Page 80 of One Night Only
Feeling a body press up behind me, far too close for comfort, I stiffen, spinning around to see North Carolina’s center, Charlie Bradman, standing right there, arms folded across his chest, smirk menacing as he stares me down.
His lackies crowd behind him, trying to look intimidating, and it’s almost laughable. What is this?The Outsiders? Am I on theirturf? Are they ready torumble? Rolling my eyes, I shake my head, turning back to the counter.
“That’s about all he’s good at,” one of the other guys says with a derisive snort. “Lookin’ pretty.”
“Sure as hell can’t stop a fuckin’ puck,” someone scoffs.
As goaltender for the worst team in the NHL for the last two years running, I’m no stranger to chirping, on and off the ice. And up until we started winning this season, wherever I went, if there were any hockey fans around, you can bet your ass I was on the receiving end of some smart mouth bullshit all while just trying to go about my own business. Because of that, my skin is pretty thick. As a professional athlete, it’s kind of a prerequisite. But tonight is different. Tonight, I can feel every word, and it’s visceral. Affecting me in a way words never have.
The benefit of being a goalie is that you have an entire team of guys who have your back and will fight for you so that you don’t have to. And while I can fight, I don’t like it. I’ve never been a fighter. I’m not an angry person. But with the way my jaw is clenching, my hands balling into fists… these assholes are about to face the full wrath of a pissed off Dallas Shaw. I hope they’ve got dental insurance.
Tipping my hat back, I turn around to face them, standing upto my full height because, yes, I’ve got a good few inches over Charlie Bradman. Guy’s a good skater, but he’s barely five-ten. Not that I care, but he’s made it public knowledge that he suffers from small man syndrome. There’re memes circulating about the guy and his Napoleon complex.
Stepping up so we’re toe-to-toe, I look down my nose at him. “You got a problem, my guy?”
Charlie cackles like a hyena, looking around like he’s confused.
I just keep staring at him. Waiting for whatever it is we’re about to get into.
“Yeah, I do got a problem,” he sneers, getting in so close I can feel his breath on my chin. “I don’t like losers inmybar.”
I rub my chin, concealing my smirk behind my hand, looking over my shoulder at the bartender. “Excuse me, sir… does the guy behind me”—I thumb in Charlie’s direction—“own this place?”
Clearly confused, the bartender glances from me to Charlie and back again. “Nah, the guy who owns this place is eighty-seven, and he lives in the apartment upstairs.”
Turning back to Charlie, I arch a brow.
“You think you’re funny, Shaw?” Charlie scoffs. “Showing your face around here after we kicked your ass?”
I hold my hands up in surrender. “Congratulations. You won. No one is disputing that.”
“Three beers and a coke,” the bartender says, pulling my attention back to him.
I toss some money onto the counter and grab the tray of drinks, winking as I walk past Charlie and his minions and head back to our booth where Robbie, Logan, and Happy are all watching on, positioned to jump up at any moment.
“We’re playing Detroit on Saturday,” Charlie says loud enough for me to hear.
It’s his tone that causes me to stop dead in my tracks, the skin at the back of my neck prickling, because I think I know whathe’s about to say, and I pray to whatever God may or may not exist that he doesn’t—for his fucking sake.
“I’ll be sure to stop in and say hey to your sister.”
I can’t believe he fucking went there. What is it with small men having all the goddamn audacity? Closing my eyes, I steel myself as best as I can, as Robbie, Logan, and Happy jump up from the booth.
“It’s not worth it man,” Robbie warns.
I hand him the tray.
Turning, I take a steady step back toward Charlie and his goons, ducking down and cupping a hand around my ear. “What was that? I couldn’t quite hear you all the way up here, little guy.”
Charlie’s jaw clenches so tight, I see it tic.
“I said,” he begins, slowly, annunciating each word. “I’ll stop by Ann Arbor when we’re in Detroit this week. Pay your sister a visit.” His slimy grin is more than a little punchable.
“Don’t do it,” Robbie hisses next to me.
I clench my fist, cracking my knuckles. But just as I’m about to rear my arm back to get in a good swing, I’m shoved from behind.
“I’ll fuckin’ do it,” Logan mutters, pushing past me and launching at Charlie so fast, the dude doesn’t even see him coming.
