Page 3 of Fated Shot

Maddox smirked, relishing in the aggravation from everyone as he slowly circled back into position for the faceoff. The second the puck dropped, my gloves were off.

It wasn’t even close. I landed one clean hit connecting square with his jaw, enough to knock him to the ground, and the refs immediately jumped in to separate us. The entire team was on their skates, slamming their sticks against the boards. The fans went absolutely batshit, and the rest was history.

As I pull into my parking space, an obnoxiously bright red F-150 catches my eye, parked right beside me. I hop out of the front seat and head to the trunk to grab the rest of my bags. Most of my stuff is already out of the Wyndham rental, but I left a duffel bag with essentials there, just in case I want to crash one last time before the season starts and I'm back in the city full-time.

With my hands full, I stride to the elevator. As it ascends to the twenty-fifth floor, the familiar ping of my phone breaks the silence just seconds into the ride. I shift my bags to my right hand and check the email. Subject line: Douglas and Beverly Cameron invite you to join their family… Coach’s start of season barbecue, this time at their home in Wyndham. I haven’t run into Coach Cameron all summer despite residing within the same fifteen-mile radius for weeks on end.

Douglas Cameron played in the show for ten years before retiring, and he was damn good too. Started in Toronto for six years before getting traded to the Vancouver Vortex to finish out his career. After that, he made the transition to coaching. I can’t think of a single team he hasn’t been a part of. He finds inefficiencies and fills whatever role is expected of him. He was an assistant coach for the New York Knights for four years before taking his place as Head Coach for the Toronto Tundra two years ago.

He has single-handedly turned this team around. The man respects hard work and expects us to put it all out there every night we step on the ice. A lot of the guys love having Coach lead us, myself included.

As soon as the elevator dings, a loud “BRODY!” booms through the air before I can take another step. Suddenly, I’m pulled into a bear hug that lifts me an inch off the ground.

“Easy there, Penn. We get it, you lift,” I joke as I take in the guy in front of me. He’s put on even more bulk since the end of last season, filling out his Storm t-shirt, with his tousled blonde hair grown out longer than I’ve seen in a while. “You need a haircut there, buddy.”

“Nah, I’m growing out the flow. It works for me, don’t ya think?”

I smile, pleading the fifth. He’s four years younger than I am, and although I’m a few inches taller and have at least forty pounds on him, the guy is a physical tank.

Penn Brooks has pure skill, energy to spare, and more talent than I could ever dream of. Less than a year into playing in the AHL, he got called up and has been playing for the Tundra ever since. I helped move him into Maplewood Tower midwaythrough last year when we found out he was going to finish out the rest of the season with our team. He’s got the apartment next to mine, which helps me keep an eye on him and keeps him out of trouble.

It took all of two days for this idiot to set the fire alarm off after deciding it was a good idea to roast a marshmallow on his gas stovetop. Keeping him alive and well is just part of my job description at this point, but having known him my entire life, I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Penn picks up the bag I dropped to the floor and turns, heading straight toward my door.

“Wrong one, big guy,” I mutter as he leads the way, letting himself in.

“Well, if it isn’t the recluse!” Evan Norwood, our goalie, calls out from the cloud sofa in my living room, feet resting lazily on the coffee table. My brand new coffee table.

“Decided to take your sweet time, eh there, Brody?” My D-partner, Max Dunn, chimes in from next to him. “We’ve been waiting here for an hour. I’m starving.”

“Chill, I already called. They said it’ll be fifteen minutes,” Penn quips back as he settles in on the other end of the couch.

From the kitchen, I hear a voice call out. “Oh, would you leave the man be? He’s a busy guy, isn’t that right, Brody?” As my refrigerator door closes, Scott Sheppard, our captain, appears, holding a bottle of water. He reaches out his hand, and I slap it, pulling him into a quick hug.

“It’s good to see you, Cap. How’s Camille doing? Kaia?” I ask, ignoring the douches on my couch who went back to playing Call of Duty almost immediately.

“Cami’s good, in her element, ya know? Always seems to know what to do. We spent some time in Prince Edward Island with her family. Kaia had her first swim. Couldn’t get her out of the water for twenty minutes.” He smiles, pulling up a picture oftheir chunky six-month-old daughter in a pool floaty. We catch up for a little bit longer as I scroll through a few more pictures of their family-filled summer. A slight pang of envy settles over me.

Before I have time to dwell on that feeling, the doorbell rings, and Penn calls out to the room, “Pizza’s here, boys.”

Scott grabs his wallet before I even make it to the door. “This one’s on me,” he says, handing me the stack of five pizza boxes.

I manage a “Thanks, Cap,” over the pile and make my way into the kitchen.

Max and Evan bolt off the couch, slap me on the back in greeting, and lean past me to grab slices of pizza from the boxes I set on the kitchen island. My lovely friends, everyone.

I turn to Penn. “How’d you know I was back? I told you I was coming in tomorrow.” He looks back at me, a slight tilt in his head as if to imply I should already know. Realization sweeps over me. This fucker is tracking me.

“It goes both ways, you know. I share my location, you share yours.” A necessity that came about last year when he wandered off one night with a girl from TorontoU and texted me lost at 2 am to come pick him up. I’ve had to sleep with my sound on ever since.

“Stalking’s not a good look, Brooksy,” Max calls back from his reclaimed seat on the couch, mouth full of pepperoni pizza.

“Yeah, thanks, tips. I don’t make a habit of it, unlike some people. Why don’t you tell that to Brod—” Penn starts to joke as he catches the warning look I snap at him. Thankfully, none of the other guys seem to notice and they continue to chow down on the pizza.

Penn knows about my mystery girl, not because I told him, but because this fucker likes to listen in on my conversations. I was FaceTiming Reid, his older brother, one day while he was visiting Penn in Toronto.

Reid Brooks has been my best friend since I was five. We grew up on the same street, always running to catch the bus in the morning and spending our afternoons hanging out after school. We played on the same team for years, carpooling to every practice and game. Penn would try to tag along, too, always wanting to hang out with us. Sure, we would let him join, but it was the two of us who were inseparable. Our bond has only grown over the years, raised like brothers. It’s tough living far from him, but having Penn around is nice too. Most of the time, that is.

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