Page 80 of Bombshells
Rudy: Hey, is it Sylvie? Because she was FIRE. He follows this with the drool emoji.
Jesus Christ. Precocious little shit. I’m afraid to answer this question, because you might try to ask her out first.
Rudy: Ha! I knew it. Do you want me to tell her you like her?
No! I type immediately. I’ve survived middle school already. I don’t need to go back.
Rudy: Just say the word, man. I could thank her for the tickets and then just casually mention that you think she’s cute.
Anton: That’s a nice offer, but I got this.
Rudy: You better. Don’t let that other loser get there first. You’re a professional hockey player FFS.
I type through my laughter. So is he, Rudy.
Rudy: Oh dang. Don’t wait then.
Anton: I won’t thanks.
Rudy: I better unload that dishwasher. Or no Fortnite. You want to play sometime?
Yes, I say immediately.
Rudy: Do you have good gear?
Anton: I’ve never played.
Rudy: Oh man. Okay. Can you practice first? I don’t want us to die because you’re a noob.
Anton: Sure. I’ll make an account.
Rudy: Sick. We’ll play this weekend.
Anton: Perfect.
I toss my phone onto the bed and smile up at the ceiling.
Then I get up to find my laptop so I can learn to play Fortnite.
Twenty-Six
Suckitude
ANTON
A few hours later, however, I realize that boring times in my hotel room aren’t the worst thing in the world. Because the game against Calgary is a total shit show.
Things start going wrong right away in the first period. Campeau misses a beautiful pass, then Castro gets a two-minute penalty for no reason at all.
Then we give up a goal in the tenth minute of the game.
These things happen. But somehow we all get rattled by it, which doesn’t help. Castro chirps at Campeau over the missed shot, and Campeau snaps back.
Coach is getting grumpier by the minute. I’m skating with Tank tonight. We hold it together pretty well, although we have to watch our forward lines fall apart.
At the center of all this suckitude is Bryce Campeau. The dude is having an off night to put it mildly. He still can’t put his passes in the right places and he can’t find his line mates’ rhythm. It’s ugly.
He’s not handling it well, either. Anytime someone offers a word of advice or encouragement, he practically bites their head off.
