodded and pulled on my helmet. “Let’s get ‘em.”
The first period was a brawl in slow motion. I had time to pick out my dad and Hallie in the crowd, and Cass up near the sound booth as always. The music playoffs were tied two-all on account of her spending more time with school stuff, and I loved how much it was getting to her.
“Heads up!” Grayson shouted as he skated past me, and we adjusted.
The Kraken realized their chaotic forecheck was somehow working, so we tightened our transitions and shut down the passing lane.
Still, their winger slipped past one of our guys with a cheap stick lift and sent a wrist shot right into Hunter’s chest. Fortunately, our goalie held firm.
By the time second period blew in, we’d found our rhythm. Grayson and I were clicking, and I kept looking up to see that Coach was watching. He was. I could’ve told him this pairing was his Stanley Cup, but knew he had to see it in action to believe it.
Communication was seamless. I’d dip, Grayson would fill, or I’d screen, and he’d shoot. It was hockey the way it was supposed to feel… instinctive and alive.
Halfway through the period, I fed him a pass just above the circles. He didn’t hesitate. One-timer, top shelf. The horn blared, and the crowds went feral, including a rousing wave of boos from the Kraken fans.
“That’s what I’m talking about!” Grayson skated straight into me, gloves ruffling my helmet.
We took the lead, and Coach didn’t pull me off the top line. Not once.
After the final buzzer, we poured into the tunnel, all talking at the same time, riding the wave of our first easy win. The rush had me in its grip, but it was more than the game. Cass and my family were out there, waiting for me.
I’d been thinking about it, and decided I’d introduce them tonight. No labels were necessary, but I didn’t want to have to choose.
I stripped out of my gear fast, towel-dried my hair, and was halfway into a clean T-shirt when Bob Trent cornered me. The head of the Surge marketing department looked like an overeager raccoon in a trash can.
“Hey, got a second?”
I’d seen this a few times before, and my defenses went up instantly. “Not really. My d—”
“You’ll want this one,” he said, already waving over a camera crew.
“No cameras in the locker room,” I reminded him, but it was no use. Bob was a law unto himself, and made sure the team understood our roles as fodder to his media mill.
“Quick post-game segment for Hot Seat,” he said, as though that would make it better. “The ‘rising stars’ feature. You’re the centerfold, so to speak.”
I let out a breath through my nose and plastered on a neutral face.
“Listen, my family’s here.” I nodded toward the player’s exit. “Can we do this another time?”
Bob put his arm around me, and grinned at the crew with all his teeth. “They’ll understand. This is big exposure, and you’re a fan favorite now, Mason.”
“About that…” The reporter pushed to the front, and although I thought it impossible, was more overbearing than our PR guy. “How have you been affected by the viral sensation of that video?”
The mic was clipped to my collar, and Bob stepped out of frame. Grayson passed behind the camera, eyebrows raised. I gave him a helpless look and mouthed, “Kill me.”
He stifled a laugh and walked on.
“Mason?” The reporter called my attention back to the interview. “The viral video…”
“I thought this was a post-game segment,” I replied, looking directly into the camera. “Shouldn’t you be asking me about the win?”
“Sure, yes, I’ll get to that with my next question,” the reporter urged me along. “Let’s just get through them one at a time, okay? The video.”
Frustration warmed the back of my neck. “The video. I didn’t take it. I didn’t post it.”
There was a pause, then a stiff laugh. “But you were definitely in it, weren’t you?”
Bob was standing there nodding emphatically, and I gave in. “I was.”
“There’s no way you’re not being recognized on the street now, am I right?” The reporter’s eyes were lit up like the Fourth of July.
“I mean, people know me because of the game.”
“Sure, yes, but isn’t it true that more people know you now?”
I grabbed the mic and pulled it off my shirt. “This is a waste of my time. It’s got nothing to do with the game, and I have family waiting out there.”
“Mason, Mason…” Bob was all over me with his buttery smooth inflection and understanding eyes. “As a rising star, you have to get used to handling all kinds of tangents from the media. Professionalism first. Leave the tantrums for when the cameras are off.”
When he was finished talking, my mic was back on, and the reporter was back in action.
“You want to talk about the game, let’s do that,” he said. “Big win. And big assist from you in that last goal. How are you feeling?”
I forced a smile, assuming this was the part they’d use, and said, “Like I’ve got the best seat in the house. I get to watch Grayson Steele light it up.”
I had to fake being comfortable with the camera, but there was nothing fake about what I said.
The reporter chuckled. “Tongues are already wagging on social media. It looks like Coach McAvoy just stumbled onto a winning pair on his top line.”
A few seconds passed where nobody said anything, so I leaned toward my mic. “What’s the question?”
“Do you believe this roster is the one that’ll take San Antonio Surge to the Stanley Cup finals?” He enunciated every damn word, making the question stretch on for a week and a half, it felt like.
I couldn’t tell the guy he was asking asinine questions, and his interview skills sucked, so I shrugged, and said, “Who’s to say?”
After all, a bad interviewer deserved a bad interviewee.
“And you mentioned your family came out to watch you live,” he said then. “What did that mean to you, knowing they were here in person?”
That one got me.
I shifted slightly. “It means everything. They’ve been there through all the crappy seasons and learning curves. It’s special to have them see me on a high.”
“What about the girl in that video with you?”
My neutral expression wavered. The fucking bastard. Tricked me right into it.
“Was she here tonight?” the interviewer pressed. “Is she anyone… special?”
I stiffened.
The mic was still hot, recording light still burning red.
“What girl?” I tried playing dumb to buy time. I didn’t have any media training, and God knew I was in the deep end without a paddle.
He gave a mock laugh, eyes flashing like he’d already written the headline. “The girl, Mason. The one who started a thousand TikTok memes and has her own hashtag. What is it, #Zambae?”
Fucking hell.
My jaw tensed, and I rubbed the back of my neck, giving him the tightest smile I could manage without baring teeth. “That was blown way out of proportion.”
“So… there’s nothing special about her?”
I’d deflected all I could. Coach was just beginning to trust me with the top line. I was paired with Grayson, and our game was solid. Everything I’d worked for was finally clicking into place.
One stupid answer and that would all be gone.
“No,” I said, the lie thick in my throat, almost choking me. “Nothing special. There’s no girlfriend. No prospects. I’m totally focused on the game, and nothing else. Young, free, and single.”
I ended with a nervous laugh that fizzled out the second my gaze drifted past the camera light and Bob Trent’s smug expression.
Cass was standing behind him, eyes wide with surprise.
She’d heard every goddamn word.