We untangle ourselves and I pull her close, hoping we can lie here together and catch our breaths. Claire and I have seen, touched, and tasted nearly every part of each other, and I don’t want to stop. But is it wrong—or dumb as hell—to crave the kind of intimacy where we talk and share the parts of ourselves that no one else gets to see?
Does she even want that with me?
I don’t get to find out because the garage doors grind and squeal, letting us know we need to throw our clothes on, head downstairs, and hope we don’t look as guilty or as satisfied as we are.
22
Pete
It’s our last game before regionals and though we wiped the ice with Coleridge last night, they’re back with a vengeance. They’ve got something to prove, and I can’t blame them.
But I can sure as hell stop them.
We’re not the same team we were last fall, even if it was just a couple months ago. Van’s coaching from the bench instead of skating on the first line. Dean’s stepped up in a major way, though, and he’s hitting his stride at the right fucking time.
Mickey’s laser-focused tonight, and I hope he keeps that up for when we face Woodcock in a week and a half. Because it doesn’t matter how hard Coleridge is coming at us right now. We’ll let them wear themselves out so we can win this thing and face our biggest rival at Regionals.
And for Mickey, that rivalry is personal. I don’t know what it is about Dutton Wagner that makes Mick so mad, but the guy can throw him off his game like nobody I’ve ever seen.
Lucky for us, there’s no one on Coleridge’s team who’snearly that good or that antagonistic. Sure, they’re trying to rattle us, but it reminds me of the playground insults my brothers used to toss in my direction when I was a wizened eighth-grader. I was too damn cool and too fucking worldly for their verbal barbs to land, and the check that O’Brien just executed on Will is the equivalent of Henry calling me a doody head at the top of his lungs.
The intent is solid, but the result is pitiful.
The refs miss the hit, and Will rolls his shoulder like there’s a fly buzzing around him. Damn I love that guy. I love him even more when he sends the puck to Booker without looking then skates forward and turns around to get it right back. The momentum is in our favor and it’s up to Mickey and me to keep the sharks at bay.
These guys have been chirping since the puck hit the ice, so I’m not surprised when a winger named Sturgis skates in my direction and starts throwing jabs.
“Is it true, big guy?” he asks me, like he’s the first one to come up with that original nickname for a guy my size.
I ignore him because I don’t have time to stand around and yap. I’ve got a game to win. Sturgis won’t shut up, though.
“You fuckin that blonde who can’t keep her mouth shut?” He’s poking at me and it’s hard not to take the bait, but while Sturgis has been jawing at me, the puck’s been in play. I watch as Will sends it back to Booker. It’s an easy pass, one they’ve done a hundred times tonight. It took that long for Coleridge to crack the code. But now they have, and O’Brien picks off the pass and sends the puck down the ice toward his teammates. I leave Sturgis and his asinine comments behind. The shot goes wide, dumping the puck in the corner. I’m there in an instant to retrieve it and send it back into play, this time in the direction of Coleridge’s next. Dean gets the puck, and we all followthat little rubber disc like it holds the secrets of the universe.
Sturgis skates up beside me like we’re kids at a birthday party taking a lap around the rink. “Your little jersey chaser stirred up some shit,” he says, stirring the pot himself.
The ref blows a whistle, calling a penalty on Coleridge. I turn to Sturgis. “You ever lose a tooth in a game?” I ask him.
“The fuck? No.” Confusion crosses his face, but I clear things right up.
“If you want your pretty smile to stay that way, keep your fucking mouth shut about my girlfriend.”
The whistle blows and I’m off again, leaving Sturgis behind to wonder what the hell just happened.
Damn O’Brien just picked off another pass, so I’m heading in his direction, taking my time and waiting for just the right moment to snag the puck. I catch him off guard and Will’s barreling down the ice once again. Sturgis is waiting for him, though, so he sends that little biscuit back to me.
Hockey’s a fast-paced game. Gramma’s been watching all of us play for years and she still swears she never knows where the puck is. I’ve got the puck now and though I’m tempted to whip it back to Will, he’s still in trouble. I stay calm, look around, and weigh my options. Skating forward, I lift one foot off the ice and send my shot through. It sails right past O’Brien’s shin guards and into the net beyond, taking their goalie by surprise.
I let out my signature howl as Will claps me on the back. I can hear Ollie and Van cheering from the bench. My shift is almost up, so I chance a glance up into the stands and my gaze lands on Claire after just a few seconds. She‘s with her girl crew, but her smile is just forme, and it feels real. That’s becoming a problem. We’re fooling everyone, even ourselves.
Or maybe it’s just me.
I offered her one of my jerseys to wear this weekend, but she declined because Mel made all the girls matching shirts using the Cricut Will’s mom gave her for Christmas. I can’t be mad. I mean, we’re not even really dating. Plus, she looks cute as hell in her Wolf Wives sweatshirt.
I skate off the ice and hop over the boards, letting Ollie and Jenksy take over. We’ve got two minutes left on the clock, and even with all the stopping and starting, it won’t be long until we’re all celebrating after the game. Mickey found a pool hall that’s only a block away from our hotel and I’m looking forward to getting this win and relaxing with my guys and my favorite girl.
An hour later, I’ve showered, shaved, and howled my heart out. We’re revved up for Regionals with these last two wins, and now it’s time to relax.
It took forever to leave Coleridge’s arena. We had some press to do since our next stop is Regionals and then the guys were dragging ass. Mickey and Ollie got into a heated debate about whether to tuck or untuck their shirts, and I felt myself aging as we waited for Dean to finish styling his hair.
