Page 17 of Home Ice

CHAPTER 14

MIDDLE-KEY

BRANT

Kayden is pacing so furiously in front of the door that I'm worried for his poor sneakers. "We're going to be late." He looks at his watch, then the clock on the wall, then back to his watch. "You can primp in the car mirror."

"I'm not primping." I'm procrastinating. Kayden asked me to do this weeks ago, and he's my best friend so I had to say yes. But that doesn't mean I wanted to. There are a million things I'd rather do tonight, including cleaning my oven by hand. With a toothbrush. "You sure about this? We're not going to stand out?"

"What's wrong with standing out?"

Kayden has always been the flashy one. On the ice and off. He loves being the center of attention. I think that's part of what makes him such a great center. He feels at home when the puck is on his stick, everyone in the arena mesmerized by him, waiting to see what he's going to do. And I've watched him enough to know that when he scores, his smile doesn't show until the crowd either cheers or groans. Whether or not he'll admit it, he lives for their reaction to him.

Plenty of players are like that. But when they score, they celebrate by themselves. They toss their hands in the air or pump their fist to show off. But Kayden doesn't. His smile might be for the crowd, but he doesn't celebrate until he's with his teammates. Hell, two years ago when he scored the overtime winner in my hometown of Toronto, he motioned me out of the crease and onto center ice beside him before he raised a single hand in victory. And the first thing he did then was wave to my family in the suites. That's why I wasn't surprised when he led the team in both goals and assists last year, something very few players have ever done.

On the other hand, I do everything to avoid the spotlight when I'm off the ice. When I was dating Serenity, she would get so mad at me because I never wanted to go to clubs or even restaurants with her. But there's something dehumanizing about having a crowd of strangers act like you're their best friend, even though you've never met and don't even know their names. Serenity would eat it up, but not me.

"Okay, fine. But you play behind a mask and then live like a hermit. No one will recognize you. Besides, they'll all be too distracted by me to even notice."

I step back from the mirror, giving up on forcing that rogue strand of hair back with the others, and toss my hands up. "And once again, for the tenth straight year, the award for the most conceited player in all of hockey goes to?—"

"Eleven years in a row. You didn't know me when I was fourteen, but I was an arrogant ass then."

"Oh, just that year?" I ask. Kayden acts hurt, and I laugh. I always tease him about being cocky, but despite loving the spotlight, he's one of the most down-to-earth and humble people I know. "And I don't live like a hermit, by the way, and you know it. I buy my own groceries. In person."

"Oh, you are such a social butterfly. You're also very obvious when you're stalling. Now, march." He motions me out the door and toward his new SUV. It's only a couple of weeks old, and it still smells new.

"You're my worst friend, you know."

"Would your worst friend invite you to a boygenius concert?" he asks. "I don't think so."

"More like force me against my will. And you could have worn something a little more normal."

Kayden gasps. "This is a Lucy Dacus shirt. She's in the band. It's absolutely normal to wear a band shirt to that band's concert. You're the one who will seem strange in that plain black t-shirt."

"That's not a band shirt. You photoshopped a picture of you and her eating from the same hamburger and then had it put on a t-shirt. That is most definitely not a normal band shirt."

"You just don't understand us kids these days, old man. And it's not a hamburger. It's a vegan burger. I'm not going to fake a picture of me eating a beef hamburger with Lucy Dacus. That would be weird."

"Yeah." I shake my head. "That's what would make it weird. Sure." I settle back in my seat with a chuckle. "Hey, go that way." I point to my right.

He looks at me, but doesn't shift the car into reverse. "The app says to go the other way."

"I want to show you where that new trainer lives. We're neighbors. A hermit wouldn't know his neighbor."

"You mean the trainer you're low-key obsessed with?"

"I am not."

"True. You spent an entire practice staring at her. That qualifies you for middle-key obsession. And now you want to show me where she lives? Why don't you just go over to her house one day? She'd invite you in. I've seen the way she looks at you too."

"What?" I say it a little too quickly and a lot too loudly. He's my best friend, but I haven't told him about my failed knight-in-shining-armor moment. Or about the next day when I tried to make things better but ended up doing the opposite. Or the time when I asked her on a date without chickening out, and she made it very clear that she would never go out with me. "Trust me, she wouldn't."

The moving trailer is no longer in her driveway. It hasn't been for a few days, not that I look when I drive by. Tonight there's no car there either. Is she out? My stomach sinks when I think that she could be out with a man. But why? We're not dating. She has every right to see someone else. But just the thought spreads a worried warmth through my chest. "Pull over."

"Dude, I'm not pulling over. What if she sees us?"

"She's not even home."

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