Page 28 of Branded
“Did you break things then?”
The ball I’d been tossing hit the carpet. “What?”
“You say you’re best at breaking things and hitting guys. I’m just wondering if that’s how you’ve always played or if it’s something that’s evolved over the years.”
“I…” I picked up the ball. “Well, I wasn’t as big of a guy then. I used to play, or”—a shrug—“at least, I used to think that I was a bit like Marcel. Smooth and fast, good hands. Then, my coach…well, we decided that I was better suited for defense.”
She frowned.
“It’s not like it seems. I was just…a disappointment—” Fuck. Why had I said it like that? Now her expression was concerned, and she was looking at me like…fuck, like I was a little bit pathetic. “I just…I had a better chance of moving forward as defense. The position came more naturally and I love it. I really do. Protecting Marty. Being able to jump up in the play occasionally. But I really like working my ass off for the guys. That’s my comfort zone, and though I missed the excitement of being the one who was getting all the glitz and attention at first.” I grinned at her. “We aren’t professionals because we’re not competitive.” She smiled back. “I’m glad I found my way back to the blue line. If my coach hadn’t suggested”—ordered, really, but coaches didn’t do anything else, did they?—“then I wouldn’t be here, glitz or otherwise.”
Hazel leaned back in her chair, her expression gentle, but not giving anything else away as she studied me.
And for some reason, I was…tense.
Was she judging me?
Had I said the right thing?
Would she think I was a disappointment, too? That I wouldn’t fit with the team and?—
Her lips curved. “I could see you with some glitz,” she teased. “Glitter in that beard? A sparkly bowtie to go with all the plaid?”
Laughter bubbled up in my chest, and I tossed the ball, sending it sailing through the hoop. “I could totally rock some glitter and sparkles.”
The crack of my stick.
The cool air on my cheeks seeping in through my beard.
Long, flowing locks…on my face.
Heh.
I wondered if Kailey liked beards.
Maybe I should trim it up, try to look a little more put together. Maybe if I cleaned up decently, she would?—
“Ow!” I cried, leaning forward and bracing against the sting of a puck hitting me right between the shoulder blades. I sucked in a breath, whipped around to glare at Theo. The bastard was looking suspiciously innocent.
But being as I had been part of plenty of mischief, I knew when someone was up to no good.
“What?” Theo asked, skating over, and snagging a puck.
Another puck.
The first being the one that had beaned me right between the shoulder blades.
“I’m so glad that we’re on opposite teams for the scrimmage,” I said.
And yeah, my tone was more than a little evil, and Theo went a little pale, but the skinny little fucker needed to understand to not fuck with me.
I was the one who did the fucking?—
And also, yeah, that wasn’t going to be a thought I uttered aloud.
Ever.
A whistle trilled, and I glanced up to see Tommy Franklin gesturing us over. Tommy was a former NHL player and had been the Breakers’ head coach for a number of years. I was noncommittal about him and the job he was doing as a coach, but since I mostly worked with Jacob Ralston, the D coach—also a former player—who had a sharp mind, was funny as hell, and hadn’t been there, standing by and doing fucking nothing when Mark Fucking Shelby had been tearing the team apart piece by piece a couple of seasons ago, I could remain fairly neutral about the man who had been there while Shelby was spewing his poison.
