Page 8 of Puck'n Bully
As I take in his stony expression, I realize he doesn’t recognize me.
The young man standing before me is the same guy I pulled out of the ocean a couple of months back when I was living in Long Island.
He’d been soaked to the skin back then, his midnight-black hair plastered to his forehead. His lips were split and swollen while his entire body was peppered with dark bruises and scars.
As I stare at him now, he’s almost unrecognizable. He towers over me, wearing dark jeans, black sneakers, and a Thunder Knights team jacket.
“What the hell’s wrong with this kid?” someone from behind Pirate mutters, breaking the moment between us. “Does he not want us to enter this place?”
“I think he’s bedazzled from colliding with our star center,” a second guy in a Knights jacket comments. He drapes a long arm over Pirate’s shoulder and grins at me. “Can you find us a table, Shortie?”
Anger shoots through me at his callous comment but I purse my lips and step away. Bending down, I pick up my tray just before the hockey fans flock toward Pirate and the surrounding men in the Knights varsity jackets.
“You guys were awesome tonight!
“Go, Team Knights! Go Thunder! Yeah!”
“Hail the Knights!”
The entire diner echoes with the deafening cries of the hockey fans. I’m carelessly shoved aside as they gather around the players.
Pirate is so tall, that I can easily glimpse his face over the sea of fans. A smug grin is plastered over his face as he soaks up the adoration of the crowd.
I guess he doesn’t remember me, I realize, feeling a stab of disappointment.
Even though it was just a night, I never forgot about the vulnerable young man I saved from drowning in the sea. His dark gray eyes had been as unfathomable as the sea itself but he’d allowed me to help him.
I could tell he was in a lot of pain that night, both physical and emotional, so I never forced any questions on him. He’d even refused to tell me his name.
Is this the reason he didn’t reveal anything about himself?
Pirate is a star hockey player for the Thunder Knights and the whole town seems to hero worship him. I’ve never been into any kind of sports but even I can tell he’s popular.
“Liam,” a familiar feminine voice rouses me from my thoughts.
“Hey, Liz,” I say, glancing toward the owner of the diner. She’s in her late forties and is dressed in an impressive blue dress that matches the Knight’s blue jersey.
“You need to focus, Liam,” she says with a shake of her head. “It’s going to be a very busy evening for us. I can’t have you spacing out in the middle of things.”
“Sorry,” I mutter, hurrying toward the kitchen.
The counter is overflowing with plates of prepared food. Sarah, one of the other servers, grins at me before starting to pile up her tray.
“Is it always this crazy after a game?” I ask, joining her.
“Oh, this is nothing,” she says, sniggering. “Tonight was just the first game of the season. You should see the town when the Knights play against the Silver Bears or the Raiders from UPenn. It’s absolute mayhem in all the diners and bars on those nights because the fans keep getting into fights.” She hoists the heavy tray in her hands and winks. “Welcome to Knightswood, Meyers.”
A dry chuckle escapes me as I load my tray and head out after her.
I had no idea Knightswood University would have such a craze for ice hockey. The only reason I transferred here for my final semesters was to work at their state-of-the-art laser lab in the Physics department.
Noise and chaos engulf me the moment I step back into the dining room.
I want to take another look at Pirate and see if he’s really forgotten about me but I never get a chance. The place is so crowded I have to be extra careful with my heavy tray and avoid colliding with the overexcited sports fans.
I soon get into a rhythm, taking orders and delivering them to the droves of ravenous hockey enthusiasts. Almost three hours pass by before I get a chance to take a break.
“Can you empty the bin, Liam?” Maggie, the head cook, hollers at me just as I’m taking a sip from a bottle of water.
