The Smutty Stickhandlers:
Kenna:
I feel like T-Swift should write a song about us on her next album.
I can’t help my excitement or the smile that spreads across my face when I think of how nice it’ll be to have some female friends my age. This is a perk of our marriage I won’t allow myself to feel guilty over—I realize I’m far too eager to feel bad about it.
15
October
After tapping the laminated photo I found in my locker earlier three times and rubbing the crystal next to it, I put my helmet and gloves back on for the third period, grab my stick from the rack outside the locker room, and head down the player tunnel.
“Come on boys, let’s go!” Griff shouts as the team makes their way down the tunnel to the ice. They each tap gloves with me and Griff who stand just outside the ice.
“Let’s get this done and finish strong!” I holler, giving a stick tap to the back of their legs just before they step out onto the ice.
Once the last of our teammates walks by, Griff and I stand just outside our team bench and do our handshake-stick-tap routine before he turns, kisses his glove, points up to heaven, and steps onto the ice.
I close my eyes and take a deep breath before finally charging onto the ice, doing one circle around our zone and then lining up at our blue line for the face-off. We’re starting the period off on a power play due to a cheap slashing penalty one of Dallas’s defensemen took at the end of the second.
Griff wins the face-off back to me and I cradle the puck as my legs skate on muscle memory, carving the ice with backward crossovers. Keeping my head up, I scan the rink and find Carson open up the ice and send a pass that hits the tape of my winger’s stick.
Carson possesses the puck into the zone, drops a pass back to Griff—the exchange a freaky, silent thing the pair of them do often—before G sends a saucer pass to Jax, who sits just above their crease, tipping the puck up and over their goalie’s right shoulder.
The goal horn sounds as Jax jumps against the boards in the corner of the rink. The five of us come together in a group hug before skating along our bench and giving glove touches to our teammates.
I leap over the boards for a shift change and look up at the jumbotron hanging above center ice to watch the replay of the goal. It was a beauty, clean with practiced passes our powerplay unit has perfected over the years.
We’re now up three to one against a team I can’t stand to lose to. Between Dallas and Colorado, we’ve been kicked out of playoffs in the first-round season after fucking season. This needs to be the year that comes to an end. I can’t explain why, but this season feels pivotal. Like if we don’t win it all, or at least go deep into playoffs, then everything will change.
After another grueling twenty minutes of game play, the third period comes to an end and we beat the Dallas Rangers four to one.
I’m stopped just outside the locker room by a reporter asking for a few minutes. I knew this was coming since our team publicist, Paytin, told me I was the lucky one for the sweaty post-game interview tonight. These ones immediately after a game when I’m still in my full gear and dying for a shower always have me grumpier than I’d like.
And instead of Jax’s . . . whatever he and Alexa are . . . I’ve got to chat with Jim, who is a complete shit-stirrer when it comes to the questions he asks when I’m still full of adrenaline.
“Joining me postgame is Minnesota’s captain, Bennett Wilson,” Jim tells the camera before turning to face me.
“Tonight was a big win for the Wolverines. What does beating the team who took you out in the first round of the playoffs last season mean to you?”
Turning the mic to me, I run my fingers through my sweat-slicked hair before bracing my hands on my hips. “Winning our first home game of the regular season is a good start for our team. We’ve got some new players on our second and third lines who have already made significant impacts to our game. I’m looking forward to continuing to build upon what we did here tonight,” I huff, straining to catch my breath after the strain a full game puts on my body.
“And how do you think being engaged to the owner’s granddaughter has affected your game?”
There it is. The question I was expecting and have been prepping for with Paytin and Scarlett all week. I’m secretly thankful her grandma spilled the secret about our engagement. Not only did it mean I got to spend more time with Scar this week, but it also means the world knows she’s mine.
“As you know, Miss Carlisle and I will be answering questions in the press room shortly. Now, if you’re done asking questions specifically about tonight’s game, I’d like to hit the showers so I don’t make my fiancée pass out before our interview.”
Unwilling to give him the chance to ask any further questions, I nod at the camera and turn my back on the jackass to do just that.
After rushing through my shower and putting my suit back on, I pack my personal belongings—including my new good luck charms—away in my trusty duffle bag. Even though I’ll leave it here for the postgame press, I don’t want to chance them being misplaced if the equipment staff comes in to do their thing.
“Is everyone decent?” I hear Joseph ask, which is unlike him since he’s the owner and has never announced his presence in the locker room before.
“Yeah, as decent as we’ll get, Joey,” Jax tells him and I reach over to smack him in the back of the head.
“You’ve got to quit calling him that, J,” I hiss under my breath.
