Page 34 of Hat Trick
“I’d prefer the novocaine.” I grimace and lean against the wall, popping my hips back so I can adjust my prosthetic. “I never want to do that again.”
“No more appearances. Noted. I’ll put in a word with the people in charge.”
“Appreciate it.”
“What are you doing after the game?”
“Going home, sitting on the couch, and being miserable. Might listen to that sad Sarah McLachlan song while I do it. Why?”
“Wow. As fun as that sounds, I have a proposition for you.” Lexi fixes the collar of her jacket. “Want to grab some food? There’s a diner nearby that I love. They have the best milkshakes in town.”
I haven’t been social with anyone since the night at the club, and what happened after makes me want to immediately say no.
But a pang of loneliness hits me square in the chest.
I’ve spent so many days alone. I’ve spent so many hours wondering how the hell I’d dive back into interacting with my friends. Doing something other than moping around sounds like a nice break from the monotony I’ve slipped into.
Plus, Lexi is smiling at me. She’s looking at me with wide, hopeful eyes, and that damn crush of mine wins out because I like seeing her happy. I’m nodding before I can come up with an excuse and saying, “Sure. Sounds good.”
“You just made my day.” Her soft smile turns into a grin, and I swear I can feel it behind my ribs. It makes the whole space around us warmer and brighter, and I’m a sad, sad man, because after so many fucking days in the dark, I want to feel like that again. “I’ll wait for you outside the locker room.”
“Great.” I lift my chin. The guys are skating to the bench after player introductions and the national anthem, and I don’t want to take up too much of her time. She’s important, a woman with responsibilities and people to help. “Do you need to get to your spot?”
“Shit. I do.” She laughs. “I’m always antsy for our first game, even if it is the preseason.”
“Really? I thought you’d have it down by now, Armstrong.”
“Don’t worry. I know what I’m doing, Mitchell. But even pros are allowed to get nervous. I better go. Coach is going to give me an earful.”
“Wouldn’t be Coach if he’s not bitching about something.”
“Exactly.” Lexi holds my gaze. “Tonight might be hard for you, Riley, but try to have some fun. You love this sport, and there’s nothing wrong with loving it from off the ice.”
I don’t know why the words mean so much to me, but they do.
“I’ll do my best,” I say.
“That’s more than enough.” She walks away, only stopping to give me one last smirk over her shoulder that makes me feel less alone than I have in months. “I’ll see you later, Mitchy.”
* * *
The boys are playinglike shit.
They’re down by three, they can’t find a rhythm, and the assist Hudson set up for Maverick to try to finally score ricocheted off the goal post. McDavidson, who replaced me in the starting lineup, is fucking atrocious. I’m not making the observation because I’m bitter he’s on the ice and I’m not; any hockey fan with an ounce of knowledge on the sport can see he’s hurting the team. I don’t think the guy did any sort of conditioning during the offseason. He’s getting beat across the line on every play and repeatedly asks for shorter shifts.
Coach even went with a last-ditch effort and put in Bruce Livingston, the duster who barely sees any minutes, to try bringing some energy off the bench, but he scored an own goal, and that pretty much sealed our fate with two minutes to go.
It makes me an absolute dickbag to even think it, but part of me is glad they’re not having immediate success. It makes me feel like I contribute to the team, like I’m not easily replaceable. I’m sure I’ll go back to being pissed off when they find their groove and start a winning streak, so I’m going to enjoy it while it lasts.
When the final horn sounds, the crowd boos. The guys hang their heads and skate off the ice, and Grant groans as he walks down the tunnel.
“We looked fucking awful out there.” He unclips his helmet and scowls. “Good thing they didn’t give us our rings tonight. That would’ve been sad.”
“We’ll figure it out,” Hudson says, always the voice of reason. “The loss doesn’t mean anything come playoff time.”
“We gotsmoked, Huddy.” Ethan pulls off his glove with his teeth. “A peewee team could’ve played better than us.”
“What did you think, Mitchy?” Maverick slings an arm over my shoulder. “You probably saw shit we didn’t.”
