Page 6 of Offside Angel

3

ZANE

Madonna is blaring from the showers—Jace’s choice, and he’ll beat the brakes off anyone who tries to protest—and Davis is chanting something I can’t make out. A few of the guys join in, their voices echoing off the wet tile.

The atmosphere before a big game used to be my favorite. The zing of anticipation in my chest. The blind optimism that settles over the entire team. Tunnel vision: win or die.

I used to pop out of bed on game days and count down the hours until I could get to the arena. Until I could strap into my skates and be where I belonged. Where I’d always belonged.

Tonight, I’d rather be anywhere else.

“You gonna take a shower, Z?” Reeves drops down on the bench across from me, a towel wrapped around his neck.

“I wait until after I’ve played to take a shower,” I mumble.

“Then you’re missing out on a competitive edge.” Jace runs a hand down his freshly-shaven face. “I’m more aerodynamic now… according to Davis.”

In another version of this conversation, I’d laugh. Maybe I’d even get up and go shave the stubble I’ve let grow into what’s becoming a raggedy beard.

In this version, I drop back against the wall and sigh.

Reeves snorts. “Has Davis ever heard of a helmet? I don’t think aerodynamics cares about the hair on my chin when I’m wearing forty pounds of pads and a two-inch-thick helmet.”

“Davis has probably never heard of ‘aerodynamics’ before whatever clickbait article he read this tip from.” Jace shrugs. “But it’s fun. As captain, I deem this team bonding. It’s important. Which is why Zane should get his hairy ass to the showers and shave.”

He shoves my shoulder, but I shake him off. “I’m good.”

Reeves pushes from the other side. “Come on, Z. Put on your game face. Since you didn’t try to punch Carson in the face this week, Coach is going to let you play tonight.”

I should regret getting benched last week, but watching Carson’s eyes go wide when I swung at him is the closest thing I’ve felt to joy in two weeks. I’m not even sure what he said since he was too scared to say it above a whisper, but it was something about Mira.

Suffice it to say, he deserved it.

“More aerodynamic or not, the beard is not a good look.” Jace wrinkles his nose. “Rachelle said it makes it look like you don’t have a neck and now, I can’t unsee it. I’ll shave you myself.”

“Are we finally talking about the depression beard?” Daniel leaves his equipment cart in the walkway and slides onto the bench next to me. “I get it. I grew a beard any lumberjack would’ve been proud of when I lost my leg. But all glorious things must come to an end.”

I slap Daniel’s hand away from my face. “I don’t give a fuck what I look like.”

“Obviously,” he drawls. “But Taylor has mentioned the beard, too. Now feels like as good a time as any for an intervention.”

“I don’t need a fucking intervention!” I shove off the bench. “I don’t care about shaving or aerodynamics or whether we beat the Firebirds tonight. None of this bullshit fucking matters!”

My voice is still echoing in the now-silent locker room when my phone rings.

I recognize the ringtone and lunge for my locker. I answer it, breathless. “What do you have?”

“She’s still in town,” the P.I. says. “Desert Lodge, Room 224.”

If she ever was here, I figured she would've bolted by now. If she was really trying to run, she'd be half a country away.

Maybe that means she isn't trying to run.

“You’re sure?”

I ask every time, even though all it would take is an inkling for me to break down every door in the entire building.

“I saw her myself. I’m posted outside and she’s still in the room.”

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