Page 7 of The Kiss Class
Hayden studies his hands. “Not too fat to block that deke Egerton tried to slip past you.”
As usual, our goalie, Hammer, remains quiet.
I peer over Redd’s shoulder and see they’re assembling a plastic toy with little colored pegs.
“Is this a game of how many hockey players does it take to change a lightbulb?” I ask.
“It’s a LiteBrite,” Ted explains.
“A Christmas gift for Macy,” Micah says, referring to his daughter.
“Blue has one, too,” Redd says.
It takes me a moment to piece this together. While I’m one hundred percent in when it comes to the game and the team, I’ll admit that I don’t pay too much attention to their personal lives.
Micah and his wife Meg have a daughter—maybe another one on the way. Redd came to fatherhood recently, but I can’t quite remember how. Well, I know howthatworks, but I think he adopted his kid sister when their father went to prison.
Guilt flicks me on the ear because I should know more about these guys’ lives. Hockey is a brotherhood. On every previous team I played for, most of the guys were more interested in exploiting their bachelorhood, myself included.
My story isn’t that I came from a broken family and am compensating due to neglect or ignorance and don’t know how to have functional relationships. Okay, I could use some coaching in that department. I’m a work in progress.
The Pierre Ardor Arsenault biography goes like this: my parents have been happily married for thirty-two years. I was born on a blueberry farm in Quebec. Life was as idyllic as they come. When I left my small town and got to college, I let loose . . . and haven’t stopped.
“The OK Thunder’s forwards are more like backward. Were they even trying?” Ted asks, pulling my attention back.
“What are you talking about? Hammer shut them out nine times,” Redd says, referring to our goalie, who’d never comment on how well he played. He’s humble to the tenth degree. Then again, Beau never says much of anything.
“They were sloppy. It’s like they showed up having forgotten they had a game.” Micah shrugs.
“Clemmons was on me the whole time. The guy is like a tractor beam,” Hayden counters.
“It was a gimme game,” I say because the Oklahoma Thunder are just that, anokayteam.
The guys exchange a meaningful look. I can’t help but feel like I’m on the outside looking in.
Redd laughs. “By the way, you’re wearing the ugly Christmas sweater for the rest of the month.”
“What ugly Christmas sweater?” We have team jerseys, but some guys call them sweaters, though I’m not sure that’s what he means.
Micah pulls a red, green, and gold monstrosity from a nearby locker and sizes it against me. “Yep, it’ll fit nicely.”
My lips pucker and I point. “What is that?”
He shoves it into my hands. “It’s all yours until December twenty-sixth. Then it goes back into cold storage.”
I squint, certain I’m missing something. First, Badaszek called me into his office and gave me the silent treatment, then demanded I bring my non-existent date to the team holiday party. Fine. That was my fault.
Now, these guys are talking about a bet that I don’t remember agreeing to and somehow lost.
That’s just it. I’m totally lost.
A sinking feeling accompanies this thought because while Micah gets a gift ready for his daughter, Redd talks to his wife on the phone about dinner plans, and Hayden tells Ted about the Christmas lights cruise he’s taking Delaney on, me—the guy who never lacks a lady—doesn’t have someone real, a meaningful romance, a person to share life with.
Whatever.
At least, that’s what I’ve been telling myself.
Teddy says, “There’s Lady Luck and then there’s the Ugly Christmas Sweater.”
