Chapter 4
CHAPTER
FOUR
brUCE
It’s the end of the second period during our game with the Atlanta Cyclones. Their captain, Aaron Marino, is really pissing me off. He slid into my net and knocked the whole damn thing over.
Is this a normal occurrence in hockey?
Maybe.
But everything is pissing me off tonight. And I’m sure it has nothing to do with the fact that I saw all the girls sitting together in their usual section—all the girls including Farrah—but with the addition of Mel’s brother, Harrison Freaking Taylor.
Harrison is a great guy, and up until I saw him sitting beside Farrah, I was a big fan of the dude. But he’s looking a little too cozy.
Add that to the fact that Farrah is wearing a Remington jersey, and I’m ruffled. It’s logical for her to wear her brother’s jersey, I get that. But brother or not, seeing her in any jersey but a McBride one has me ready to punch someone.
Between periods, we enter the Eagles’ locker room with its polished wood, custom flooring and fancy eagle light fixture and I cannot shake this terrible mood.
Colby grabs onto the top of my helmet and gives me a shake. “Hey Brucey, you okay in there?”
I push him away. “I’m fine.”
Colby’s dark eyebrows rise, and those dimples that all the ladies love disappear. Before he met and married his wife, Noel, he was the biggest ladies’ man on the team. “Seriously, man, what’s wrong?”
West saunters over, steady on his feet despite the skates strapped to them. Sweat drips from his hair down his face, and he keeps his voice low as he murmurs, “is your hissy fit about Harrison and Farrah?”
I jerk my helmet off. “Why are you saying their names together like that?”
West holds his hands out in front of himself defensively.
“Dude,” Colby says, blowing out a deep breath. “You have no chill.”
“Kind of like you were super chill when Noel came to a game with Professor Dickhead?”
His head jerks back at the reminder of Noel’s date before the two of them got together. Spoiler alert: he was very not chill during that game.
“You’re kind of an asshole tonight, not gonna lie,” Colby says, crossing his arms.
Colby, West, and Mitch are the only ones who knew about my interest in Farrah…only they expected me to get over it a long time ago. But I didn’t.
Mitch Anderson—affectionately known as Mitch the Machine for his defensive skills—sees us huddled together and walks over. Coach isn’t in the locker room yet for our pep talk so we have a minute to talk.
“Did you just call Bruce an asshole?” He says, his eyebrows knitting together. “Bruce is never an asshole.”
“He’s pining,” West says in a low voice.
Mitch’s eyebrows jump up to his hairline. “Over who?”
West and Colby’s eyes move with purpose toward Remy, who’s retaping his stick.
Mitch looks befuddled. “Remy? He’s married.”
I roll my eyes.
“Capn’s little sister,” Colby whispers.
Mitch gives me a look that says you’re asking for trouble . “Still?”
I give him a look back that says I know and yes, still.
“Wait,” Mitch says. “Isn’t she here with Harrison?”
Colby and West glare at him, and I hear a low growl rip through the locker room. Everyone—including Remy—turns to look and I realize the sound came from me.
Growling? Really Bruce? You kissed her one time. You’ve got to get over it.
Remy makes his way over to the corner of the locker room where we’re huddled. “What’s going on?” he asks, looking confused and a little hurt we’re not including him in our little powwow. Little does he know he would never want to hear what we’re talking about.
He made it very clear when Farrah first moved here that she’s been through a lot, and we should all leave her alone—specifically me, since I’m the only single one.
And I’ve listened. Mostly. Except for the texts that went unanswered. That reminds me, I still owe Andie—Mitch’s wife—one more favor. Those were her terms when she shared Farrah’s number with me. I already completed one favor—working with her little brother, Noah, on his corner shots. It didn’t even feel like a favor; that was fun as hell. And Noah is crazy talented for being only thirteen. If that kid doesn’t get a hockey scholarship for college, I’ll be shocked.
“Nothing,” I answer finally, after a few awkward seconds. “Just frustrated I didn’t block that last shot by the Cyclones.” It’s only a half lie. Because I am frustrated by that, even if it’s not my main source of frustration.
Coach Young finally saunters into the locker room, and we all give him our attention. He claps his hands together and purses his lips. “All right boys, Cyclones are ahead but we still have the third period to get our bearings. Thanks to you guys, the Eagles are the number one team in the Eastern Conference. The Cyclones are playing a good game, but I know you all can make a comeback tonight. So, consider this a torch lighting a fire under your asses and get back out there and play the way I know you can.” He shoots me a knowing glance. “And Bruce, my brick wall, pull your head out of your butt and block the damn shots.”
He spins on his heel and heads back out to the bench, leaving me grinding my teeth and trying not to show how pissed I am. I know Coach wants a cup this year. Hell, we all do. But the goalie always gets blamed. It’s the worst part of being a goaltender. Everyone directs their anger towards you. Even the fans.
Colby pats me hard on the back, hard enough to feel it through all my pads. “You got this man. Ignore you know who and keep your eye on the prize.”
He’s trying to be encouraging, but little does he know I consider Farrah Remington a much higher prize than winning this game.
But still, everyone is counting on us—on me—to bring the cup home this season.
When I skate back to my net and the puck is about to drop for the third and final period of the game, I glance one last time at Farrah in the stands. She’s looking right at me, not at her brother who’s at center ice getting ready to face off against Aaron Marino. I narrow my eyes, even though she can’t see my face through my goalie mask.
Her gaze gives me a flurry of motivation, a spark that flames. I’m going to block every freaking shot, just to impress her. Just to keep her eyes on me and off Harrison. This is what Coach Young, and my teammates don’t realize… I would do absolutely anything to bask in Farrah’s attention for two seconds. Pathetic? Probably. But hell, if it helps us win this game it’s all good.
The whistle blows and I’m crouching into position, but Remy gets the puck, and the Eagles move into the offensive zone. Remy passes to West, and Mitch uses his big body to press Aaron Marino into the boards. West passes to Colby who shoots it at the net, but it’s blocked by their goalie. It’s a great block on their goalie’s part, not gonna lie.
West snags the puck and gets a rebound; it goes straight through the five hole—the goalie’s legs—and just like that, the game is tied up two to two.
After another faceoff, the Cyclones take possession and head straight toward me. One of their players tries to fake me out, but I stand my ground, and the puck ricochets off my skate. Another Cyclone player snags it and takes it around the net, but I’m ready for him. I see his shot go high and have my gloved hand ready to catch the biscuit, but my best friend—the crossbar—blocks it for me.
Mitch snatches the puck away from the Cyclones and takes it away from the defensive zone. I take a deep breath and give the crossbar a good-natured pat. “Thanks man.”
Ten seconds before the final buzzer goes off, Colby scores a goal, and we barely manage a three to two win.
We lineup afterward on the ice to fist bump the opposing team the way we do after every game, and my teammates give me some extra helmet taps which is hockey code for good job.
Colby and I are the last ones on the ice. He wraps me in a bear hug and whispers, “good focus, man. I knew you could keep your mind off Remy’s sister if you put your mind to it.”
I withhold a laugh. The whole reason I stayed focused was to impress the girl.