18. Monty
CHAPTER 18
Monty
O ne of my ideas for the team’s social media was jump-scaring the players.
Mean? Perhaps. Toronto did it, so the concept wasn’t original, but it’d be fun. And if I got slugged, well, the league had good health insurance.
Health insurance got me thinking about Tasha. Tasha led my thoughts to Vlad. And wouldn’t you know it?
There he was—walking in the building in his swanky plaid suit in autumn colors, complete with a coordinating fedora and matching plaid band, trying too hard to give David Pastrnak a run for his money this year as the league’s fashion favorite.
What a chump.
I motioned to Jared with my fuzzy paw and scooted just inside the hall that intersected Vlad’s path to the dressing room.
“Get your phone ready,” he said to Mags, our new social media intern.
“Ready!” she called back .
“Now!” Jared hissed.
I launched myself into the hall, directly in front of the six-foot third-line center.
“Aaah!”
Vlad jumped and nearly fell to the ground as he tried to recover his balance.
That was satisfying.
“Got it!” Mags held up her phone.
I high-fived her. “Sweet!”
She laughed. “One down, twenty-two to go!”
Vlad’s eyebrows knit together. “Scare everyone?”
Mags nodded. “It was Monty’s idea. Great, right?”
I leaned against the wall and raised my voice to be heard through the bear head. “I think so.”
Vlad nodded. “Fun.”
Well, that was insincere. Where was the guy’s sense of humor?
Down the hall, Xavier and our goalie, Jason Dexter, had just turned the corner and were fast approaching us. “Let’s skip these two. If Xavier spills his lucky coffee, we’re a goal down. And I don’t want to mess with the netminder.”
“Smart,” Jared agreed. “Even if we are playing San Jose. You never know, they could have a lucky night. But why take the chance?”
We greeted them, and then I scooted back into the hall to get ready for my next victim.
“Trotter and Emerson just turned the corner,” Jared said. “Ready?”
“Ready,” Mags said. I gave a thumbs-up.
“Now!”
This time, I dove to the ground on my side and came to a rest with my head in my hand, elbow bent, like I was a model posing on a beach. Brendan and Trask hooted above me, but I wasn’t able to see if they’d jumped in surprise.
“Great one, Monty!” Brendan praised. “You get Dexter yet?”
Jared helped me to my feet. “Not this time. Don’t want to mess with the goalie.”
“Wise,” Trask agreed. “He’s so serious. You know how he has all his routines to vibe with before a game. You should definitely get Marsch, though. Payback for all the pranks he plays on us.”
Zaki Marsch was a known prankster and, from what I heard, had never been out-pranked, though many players had tried. But he’d retaliated and made them regret it.
I wondered if he’d retaliate on me?
Only one way to find out.
I slipped back into the hallway, and Jared adjusted the costume to make sure the head was secure. Mags decided to skip over all the players who entered before Zaki, just in case he walked in on one of the jumps.
“Here he comes! Right behind ChaCha.” Mags tapped me on the shoulder. “Go!”
I waited until Bryce Chambers passed us, then turned with my back to the hall. I squatted with my arms straight out in front of me, and double back-handspringed directly into his path.
“What the—Monty?” Bryce must have turned around. “What are you doing?”
I lifted my arms in a shrug and called out to Mags. “Did we get him?”
“Eh. Not really. He did jump a little, though.”
Zaki snorted. “Nice try, guys.” He tipped his hat and continued down the hall, flinging a warning over his shoulder. “ C’mon ChaCha. You can help me dream up some payback.”
Bryce followed him down the hall, turning around to make a slicing motion at his neck. “Y’all are in for it now!” he drawled.
I shrugged and shouted. “Bring it on!”
“No!” Mags laughed. “Maybe we should avoid him completely going forward.”
“Yeah, his pranks are legendary,” Jared agreed. “I don’t want to be in his crosshairs.”
“Let him know it was all my idea, then. What’s the worst he can do?”
“He put marshmallows in Moreau’s wheel wells last year,” Jared said. “His brand-new custom Mercedes SL 500 Grand Edition!”
“He posted a picture of Trotter’s underwear drawer, open, with ragged tighty-whiteys he—Zaki—bought at a thrift store,” Mags added.
“Okay, so I’ll watch my car and not invite him over.” They looked nervous. “It’ll be fine.”
“If you say so,” Mags said. “Good luck.”
If being the recipient of a Zaki Marsch prank was my penance for making Vlad look ridiculous, so be it.
“Let’s do one more of these, take an early dinner break, then head outside to greet fans while it’s still light out,” Mags said.
“You got it, boss,” Jared said.
She giggled, a little too giggly. Was she sweet on him? I looked between the two. He was grinning like she hung the moon.
How sweet.
Twenty minutes later, I retrieved my phone from my locker and grabbed my lunch bag. The team provided dinner, but Tasha’s Crock-Pot braised beef and vegetables was far superior to anything I’d eaten here.
I was pulling it from the microwave when my phone buzzed in my pocket. I set the bowl on the counter and opened my messaging app to find a text from Vlad:
The roses are red and the violets are blue. Your pretty eyes are the ocean and I drown. Dying in your eyes would make me happy man.
You have got to be kidding me.
I thought about how I could rewrite it while I ate. Taking my food to an empty table, I inserted my earbuds to discourage anyone from talking to me.
This would take some work, but I was up to the challenge.