CHAPTER 6 DATE DAY
TALON
Thursday nights in Fall were some of my favorite nights.
It was game day, and for the first time in a while, I was home.
Texas held my heart and soul. It was my home, always and forever.
Texas was one of those places that felt massive but like everyone knew you at the same time.
It was a true salad bar of cultures. Diversity defined the state, even if not everyone was willing to admit that.
Despite what everyone thought, it wasn’t some backwoods, overly conservative place. Texas was home, and I’d missed it.
I could barely contain my excitement when we landed.
Sure, we were in Dallas, and Dallas was trash.
But Texas was Texas. The sky just seemed so much bigger here, and the sunsets just hit differently.
The way the oranges and pinks mingled together just didn’t seem to happen in other states, and I travelled to enough of them to know.
Texas was known as the friendship state and for good reason.
Up north, people were nice but not kind.
Here, people were kind but not always nice.
A Texan would take their shirt off their back to give it to someone else.
But the most important thing I missed about my beautiful home—Whataburger.
Every state had their little burger joint they argued was the best.
Whataburger, however, was the George Strait of burger places.
Every time we played in Dallas, I had to grab a Texas favorite.
It probably wasn’t the best meal for a top tier athlete, but I just didn’t care.
Patty melts were my cheat day, and they rarely happened.
Nothing could beat Whataburger Texas toast.
Zeke nudged my shoulder after we got our room keys. “We headed to Whataburger?”
I’d converted my best friend to a lover, even if he still pronounced the joint wrong. In Texas, it was more like “water burger.” My stomach growled at the idea of dinner. We had a huge game against the Dallas Orbs tomorrow, and I needed some good, sweet tea and Texas toast in my belly.
“Yeah, let’s go.”
Once we had settled in our seats with our respective meals, I immediately dug into my patty melt.
A small moan escaped my lips. I’d been seriously deprived, and it was never clearer than when I was back here, in Texas.
Plus, Southern sweet tea was incomparable.
Chicago had no idea how to make sweet tea correctly.
“So.” Zeke took a bite of his honey BBQ sandwich.
“Davis told me you’ve reached out to the soccer chick. What’s that about?”
My cheeks flared up. Davis didn’t normally gossip,
especially not to Zeke. “I just want to get to know her better.”
“Why?” Zeke quirked an eyebrow at me, digging into his fries. “I thought after everything with Melody that you were done with women and relationships?”
“It’s not like that.”
“So how is it then?” He took a sip of his drink.
“Explain it to me like I’m stupid.”
Rubbing the back of my neck, I thought about my answer and rejected calling him stupid.
Why had I reached out to Aife? Why had I sought her out at her place of work?
She intrigued me in a way only a few people did.
So much of me just wanted to know more because there were very few people I let into my life, and I weirdly wanted her to be one of them.
Something about her had gotten under my skin.
I sighed and placed my burger down. “Honestly,
Zeke, I have no idea.”
Zeke stared me down for a minute. He took another sip from his drink. “You want to know her; she does have this pull to her. Davis is worried.”
“I figured if he’s reaching out to you about it. For now, I just want to be friends.” I slowly dragged my fries through some ketchup. “I can’t do a romantic relationship right now… or in general, I think.”
“Yeah, I think we can all agree to that.” Zeke laughed. He and Davis had seen me at my worst in my post-Melody world. Frankly, I was still dealing with the aftermath of our relationship. Who knew how long I’d be dealing with it? Melody had ripped my fucking heart out and skated across it.
My skates glided easily across the ice as I started my warm-up with the team.
This was my element—on the ice for a game.
The sounds of the crowd, whether good or bad, always fueled my own energy.
It was truly an experience unlike any other to be able to entertain fans.
Hockey was a love of mine, and it was a passion I was fortunate enough to turn into a living.
I flicked my wrist quickly aiming for the goal.
Zeke shot his left arm out, missing my shot by millimeters.
A smirk graced my lips. Sometimes, I just got lucky.
The Orbs weren’t our biggest rival, but their games were always intense.
It usually meant fast and hard and me getting in at least one fight.
A lot of people didn’t agree with my style of play, regarding it as a part of early hockey days.
Some people thought enforcers were outdated; I disagreed.
I was pretty protective of my team. If someone came after my teammates, I’d gladly get in the fight.
Hockey did involve fights and as long as there was a justified reason for it, I would take the punches and hits.
