Chapter 22
CHAPTER
TWENTY-TWO
brUCE
I’m in net for practice and tensions are high. We’ve lost two games in a row, which always brings morale down…but doing so during the first—and arguably the easiest—round of the Stanley Cup Playoffs? Freaking brutal. There are only seven games total per round, and we’re tied three-three. The New York Patriots barely got into the playoffs via a wildcard slot, so they should’ve been easy to beat.
And with Remy flat out ignoring me, it seems even worse than just a simple losing streak. It’s like I’m letting my teammates down and losing one of my best friends.
Remy will barely even look at me. I’ve tried talking to him in the last week and a half and he always just nods robotically and says we’re fine. But we’re obviously not fine.
Right now, we’re working on our power plays—when the opposing team has a penalty and we have an extra player on the ice—and penalty kills—when we have a teammate in the penalty box, and the other team has a power play.
We’re great at penalty kills, but we all know we could use some work in our power plays. Coach Young informed us we’ve only scored during twelve power plays all season long.
The end of our three-hour practice nears, and I’m drenched in sweat and ready for a shower. I grab my water bottle and squirt a cool stream of water on my face and neck, but quickly toss it back on top of the net when I see Colby skating toward me. He’s on the opposing side for practice and is hoping to score on me. I squat down, getting into position. I have to watch my legs around Colby because he’s sneaky with the low shots. Despite being one of the older guys on the team, Colby is still fast as hell. He breaks away from the group behind him and flies toward me. Remy is hot on his heels, his face intense with concentration as he gains on him and tries to keep him from scoring during this pretend power play. I know in his mind this is a real game, and this shot could make or break whether we win or lose. He brings the same intensity and responsibility to every practice, every game.
He manages to catch up to Colby and hits him from behind, knocking him flat on his stomach. Remy swooshes the puck away from my net and almost collides into me in the process. Instead, he stops squarely in front of me, puck in front of his stick.
It’s magic, and it’s why he’s our captain.
I blow out a low whistle. “Damn, Cap’n. Are you sure you’re thirty-seven? That was some slick work, man.”
He glances at me—barely—and sniffs. It’s the snobbiest thing I’ve ever seen him do. I didn’t realize until this very moment that Remy was capable of snobbery.
I grit my teeth together, about to say something about his attitude toward me, but Colby skates up to us with a wide grin on his face. “I can’t even be mad about that move, Remy. That was amazing.”
Remy smiles easily back at him. “Thanks, Knight.” They both pound their hockey gloves together, and before I can chime into the brotherly love, Coach Young whistles and gestures for us all to join him at center ice.
Remy skates off in Coach’s direction without so much as a backwards glance at me. Colby, on the other hand, looks back and holds his glove up for a fist bump. I bump it, feeling some of the tension in my shoulders dissipate. At least everyone else is treating me normally, except my team captain.
This treatment is like being grounded when you didn’t even sneak out of the house and do anything fun. All the discipline with none of the reward.
Such B.S.
Colby and I skate to center ice side by side and wait for Coach Young to speak. He dives right in as soon as everyone’s within ear shot. “All right, boys. Great practice. I know we’ve taken a few tough losses; you guys have the skills to take this all the way. I hope today gave you the confidence to go with it. I don’t have to tell you how important this is. Get your fannies out there tomorrow and give it your all like you did today and we’re golden. They’ve only won three out of seven games; don’t let their wins get inside your head.” He swivels his head slowly, looking each of us in the eyes. “Now, go home and relax and be ready to kick butt tomorrow.”
We all whoop and yell various expletives and derogatory comments toward the other team. They’re nice guys, I’m sure. But this is the playoffs.
With that, we’re all shuffling off the ice, through the tunnel, and into the locker room. I’m still taking off my leg pads by the time the other guys are stripped down and heading toward the showers.
“Hey, Bruce. Good work out there today. I don’t envy you, being a goalie.”
I glance up to see Mitch standing over me. His dark hair is sweaty and rumpled, and he’s stripped down to his boxer briefs and shower shoes. Mitch is one of the more modest guys in the locker room. If it was Colby standing before me now, I’d be looking straight at his—well, you know.
“Thanks, man. It’s a lot of pressure sometimes, but it’s what I was made for.”
He nods. “Andie’s been on the fan pages, and she says the fans are brutal. I told her not to read that trash.”
I snort a laugh and wonder if Andie is on the same fan page I am. Maybe she trolls the haters too. “Emotions are high right now. Not just for us, but for fans. The Cup is so close we can all taste it, but now the stakes are higher.”
His expression hardens. “Remy needs to get over the thing with his sister. It’s not fair for him to punish you for helping her.”
I’m oddly touched by his words. It’s nice just to know I’m not imagining him ignoring me. I think I needed confirmation that I did nothing wrong more than I thought I did because something inside me relaxes and calms at his honesty.
