Page 112 of Best Kept Secret
LOGAN
I’m on a high for a few reasons. First, I scored another game winning goal, taking the score to 4-3 with only eleven seconds left in the third. Secondly, Millie was up there in the stands watching her first game as my official girlfriend. Thirdly, my girl was wearing my fucking number, my name displayed proudly across her back. I can’t get to the locker room fast enough. All I want is to shower, get dressed, and go kiss my Red.
Unfortunately for me, as I file into the locker room, following Happy, I come face to face with fucking Dallas standing there looking like a brick wall in his pads, glaring down at me despite the cunning smirk tilting his lips, the rest of the guys standing behind him like a bunch of fucking backup dancing rejects.
“Did y’all hear this motherfucker’s been dating my little sister behind my back?” Dallas points at me.
The room erupts in hoots and hollers, wolf whistles and laughter. I roll my eyes.
“Been goin’ on since October,” Dallas continues.
“Oh, shit!” Someone laughs.
“Gentlemen?” Dallas glances over his shoulder at the rest of the team. “Can someone please remind Mr. Cullen of rule number four in our player code of conduct?”
“I can!” Happy chimes, and when I glance at him, the snitch has a copy of the fucking handbook in his grip, holding it in the air like it’s the goddamn Declaration of Independence. I glare at him. Best friend my fucking ass.
Biting back his grin, Happy clears his throat dramatically. “No player, current or past, shall engage in any relations with a family member of another player, without seeking prior approval from all parties involved.” He looks up at me with an apologetic smirk, pointing at the page. “Sorry, Loges. It’s right here in black and white, my guy.”
I roll my eyes, taking off my helmet. “That thing isn’t even an official document. A bunch of guys in the nineties came up with it one night when they were fucking drunk.”
“Yes.” Dallas nods. “And players have been adding to it every season since.”
“It’s basically our constitution,” Robbie says, with all seriousness.
“Pay up, fucker!” Rusty yells, thrusting one of his hairy, fat fingers in my face.
I throw my head back on a groan. “Fine. Whatever. What’s the fucking fine?”
“Five grand.”
“Five grand?” I guffaw, walking over to my cubby and taking a seat, unlacing my skates. “What the fuck for?”
“What are you saying, Cullen?” Dallas barks. “My sister’s not worth five fuckin’ grand?”
“She’s priceless,” I reply immediately without skipping a beat. “But five grand to pay to you losers for a made-up fucking player handbook?” I huff a laugh. “Diabolical.”
“Yeah, but it goes toward our end of season trip,” Robbie says with a shrug before his grin takes over and he waggles his eyebrows. “Vegas, baby!”
“Whatever,” I mutter, shaking my head, hiding my smirk as I pull my phone out of my hockey bag. “I’ll Venmo it right now to shut you dumb motherfuckers up.”
Before I can scroll to the Venmo app, I’m stopped by a text message from my dad and anxiety pits in my chest. I almost ignore it because I don’t want to risk his post-game play-by-play where he lists every single thing that I did wrong killing my buzz. But, as always, curiosity gets the better of me and I open the message, holding my breath.
Dad: Great game tonight. Congratulations, Son.
A lump forms in my throat as emotion tugs in my chest, my eyes burning as I read his words a few more times. This is a first. In my twenty-four years, he’s never once congratulated me on a win. He’s never complimented me without telling me what I also did wrong.
Me: Thanks.
I make quick work of transferring my bullshit fine to the player fund account before tucking my phone away and, with a contented sigh, I rest back against my cubby, looking out over the locker room filled with some of my closet friends. And for a moment, I can’t help but imagine if things had been different, if Levi were still here. Would we be playing together like he promised? Would he be a Thunder too? I’ll never know. I just hope that I’m making him proud, wherever he is. I’ll always miss him—not a day in my life will ever go by that I don’t think about Levi—but if I can’t have my brother with me on my team, I’m glad I’ve got this bunch of degenerates with me.
I follow Robbie out of the locker room, stopping to take a few photos and sign a few autographs before turning and heading up the tunnel when I’m stopped dead in my tracks.
Millie’s facing away from me, and I wasn’t prepared for whatmy name splayed across her back would do to me. It’s stilting, in the best possible way. And I suddenly want her to have my name on more than just her back.What the fuck, Cullen?
On my approach, I wrap my arms around her waist from behind. She doesn’t startle like someone else might; she immediately relaxes, knowing it’s me. Melting against my chest, she cranes her neck, looking at me over her shoulder, her smile the sweetest damn thing I’ve ever seen up close.
“Well, aren’t you two just adorable!” Fran gushes.
