“What about the crazies that will say we’re dating even if we aren’t?”
“You’re a smart guy. I’m sure you’ll figure something out,” Dean Hamm says as though he were speaking to the scoundrel who stole his last dollar.
“You need to be on the ice today.”
As coach demanded, I’m at training, sober, on time, and ready to do the only damn thing that brings me a modicum of happiness. Through my helmet, I can hear Jared’s nasal voice somewhere in the rink complaining about the changes in the line-up before I even push the shocking orange double doors open to enter the hockey stadium.
As the second most talented player on the team, I’m sure he was only too thrilled to learn that I hadn’t made the list. I look forward to rubbing my return in his face.
It’s important to mark your territory and piss all over the competition, but athletics demand that you be more subtle about it if they’re on our team. On a good day I can only tolerate Jared, but if he keeps mouthing off about me, no amount of padding or team building exercises will stop me from kicking his ass.
As I walk down the landing between the seats and head down to the bench to lace up my skates, he spots me and his stubble-filled face turns sour.
“So I suppose the rumors are true then,” he greets me as I skate up to the team.
“What rumors might those be?” I ask with a smirk.
“You’ve somehow managed to make a big return,” he says dryly, not even attempting to hide his displeasure. They say envy is the biggest form of flattery and Jared is one hundred percent green with it. It’s not a good luck on him, no matter how familiar it is.
“Return?” I ask, skating backwards around him. “It would only be a return if I went somewhere, Jared. I never left.”
He scowls at me and I laugh in his face. We’re supposed to be on the same team, yes, but at the same time, this has never been more of a competition. Well, for Jared, at least. As long as I’m here, he’ll lose.
Coach’s whistle interrupts whatever bullshit comeback he was going to make, and we skate up to the goal for the pre-training huddle.
“As you all know, there’s an important game coming up in a few days to start off the season. Now…” Coach pauses, roving his eyes over the crowd of us. “I don’t want any of you ladies slacking off from now on.”
“You should give Patsy over there that speech,” Jared mumbles, loudly enough for everyone to hear, but no one joins him in his pathetic joke. Most of the others aren’t as pathetic as he is. Most of them are also not stupid enough to think they’ll win this shit without me.
“Got something to say Jared?” I challenge him, but Coach interjects.
“I don’t want any of you doing anything stupid this season. We actually have a chance to win. Our line-up is strong, and you’ve all been working hard, so let’s just go out there and get this done, alright?”
“Yes Coach!” we shout back.
“Alright. Now we’re working everything today. I’m splitting you up in teams. Jared, Maverick, you’re team captains. Black against yellow. Pick your teams and let’s go!”
The whistle goes off and my heart starts thumping faster as adrenaline takes off in a mad rush through my veins. It’s always like this when I’m on the ice. The excitement, the eagerness, it comes in full force.
Jared is a strong wing defense player and I expect him to take up his position in the rink. However, rather than doing as I expect, he walks down to the face-off in center position to challenge me directly.
“You’re making a big mistake Jared,” I chuckle at him.
“No English man, you’re the one making a mistake by staying here. I don’t know what you did, but I know you’re not supposed to be here and the fact that you are makes me sick,” he sneers, never keeping his eyes off mine.
I don’t back away from his gaze, staring him down just as intently.
“Well buddy, get a barf bag and some Tylenol because I’m here to stay.”
Coach drops the puck and I knock it over into my defense guys, taking control of the game and shutting him up in one fell swoop.
There are a lot of things in my life that I have failed at and a lot of things that have failed me.
Hockey has never been one of them.
Hockey will never be one of them.
18
“Beth? Beth?”
From a distance I hear someone calling my name, but I’m so far up the mountain of my thoughts that I can barely make out what is happening around me.
“Beth!” I jump at the hand placed gently on my shoulder and turn around to stare at Tyler who has concern etched deep into his brows.
“Yeah? Oh, I’m so sorry.” I look down at the water on the floor and hurriedly turn the tap off. What the hell is going on with me? Actually, scrap that. I know exactly what the problem is.
“That’s okay. It’s a good thing you’re not a chef. That would have been a whole different situation.” Tyler smirks at me and I hide my face behind my fingers.
“I’m really sorry. I just have a lot on my mind.”
The noise of the restaurant returns, and I’m once again launched into the flurry of busy waiters and yelling chefs.
“Are you good to go back out?” His hand moves from my shoulder and travels down to my wrist. I blush at the soft, gentle familiarity of his touch and he squeezes my hand gently, reassuringly.
“I’m okay.” I smile at him and he nods, accepting my answer.
“Good. A group just came in. They’re at table six. I’ll get this sorted,” he says, gesturing to the water on the floor.
“I’m right on it.”
I grab the crisp white apron hanging on the back of the kitchen door and tie it around my waist before heading out.
As I walk over to the booth, my heart plummets inside my chest. Even from the back of his head, I know Maverick when I see him. Of course he would be here with his minions at this hour. I suppose I should be grateful that I can at least keep an eye on him here, not that I would intervene with his friends watching.
Gosh, these lines are so painfully blurred.
“Hi,” I say dryly, barely making eye contact with any of them. “What can I get you?” My pen and notepad are already in my hands as I ready myself to take their order.
“Eww, how about a different server,” Suzanna scoffs at me and I glance up at Tyler serving the table close by, searching for something, anything, that’ll stop me from rolling my eyes at the ‘customers’.
“I’ll have a turkey sandwich and some fries.” Marco points at me and I jot it down.
They take turns placing their orders for a mountain of shit and I can’t help but wonder what it is they’re celebrating. I know Maverick has no reason to celebrate. His world just got a lot more complicated, not that they would know that.
When I get back to the kitchen, Tyler is on his way out with a tray.
“Wanna trade tables?” I call after him, trying not to sound too desperate.
“Sorry babe. Ordinarily you know I’d do anything for you, but these are regulars and very heavy tippers.” He winks at me and I nod.