Page 26 of Shutout
“Actually, I just don’t want to think about it.”
“Fair.” She goes back to crunching.
“Hmm.” Mina narrows her eyes at me, obviously dying of curiosity. But she surprises me by saying, “What you need is a change in your routine to really distract you from whatever this is that you’re gonna tell us all about later.”
I snort. “What do you have in mind?”
She folds her arms. “Get dressed to find out.”
“I am dressed.” I motion at my sweats.
“In something that is more chic than hobo, please.”
I turn to Dee. “Do you know what she’s planning?”
“No, but whatever it is, I’m in.”
I frown. “I’m not sure I like this.”
“Just trust me.”
Those are famous last words for a reason. And an hour later—because that’s how long it takes for Mina to approve of my outfit—I try to cling to the car door while Mina usesher entire weight to pull me toward the St. Cloud hockey arena.
“Nope! Not gonna happen.”
“It’ll be fun, I promise.”
“I hate hockey and you all know it.”
“And yet you know almost more about it than Dee.”
The alluded stands placidly off the side and says, “Well, she’s the sister of two hockey legends, so…”
“Mina, I don’t—oof.”
My words are drowned by the blow. I land partially on her, one of her knees digging into my butt cheek, my elbow knocking the wind out of her.
This is my chance to escape her evil crutches. I roll to the side and push up on all fours. But I’m not even able to get on my feet before Dee stands in front of me, crouched down ready to check me against the car. She plays defense and is clearly on Mina’s side, so she definitely would.
Slowly, I stand up and raise my hands. As if they were marching me into prison and not to the hockey arena, Dee grabs me by one arm and Mina by the other. If Dee isn’t playing, it obviously means that tonight is some Bolts game. We’re two weeks from the opening of the season, which must mean this is a pre-season game.
We walk into the premises and the smell of popcorn assaults my senses, making my stomach grumble like a lion. I mutter, “If you’re gonna kidnap me, at least have the decency to feed me.”
“Fine.” Mina shrugs. “Dee, convey our guest of honor to our seats while I get us some snacks.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Dee promptly obeys by pushing me toward one of the doors down to the stands.
And down we awkwardly shuffle through the steps. And down some more. The ice is getting dangerously close. “Hmm, don’t tell me we have front row seats.”
“Sure do!” Dee beams up at me from a rung below. “It took pulling some strings, but we got them.”
I make another attempt to escape, but there’s no way I could possibly out-maneuver an elite hockey athlete. She may look cute and sweet on the outside, but Dee’s made of solid muscle. Like someone else I know. Someone I’m dreading to see.
Yet, the second my behind is parked on what apparently is my seat, my eyes immediately dart around looking for blue jerseys with grey and white details. But the ice is devoid of any players yet.
Funny how relief and disappointment can mix so well in someone’s gut, huh?
This is why I don’t like hockey. It can bring you up and down faster than a rollercoaster. Like when you’re six years old, watching your older sister skate up the ice like she’s a superhero, and then she gets checked so hard that her spine breaks and she doesn’t get up. Or like when your older brother and your best friend are still obsessed with the game after that, even though they saw the accident too. Like that.