I could also give better than I got. Like I said, though, not everyone agreed with it.
I was on thin ice when it came to penalties.
Any more mistakes and they were likely to take me off the ad team, so I had to be careful.
That didn’t mean I wasn’t opposed to the fights I got into.
If they needed to be done, they would get done.
Fights were just a part of the game, and sometimes they had to be.
The buzzer sounded, letting us know that warm-up was over.
Now the best part of my day was about to start.
I was living my dream every day, and I was so thankful.
Hopping off the ice, I made my way into the opposing team locker room.
We had enough time to put our pads on and get back on the ice for the national anthem.
Quickly, the team threw their gear and helmets on.
The energy in the locker room was at an all-time high. Some game days were just like that.
Coach walked in and adjusted his tie. “Alright boys,
the season is going strong. Let’s keep that alive and go kick some Orb ass!”
A loud whoop echoed in the room as the team headed back on the ice. I liked to be the last out of the locker room. It was like a little ritual for me, to place a tap on the door jamb as I left. For some reason, it helped calm me. Time to clear my mind and hit the ice.
Boos, jeers, and cheers mingled as we stepped onto the ice.
The national anthem began and so did my other ritual: taking in the first line.
This was one of my opportunities to look at the other players and find their weaknesses.
Everyone had tells: a side they leaned on, the way they gripped their sticks, or even where their eyes wandered.
It helped me learn which guys were easy to rile up and who would need a pest placed on them.
My little ritual also allowed me time to find which players were most likely to fight.
Each team had a few, and I’d found the Orbs’.
He was big and probably intimidating to normal people.
I wasn’t normal though. Very little intimidated me.
The anthem finished, and we all skated to our spots on the rink.
My eyes zeroed in on the ref, making sure I’d catch where the puck was going to end up.
The buzzer sounded and the puck dropped where my center quickly passed it to me.
I took a run up the side, hooking my stick behind me and sending the puck back to my center.
He reeled back and hit a slapshot, just narrowly missing the goal.
Sweat dripped into my eyes as the third period began.
We were up by one, but the Orbs were still in the fight.
Their lines were fast and aggressive. Some of them were pushing us harder than we expected.
Thankfully, Zeke was on fire. Only one lucky shot had slipped by him, and it was on me.
A late body check had put me in the penalty box for two minutes. Their goal was my fault.
The boards rattled as the Orbs’ fighter shoved me into them harder than necessary.
He’d had it out for me all game. He slammed into me again, pushing my face a little too hard against the glass.
Then he hooked his stick under my skates, and I lost my footing.
My chin smashed into the ice, and my teeth sunk into my tongue.
Blood immediately filled my mouth as a whistle sounded.
Blood spewed out of my mouth and onto the arena ice.
I could hear the gasps of the crowd as I struggled to my feet.
A wave of dizziness hit me as more blood dripped down my chin.
Next thing I knew, I was being escorted off the ice.
The crowd wavered around me as I walked, black spots hitting my vision as blood trailed down my chin.
Lights flashed in my eyes the second my ass hit the training table.
They were checking me for a concussion, and a concussion could take me out of a game for a few weeks.
The trainer looked into my pupils and then motioned for me to open my mouth.
Even more blood ran down my face. Fuck, mouths bled a lot.
“TJ. Who’s the president of the United States?”
“Biden.” It came out jumbled; my tongue felt massively swollen.
“Good. And where are you?”
“Dallas, playing the Orbs.” It sounded like I had a lisp, and it hurt like a bitch to talk.
“Correct. What happened to you before you were brought back here?”
“Fucker hooked me.”
“Yep,” the trainer said and shone the flashlight into my mouth. “Stick your tongue out. You’re gonna need stitches I think.”
“In my fucking tongue?” Dizziness hit me again.
Very few things scared me, but needles were one of them. Which was weird given the fact I had tattoos.
“Yeah, try to breathe through your nose.” He pulled out the gear needed. I gulped. The coppery taste of blood was the last thing on my tongue as the needle pierced into it, eliciting a strong wince.
Skates clattered against the locker room floor as my team came back.
I had no idea what the final score was, and I desperately needed someone to tell me.
My tongue had cotton and tape in it after I received six stitches to it.
They were the dissolvable kind, and the cotton could come out later tonight.
I looked like an idiot, but it wouldn’t matter as long as we won. Pain was worth a win.
Exiting the trainer’s office, I looked at my team.