Page 84 of Shutout
Maybe tonight, after the game, he’s going to ask me if I have a thing for him or what. Heaven knows I’ve been acting unlike me around him for weeks. And if so, screw it, I’ll confess. I can be chill about this. I’m a grown ass twenty year old woman.
*
Two hours later, I am absolutely not chill while I sit alone in the stands. Mina wanted to come since this one’s a home game and the Strikes have the away one tonight. But she has a library shift that prevents her from cheering for her potential man. Unlike Brooke and I, Mina and Dane seem to have hit it off pretty well after last weekend and already went on a date. Why can’t I be that bold? Why do I have to overthink every damn thing?
My eyes latch onto Brooke the second he jumps the benchto start a shift. I jam my hand into the popcorn carton, all the way down until I reach the empty bottom.
Dinner. That’s what he said. We’re gonna have dinner after the game, which means he’s going to be in one piece after the buzzer—and he better, or else. But it also means I should stop stress-eating. I can always stress drink, but my soda is also out.
My knee bounces as Brooke zooms down the ice like there’s no one there. If his opponents were any smart, they’d stop him no matter what even when he doesn’t carry the puck like right now. But they’re too busy trying to score a goal on us and they give Brooke too much leeway.
He checks an opposing forward so hard, the sound echoes all around the arena before the audience breaks into cheers. Brooke doesn’t stop. He’s a blue whirlwind as he steals the puck and passes it over to Dane with such accuracy, you wouldn’t think this is a live game.
Too late an opposing player tries to come at Brooke. I jump to my feet. But he doesn’t take the hit. He bends down low even as he glides down the ice, and the other guy goes flying over him. It’s a party trick that makes the whole place roar. In contrast, I melt back on my chair.
Good, he’s still safe. No new scars. Whew.
The buzzer goes off to end the second period. Nervous energy courses through my veins, making my limbs springy. I let them carry me back to the concessions area, which suddenly strikes me as a great idea. Not my fault if I miss a portion of the third period if the line is too long, right?
My chest pangs. What if Brooklyn tries to find me in the crowd and can’t see me, though? That’d disappoint him. Worse case, it would unfocus him and that could be dangerous.
Swiveling around, I head back the way I came when something in the corner of my eye catches my attention. Two tall men stand between the moving crowd, and I’m at an angle torecognize one face. It’s Coach Green. I keep going, because it’s none of my business.
Except, I’m close enough that I can now see the second guy. And while I have no idea who he is, I sure recognize the pin on the lapel of his suit jacket.
It’s the logo of the team that drafted Brooklyn.
“Sorry,” I mumble to some girls as I change path and get in their way. “Sorry, sorry.” I twist and turn to navigate through the crowd until I reach them. I position myself just off Coach Green’s back, where he won’t see me and where it doesn’t matter if the other guy does.
Lucky for me, I catch the conversation still at its inception because Coach Green’s saying, “—Owe this visit today?”
“I wanted to check in on Tatum,” the second guy says.
My stomach drops.
Of course. I mean, I know for a fact that no other Bolts have been drafted by this professional team. This is why Ihadto eavesdrop. But why am I still surprised?
“I see you made him captain.”
“Yes. It was an easy choice.” Coach Green’s shoulders lift. “He’s the best player in the team by far, and the rest of them look up to him.”
“That’s good, leadership skills are important. But his on-ice skills are what I’m here for.”
I wish I could ask him, well? What does that mean? Is there abutat the end of his sentence? Because if so I will fight him. Brooklyn is the most hardworking guy I know, and that’s even excluding his abundant talent.
I find myself pushing my sleeves up before Coach speaks again. “The kid is wasted on this team.”
Oh.
I mean, yeah. He is. He wasn’t the highest drafted defenseman by accident. The only reason he wasn’t numberone is because he’s not a forward, and those are always the ones with the highest demand.
“I agree,” the pro guy says with a nod. “That’s why I’m here to take him.”
I freeze.
“I—sorry, what?” Coach asks.
“We’ve had a lot of injuries this season and we need horsepower. I know it’s going to screw up your season, but this is a great opportunity for the kid.”