“Thanks, man. We’ll be okay. I know he’s just looking out for her.” But so am I …is what I don’t add.
His permanent frown tugs at one corner in an almost-smirk. “All right, better get those pads off before the rest of the guys use up all the hot water.” He nudges his head toward the showers.
I laugh and he stalks toward the room filled with shower stalls, his shower shoes thwacking with every step.
When I finally have all my gear off and a white towel secured around my waist, Colby struts into the locker room freshly washed and stark naked. He stops in front of me and does a little dance. I roll my eyes and scoot past him as quickly as I can.
That evening, I pick Jackson up and we head to a local park I found where older gentlemen hang out and play chess. I even brought my chess board along. I’ve been reading up about chess, and I think I can finally beat him.
He’s ten. It’ll be easy . Even as I think the words I know it’s a lie, because he’s already kicked my butt in chess a dozen times.
I pull into a parking spot near the park, and Jackson and I begin walking toward the outdoor tables. My wooden chess board is clutched under my arm. The spring evening is warm, with a cool breeze. I’m glad I wore jeans and a hoodie since it will continue to cool down as the evening wears on.
Two older men with grey hair are already seated at one of the metal tables and look like they’re well into a chess match. They’re focused on their pieces, deciding their next moves.
Jackson and I sit at a vacant table and set up the board. Right as I think Jackson will start the match, he steeples his hands and eyes me seriously. “All right, before we get into this…I think we need to talk about what’s going on with you.”
My head jolts back. “What are you talking about?”
He looks around as if worried someone might overhear him. “Listen, I’ve been watching your games the past week or so, and it’s the playoffs, Bruce. You’ve gotta get your head in the game.”
I huff a laugh, but there’s no humor in it. Is this kid really telling me how to do my job?
“I know hockey isn’t my area of expertise.”
I raise my eyebrows, agreeing with him.
“But a few weeks ago, you were a brick wall…nothing could get past you. And then the last two games, something is off.”
I sigh heavily, allowing my shoulders to sag. I know he’s right—even though I’m shocked he’s actually been watching the games for once—but I also don’t know what to do about it.
He searches my face. I’m not sure what he’s looking for. “So, has something happened in the last few weeks? Is something stressing you out? That can affect my game too, if I’m not in it mentally.”
My eyebrows raise up to my hairline. Who is this forty-year-old, responsible man, and what did he do with Jackson?
“When did you become more mature than me?”
He scoffs. “I’ve always been more mature than you, McBride.”
I laugh, shaking my head. “You’re not completely wrong. I have been in my head lately.”
He nods. “All right, so let’s talk it out.” He glances down at his lap. “My foster mom does this with me when I’m stressed about something. It always helps to talk about it.”
I hold back a smile, his foster parents sound pretty great. “Okay.” I blow out a sigh. “Well, Farrah had a…medical emergency. And I was the only one available to help her. So, I did, and she stayed the night in one of my guest rooms, then went home the next morning.”
He nods as I speak, clearly following along. “Okay…and?”
“And Farrah is Remy’s sister.”
He still looks confused. “The team captain?”
“Yes. And he found out she stayed at my penthouse, and now he’s not happy with me.”
His eyebrows scrunch. “I don’t get it. What’s the problem?”
I groan and drag a hand through my hair. How do I explain this to a kid? “He thinks something is going on between me and Farrah. He has a ‘no teammates can date his sister’ policy.” I use air quotes. “He’s protective of her.”
“But you were just helping her, right?”
“Right.”
He studies me again. “But you want something to happen between you and Farrah. And her brother knows it.”
It’s not a question. It’s a statement.
I scratch the side of my neck, uncomfortable that a child figured this out before me. Of course, Remy knows I want something to happen. Therein lies the problem. He knows I have feelings for Farrah and he’s uncomfortable with it. This isn’t about him thinking I’m lying about nothing happening that night…it’s him worrying about what happens in the future. Which is so Remy.
“Wow. You’re right.”
“Of course I am,” he says, moving the King’s pawn to start the game.
“I really like her, Jackson,” I admit. “I can’t stop thinking about her.”
He looks up at me, screwing his lips to the side as he thinks. “Would your captain prefer you ignore his wishes and win games… or lose games and stay away from his sister?”
“What exactly are you saying?”
“If Farrah’s on your mind, you won’t play well without seeing her.” his eyes widen. “You haven’t seen her in the last week, have you?”
I shake my head from side to side, realization dawning on me. Seeing Farrah and spending time with her makes me play better. It makes me happy. She makes me happy.
A cocky smirk forms on his youthful face. “Well, there’s your problem. Now you have to decide what you’re going to do about it.”
I roll my lips, pondering his words. What am I going to do about it?
For the rest of our game, I consider this dilemma. Jackson beats me easily during the two matches we get through…but just because I’m distracted, obviously. I’ll get him next time.