Needless to say, I didn't have a clue what I was doing or what I was going to pick out.
I decided on platinum. A brilliant-cut diamond. No bullshit. No frills.
Hell if I knew what size. So, I just guessed. Pictured her hands. Slender. That one ring on her finger, she fidgeted with. Looked closely.
God. I hope she says yes. God, I hope it fits.
Not sure when or how I will ask her. Maybe I should have done it last night after the killer dinner she made. I just don’t know… Soon, very soon.
Steel blades scrape across concrete, snapping me back. Sticks thud against concrete as I drop onto the bench next to Brody. He’s already halfway geared up, doing his thing where he chews on that mouth guard like it’s made of steak.
I bend over, grab my laces, and start threading. Sharp pulls. Tight where I need it, give where I don’t. It’s a rhythm, this part always is.
There are no words between us. We don’t need any. We’ve done this a thousand times. But the nerves still creep in like smoke under the door. That’s fine. Nerves mean you care. Nerves mean you want to win.
Across the room, Peters gags dramatically and waves his glove in front of his face. “Don’t even try to tell me it wasn't you,” he spits. “I’ve been in the league long enough to know the smell of death, and whatever crawled out of your ass is worse.”
McAvoy leans back, laughing. “You’re kidding yourself, old man. That was you. You eat like a raccoon in a dumpster.”
Jett, taping his wrists, shakes his head. “You both reek. Shut the fuck up before we all suffocate.”
Davis snarls from the other side of the room, through gritted teeth. “Who asked you? Look at you with your New York swagger, stepping in and taking my place.”
Bishy doesn’t even look up. “That wasn’t your place, ass wipe. That was Thumper’s place.”
I stand. Loud enough that the bench creaks and half the room goes quiet.
“Davis, come on. We’re all part of the same team. I think we all know how much Jett’s proven himself. He’s the highest scorer in the Eastern Conference. That’s why he’s here.”
I scan the room, every single one of them is watching now. “But don’t forget, we’re all here for a reason. Including you. All twenty-four players. That’s what the Aces are. And now we’ve got new blood.”
I turn to Jett, who’s just finishing with his shoulder pads, looking like he’s expecting me to say something else.
“So whatever the fuck you were doing for the Tigers, do us all a favor and start doing it here. Welcome to the Aces.”
There’s a low rumble. Mumbled welcomes. Grudging but real.
I raise my voice. “COME ON! LET’S WIN THIS GAME...FOR THUMPER!”
And the room explodes. “FOR THUMPER!” Sticks pound against the floor, and fists hit lockers.
I drop back down onto the bench. Brody taps my arm once, firmly. “For Thumper.” He bangs his stick on the ground.
Then the noise starts to die. Quiet spreads quickly as the sound of footsteps in the corridor approaches. Heavy. Measured. Coach McCullum walks in, Danny trailing behind.
Coach doesn’t say anything at first. He just stands in the center, arms behind his back, eyes sweeping the room. He doesn’t need to raise his voice. His silence does enough.
“This is it.”
No one moves.
“Silver State Arena. Our house. You know who’s on the other side of that tunnel waiting for us? The LA Blades. You know what they want? To make us doubt. To make us hesitate. To push us back on our heels.”
He takes a breath, sharp and clean.
“We may have had a bit of a bad run. But we’re back. And we’re stronger. Are we going to let them?”
“FUCK NO!” It hits the ceiling.
