It did no good and Dax flipped the biscuit in right over the goalie’s left shoulder.
In all the Cup playoff games held in this arena, I don’t ever remember the crowd erupting so loudly as with that last goal. It was historic to come back from a two-nothing deficit and win a game in the last four minutes.
Granted, it’s not the way Coach wanted us to win and while we got some praise in the locker room after, we got our asses chewed as he went over the shortcomings that led us to needing to come from behind.
But what really made tonight monumental, and truly gave us that extra drive in the end to pull out a win, is that Baden was here in the arena. Since regaining feeling in his legs and making strides in learning how to walk again, he’s become more confident in himself. Dominik invited him tonight and he accepted a spot in the owner’s box, preferring to not make a big deal out of it and wanting to keep away from fans’ eyes for now. Knowing he was up there watching made it more personal to play our best and, while it took us a while to get going, we pulled it out for him in the end.
It’s a monumental night all the way around and you can’t take away the crackle of energy coursing through all of us, despite having just played one of the most grueling games ever.
Shower complete and my duffle nearly packed, I trade memories with my linemates of the amazing plays made during those last minutes. We’re all about ready to leave, yet no one wants to stop talking about how amazing that comeback was.
“Alright,” Bain says, cutting into the game chatter. “Let’s head over to The Sneaky Saguaro and continue this over some beers and fajitas.”
Riggs stands from the bench, having just finished lacing his shoe, and swings his duffle over his shoulder. “I’m out of here. See you at practice tomorrow.”
That’s Riggs’ way of saying he’s still not interested in hanging out with us after a game. It’s typical. No one holds it against him, and we all bid him goodbye.
Bain looks to Jim. “What do you say, old man? Night on the town with the youngsters?”
Bain snickers like a twelve-year-old, but Jim takes it all in stride. He is one of our older players, but with that comes maturity and a sharp wit honed by years of dealing with smartass teammates. “Think I’ll pass. I have a gorgeous wife waiting at home for me, while you only have your hand, Bain.”
All the guys acknowledge the burn and Bain takes it with good nature. He looks to Kane, but Kane merely shakes his head. “Sorry. Mollie’s not feeling good and I’m going to go home to take care of my girl.”
“You mean discuss wedding flowers,” Bain snarks back at him. “You’re a regular old Martha Stewart these days.”
More laughter, because it’s true, and we love giving him shit over how much he enjoys planning their wedding.
And I’m all that’s left. Bain turns to me, confidence in his expression. “Looks like it’s just you and me.”
I give an apologetic grimace. “Looks like it’s just you.”
“No fucking way,” Bain drawls in disappointment. “You cannot bail on me too. You’re my last single ride or die, man.”
“Not tonight,” I reply as I zip up my duffle, ready to head out. I’ve got other plans that don’t involve beers, The Sneaky Saguaro and my buddy Bain.
“Seriously, Jett. What the hell? We always go out after home game wins. And after that stupendous win, how can you say no?”
My mind blanks. I can’t tell him the truth, because Emory wants this uncomplicated and that includes keeping this thing between us.
The guys only know I’ve been trying to score with her, and to their knowledge, I’ve repeatedly failed. I’m sure they saw me playing games with Emory, Jenna, and Felicity at the Fan Day carnival, but that told of nothing other than a friendly get together.
And I’m not about to tell them that things have gotten very hot, very fast, with Miss Holland.
Instead, I give a dramatic roll of my left arm as I wince. “Shoulder is sore from that hit I took on the boards. Just going to ice it and relax tonight.”
“You can hoist beer with your other hand,” Bain points out blandly.
He’s not wrong. And I’m a hockey player, for fuck’s sake. I could take a puck to the teeth and still go out for beers.
“Do you have a date?” Bain asks suspiciously, and I can feel everyone’s eyes on me.
Kane, Jim, and Bain wait for me to deny the question.
Before I can lie, Jim gives a hearty laugh and shakes his head. “No way. Jett doesn’t date. He picks up women, loves them, then leaves them. He has no reason to date, because he’s a chick magnet.”
He’s not wrong about that and I hate it’s my reputation in this moment. Emory wouldn’t appreciate those details if she were to hear them, and if she’s here long enough, she just might.
I’m at a loss what to say. I feel the need to defend myself and the fact I can have something more meaningful than a one-night stand should I choose. But that would be blatantly admitting to myself that I am actually interested in something more with Emory. I haven’t figured out exactly what yet, but she’s definitely not in the love ’em and leave ’em category of women I normally pick up.
“You do have a date,” Bain says in awe, because my silence is ultimately damning.
I refuse to answer. I promised Emory I would keep us a secret. She is still averse to the whole ‘co-workers having a fling’ thing, and again, this is casual.
No strings.
We are not a couple, so why even tell people about it?
I sling my duffle over my shoulder—the one I just said was sore, but they don’t believe me on that anyway—and throw a hand over my shoulder. “I’m out of here. See you guys tomorrow.”
“Who are you going to see?” Bain calls out.
“Is it Emory?” Kane teases.
I don’t turn around and simply ignore them as I continue to walk away.
“It’s Emory, I know it,” Jim calls out.
Yeah.
They know, but I’m not confirming it at all. I just smile to myself and head to the player parking lot.
My condo is a short five-minute drive from the arena, and when I pull into my designated spot in the garage, I smile to see Emory’s gray Camry in the other spot I own. I had given her the security code to get into the garage earlier today when we’d made plans to get together after the game.
I haven’t seen her since the morning I fucked her on my kitchen table before I had to catch the team plane for a road trip. I came back yesterday, but we didn’t make plans to see each other.
That’s all part of the whole ‘let’s keep things casual’ deal. It would seem very un-casual-like if we rushed to hop into bed again.
Although that is exactly where we’re going to be hopping tonight, because while we haven’t seen each other in four days, we have communicated.
All by text and nothing overly deep. I mean, there’s the usual “how did your day go” or “you played a great game last night” type of convo. I actually learned a few personal things about her, such as the hundred different directions a single parent working as an organization Vice President is pulled. I admire the fuck out of how she handles it all.
We exchanged funny or interesting things that happened during our days, a few lines here or there and then we’d be on our way, doing our own thing.