Page 36 of Speed

Sure, okay, that was cool. Tease the rookie. I was fine with that. At least they hadn’t made me sit by the bathroom. Rumor had it that our British player, Callum Ward, always got the trots when he flew. I glanced back to find Callum, a cute-as-hell ginger, sipping at a cup of what I presumed was tea as one of the two attractive flight attendants made one last pass with trash bags. Both the young ladies were very pretty, but everyone was respectful. Word was that Cap had a sister who was an FA, so if he even peeped at you getting frisky with the flight attendants, he would chew you out in front of the whole team. How this was known, I hadn’t heard, but I could put two and two together.

I chuckled through my embarrassment. I knew I shouldn’t have brought the little plug along, but Brody was supposed to sneak into the game after signing into his hotel. The same hotel the Railers were staying at, because why would he not. I thought we could play a little with a very small plug if he was interested. Maybe ease him into butt fun.

“Hey, seriously, it’s all cool. We just like to razz the rookies,” Blake confided as he sat down beside me just as the buckle seat belts announcement was made.

“It’s cool, really. I was just daydreaming,” I fibbed.

“About the game tomorrow?”

“Yep, totally.” That was a lie. My first real pro game made me a little nervous, sure, but it was only preseason. Still, I couldn’t fluff it off. I’d been extra vigilant about being on time, working hard, and controlling my numbers. I didn’t want to give Coach any reason to scratch me from the roster. Every day, the numbers dwindled.

“It’ll be fine. None of us are really in great form yet, and the Phantoms are looking at a massive rebuild. Their biggest threat was Cole Harrington, but he’s been there four years, and he’s fucking up all the ways he can. The word is thatTrickisn’t much of a treat in the locker room.”

“That’s not surprising. Trick’s an asshole,” I huffed, recalling the snub from the number-one draft pick in Vegas. “I bet he’s an insufferable jerk to play with.”

“He’s got skills, but man, his attitude isnotflying with the new Phantoms coach,” Blake concurred. He leaned in. “Word is they’re looking to get rid of him.”

Trick was his own worst enemy. And not a worry of mine. He was in Atlanta, and I would only have to see him a max of two times, according to our regular season schedule. I saw enough of his father plastered all over town when he’d brought his ministry to Pittsburgh, posters about god wanting purity and all that shit. Like father, like son.

I refused to spend time thinking about Trick and, instead, pulled the conversation back to the team.

“So, is it true that Callum gets the trots whenever he flies?” I asked with a whisper as we banked to approach the airport.

“All I’m saying is to clear a path when we land,” Blake replied with a wink. I figured that wink was a bullshit wink. Blake had a tendency to spin a yarn, as Grandma used to say. I missed her so bad. She had taught me her native language, as well as how to make pirozhki, little meat pies, that I loved. Sadly, they were not diabetic-friendly, so I had to avoid them or pay the price after eating one. Still, whenever I thought of her, I thought of those delicious meat pies. Pops made them on her birthday every year. His were good, but they weren’t Grandma’s.

We all piled onto a charter bus after landing, my thoughts on my grandmother, Brody, and the game tomorrow afternoon when I was shunted like a puck down the aisle to sit by the bathroom.

“Pardon, pardon, bloody hell, move your bag, Frosty.” Callum came racing down the aisle, his hand on his lower belly. “Damn change in air pressure always riles my bowels!”

The team began to snicker as the bathroom door slammed shut. Cap strode back and handed me a bottle of Febreze.

“Rookie,” he said, passing the spring-scented air freshener over as if it were a baton in a race. “You’ve earned this. Use it well and without delay once the door opens.”

Everyone clapped. I stood, bowed, and held the air freshener lovingly.

“I shall spray with great respect for the honor this floral scented spray can bequeath,” I called out so even the coaches in the front of the charter bus could hear. The guys laughed.

I chuckled too until Callum exited the toilet ten minutes later.

I wetmy lips for the millionth time as I made my way to the ice for warm-ups.

Alone.

Just me. The rest of the Railers were chilling in the chute, grinning at me as I passed them. We all knew what was coming. My guts were like Callum’s after a bouncy flight. I’d told myself that when this day came, I’d be cool as a penguin. I was so not cool. Excitement mingled with nerves, but as I neared the pyramid of pucks stacked by the arena staff, I could feel the flush of adrenaline. I knocked the pucks to the ice, then skated out to take my rookie lap to polite, yet mediocre, applause from the Atlanta Phantoms fans. A videographer kneeling on the ice got to his feet to follow me with the camera as I took a few shots into an empty net. The cold air on my face and in my curls felt amazing.

Then, the other teams joined me, many of the Phantoms players taking a second to wish me good luck. The Railers passed me my skid lid and thumped me on the noggin. Of course, Cole ‘Trick” Harrington the Goddamn third was one of the Atlanta players to blow right by me, nose in the air.

“Douche,” I muttered under my breath as he stretched off in a corner by himself.

“Totally douche canoe with tiny paddles,” Nik commented at my side. I took a moment to let my nerves settle and looked around the rink. The seats weren’t full, but it was preseason, and the team was struggling. The addition of Trick to the ranks had brought big excitement to the fans four years ago, but as whispers of him being reluctant to play in Atlanta began to surface, the joy was slowly dwindling. Or so the player rumor mill said. “We play hard. Big win.”

I nodded with enthusiasm. My plan was to play all-out.

And so, when my third line rolled over the boards for the first time, I was more than ready. I wished my fathers were here, but both had come down with colds, and they’d opted to stay away so as not to spread the crud to me. Brody though, was out there somewhere. He’d texted right after we’d arrived at the arena to let me know he was checking into the hotel under the name Rex Racer, which had cracked me up. Only Brody would run incognito under the name of the evil racecar driver inSpeed Racer. He had a pretty sharp sense of humor, I was learning. While I was excited to play tonight, I was just as excited to meet up with Brody in my room later.

The national anthem was sung as I rocked back and forth in the bench area, my helmet off, my attention on the tips of my skates. I wasn’t thinking of anything other than hockey, which was front and center right now. When the crowd cheered, I sat, my wingers on each side, and felt a thousand butterflies burst to life inside my breast.

Atlanta won the faceoff at center ice, and they were off. Trick was truly a phenom. It was like watching tapes of Tennant when he had first come into the league. The grace on the ice, the soft hands, the innate sense of where to pass and when, or even if, to pass at all were things those generational players were born with. The downside to the greatness that was Trick was a selfish player. Unlike most of the great ones, he had zero humility, but a heaping fucking helping of ego. He knew he was good, and he liked to make sure the rest of the world also knew.

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