Page 56 of Slap Shot
“I’m sure you don’t,” I say, and I’m hopelessly wondering what kind of trouble he’s talking about.
“What have you been up to tonight?”
“Watching TV. Greasy food. Enjoying the quiet. It’s been a long week, hasn’t it?”
“Too long.” Hudson rests a foot on his knee and blows out a breath. “Next week isn’t going to be any better. I have book club and a home game. After that, we’re getting into the holiday season with Thanksgiving, and things won’t slow down until the new year.”
“Book club?” I finish off my drink and reach for the bottle. “Who do you have book club with?”
“My teammates. We, ah, read romance books.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Nope. It started when Maverick was trying to impress Emmy—he does that a lot, by the way—and it’s become a regular thing during the season. It’s silly, but I think it’s helped us play better hockey. It takes our minds off the games. Gives us something else to put our time and energy into. Plus, it’s fun as hell.”
“I never would’ve guessed that. An outlet is good, though.”
“It’s not the only outlet. Ethan rides motorcycles. Grant carries around this small notebook but won’t tell us what isinside. He claims it’s to play tic-tac-toe with himself, but it’s obvious he’s lying. I’m wondering if he’s drawing or writing a book. Maverick spends most of his time obsessing over Emmy.”
“What else do you do?” I ask.
“I hang out with the dogs. Go for long walks. Enjoy the peace and quiet when I’m not surrounded by the hooligans I have to call my teammates.”
I laugh. “You love them, don’t you?”
Hudson’s smile melts into something nostalgic, almost, and he nods. “With everything I have. Which is something male athletes are told they shouldn’t say, but whatever. They’ve gotten me through some rough days, and I’m not sure I’d be here if it weren’t for them.”
I lift my glass. “We need a toast.”
“What are we toasting?”
“To the family you’re born with, and the family you meet along the way.”
He scoots toward me. Raises his glass and knocks it against mine. “I’ll drink to that. Cheers, Madeline,” he says in a husk of a voice, and we might have a problem.
SIXTEEN
HUDSON
“Order. Order,”Maverick yells, and he knocks his rubber mallet on the fireplace. “Can you all shut up for two seconds so book club can commence?”
“Hey.” I put my pinkies in my mouth and whistle. That quiets everyone down, and the boys settle in their spots in Grant’s apartment. “There we go.”
“Leave it to Huddy Boy to get us to listen.” Riley pats an empty spot on the couch, and I sit. “We’re loud, aren’t we?”
“Loud is an understatement.” I set my book on my lap and flip through the annotated pages. “I can hear Ethan and Grant’s voices ringing in my ears when I’m trying to sleep.”
“That means you’re getting old, Hayes,” Ethan tosses back.
“Ten suicides at practice tomorrow, Richardson. Argue and I’ll make it fifteen.” Maverick sits next to me, gives me a sharp grin. “Remember when we were the young and dumb ones on the team?”
“Speak for yourself, Miller. I was never dumb.”
“Bullshit. I remember a hotel in Cleveland and sneaking into the kitchen at two in the morning because we were fucking starving.”
“Do you remember the part where I left money in the fridge because I felt bad for taking their leftover fettuccini Alfredo?” I ask.
“You left two hundred bucks.” He laughs. “That’s when I realized you were always going to hold my ass accountable.”
