Moreover, I’ve clearly offended my sister. I can feel the fury vibes rolling off her.
“Perhaps I’ve misjudged the situation,” I admit.
“You’re damn right, you did,” she snaps, but I can hear most of the heat has left her voice. “And she’s the best choice for me to stay with. She’s caring and diligent, and my feelings should matter on this.”
I heave out a relenting sigh, because I can’t argue with anything she’s said. If all this is true—and I’ll have to accept it is—and given Aaron and Clarke’s endorsement of this woman, there’s no reason for me not to accept her offer. Especially given that this is what Janelle wants and most likely needs, and I haven’t been the best in making those sorts of decisions so far.
“Fine,” I say, glancing at her. “I’ll call Veronica after dinner and accept her offer.”
“And apologize,” Janelle says.
“And apologize,” I grumble, although I really don’t want to do that. Veronica might be worthy of my sister, but there’s still something about her that rubs me the wrong way. It can’t be my reservations over her character, which have been relieved, but damn if I know what it is.
If I’m lucky, I won’t have much interaction with her other than some check-in texts. With such minimal contact, I’ll be able to forget that she bothers me at all.
CHAPTER 9
Riggs
Normally, all my troubles melt away when I step on the ice. That is especially true during a game because I am one hundred percent focused not just on my job but on the pure joy hockey brings me.
When I moved away from home at sixteen to live with my uncle in Minnesota, my hockey went to the next level. I’d been playing since I was seven and was fortunate to be in a fairly good league right over the West Virginia border in Pittsburgh. My mom used a distant cousin’s address in Pittsburgh, basically lying to get me into that league.
But that’s about all she did for me. We didn’t have the money for fees, equipment, and travel, but my talent was enough that parents of other players and some sports funds paid my way. I was basically a charity case, but I didn’t give a fuck. It got me out of the house and onto the ice.
When I moved to Minnesota, things changed drastically. I got into an elite school with an elite hockey team, which led to a scholarship to Wisconsin to play at the college level. From there, I was drafted into the league.
None of that would have occurred had my mom not agreed to my stepdad’s wishes to send me north. He didn’t want me in the house, and while it burned that my mom bent to his will, I wanted out too. The only regret was leaving Janelle behind, but she was five years old and there was nothing I could do.
Almost a week ago is when I had my really shitty game, after which Baden called me out. While I didn’t like hearing some of what he said, it all rang true. Since that time, I’ve focused more on the joy of hockey, and I have to admit, I’ve been playing and practicing better.
It might have also helped that Janelle and I have progressed a bit in our relationship. We’ve had some good talks. She’s much happier working at Clarke’s store, and she’s ecstatic about staying with Veronica when I travel. That first test will come in a few days when we have a trip to Los Angeles.
Regardless, I’m on the ice now, and my defensive play this entire game has been on point. My focus is keen, I’m reading my linemates easily, and I seem to be one step ahead of the opposing forwards.
It’s the kind of focus that has me inching closer to the blue line with Bain as all the forwards jam up around center ice. We’re playing the Washington Breakers, second in their division, a real powerhouse to contend with. They currently have the puck, trying to make it into our zone without an offside call, and just as one player dumps it to another to skate in, I manage to poke check it away.
A mass of players still swirl at center ice, but none of my line mates are close enough to pick up the puck, so I burst forward and put my stick on it. I dodge back and forth across center ice, no clear pass available. Seeing my intent to take it into the opposing team’s zone myself, my mates wait at the blue line, letting me lead the puck over it first.
All of this happens so quickly, I’m only met by two Breaker defenders. I move up the left side, that defenseman coming to meet me. I cut inward, and as soon as he moves to counter, I cut back hard left and easily circle around him.
The other defender has moved in, placing himself between me and the goal. The other guy I just left in the dust comes up behind me, and they close in.
The space between them is small, and I’d need to breach it to get a clear shot at the goal. I take a quick accounting of who is around me, and no one is close enough to dump it to. Commitment made, I push hard off my skate and crash through the two men while feathering the puck in between our skates. I’m caught by a hip check and I start to fall forward, but at least my path to the goal is clear.
As I’m going down, I manage a desperate wrist shot that at first I think is too weak to do much, but to my surprise zips right under the goalie’s arm and hits the back of the net.
I’m crashing to the ice as the red light goes off and the crowd erupts in a roar of approval.
Euphoria sweeps through me, and I’m scrambling up from the ice, looking for my nearest teammates. Doesn’t take long because they’re all there, slamming into me for a huge huddle where I get pats on the helmet and sticks tapped against my legs. Someone smacks my ass hard, but I barely feel it through the pads.
Defensemen don’t score often. I’m usually good for five goals or so and thirty to forty assists in a year. So when I do score, and this is only my second this season, it’s cause for celebration.
With Kane, Jett, Jim, and Bain grinning at me like fools, I feel like a true part of this team. It’s probably time to make that a permanent thing.
The rest of the game is a hard-fought battle. I remain focused and diligent, and I play fantastic fucking defense. We end up squeaking out a 2–1 win over the Breakers, and everyone is in high spirits as we enter the locker room after.
There’s much joviality—rehashing great plays, crude jokes, and general revelry. At our locker cubbies, we undress so we can head to the showers.
“Riggs, dude,” Kane says as I’m unlacing my skates. “That move you made crashing through those two defenders was epic. It’ll be on the highlight reels.”
I grin, focusing on my task. “If you lazy asses had caught up, it would’ve been much easier to dump it to one of you.”
There are guffaws and snorts, and one “bite me” from Jett.
Loosening my laces, I look up at my comrades and do something that is so out of character, I’m sure they’re questioning my sanity. “Any of you guys interested in going for a beer or two?”
While there’s still a cacophony of chatter, Kane, Jett, Steele, and Bain all go still and silent. They blink at me in confusion.
Finally, Jett says, “Da fuck?”
“Come on,” I exclaim, hands thrust outward. “It’s not that out of the ordinary for me to invite you guys out.”
“It’s world-ending sort of stuff,” Bain says in a low voice and makes the sign of the cross.