Page 97 of Good Vibes Only
“Allred slips the check!”the play-by-play guy said.
Brett looked like a man determined to score. He raced into the slot with the puck on his stick, his head held high, an aura of confidence surrounding him.
“He’s going to score!” I yelled. After only a few games, I already had a sensewhen Brett was going to do something badass. And you justknowhe didn’t appreciate that hulking jerk, Ryder, trying to take his head off—he wanted to add insult to injury.
“Oh, what a move!”
With one highlight reel move after another, Brett sliced through layer after layer of Boston’s defense—until no man stood between him and the net but the goalie. He’d sucked all the air out of that rink, and even dazzled a hostile Boston crowd, who gasped in collective astonishment.
“Allred’s in all alone!”
A head fake got the big Brawlers goalie to drop to his knees, halving his size. With a quick move to the backhand, Brett seduced the goalie into sliding to the left. Now the right side of the net was left wide open—and Brett whipped the puck back to his forehand and fired. Cameras burst in a crescendo of white light, catching the moment the puck sailed into the open net.
“He shoots! He SCORES!”
Boston groaned, but us WAGs jumped off the couch and cheered.
“Your man is amagician,” Sofia said, and gave me a high-five.
I beamed with pride. I loved watching him play. He was so skilled, so confident, sogoodat what he did.
“He is pretty great, isn’t he?” I asked.
I just can’t wait until he’s actually mine,I thought.
24
Brett
The party was underway when I finally shoved the locker room doors open and made my way through the madness. The boys, tearing off their sweaty gear, danced like total goofballs and sang along to our victory song—“Viva Las Vegas” by Elvis.
The boys roared and sarcastically jeered when they spotted me:
“HEYYY, THERE HE IS!”
“SHOWTIME!”
“Nice of you to finally join us, bud!”
I chuckled. I was tied up for more than half an hour after the game ended. It’s not like Iwantedto do post-game interviews—but media obligations are part of the job. And after being named the number one star of the game, in addition to the NHL’s Player of the Week, several different outlets wanted to talk with me.
The question everyone wanted to ask was, what was the spark behind my red-hot play? I gave the normal, rote and vague answers hockey players always give—keeping it simple, banging bodies, going hard to the net, putting pucks on goal—but deep down?
McKayla,I thought, hiding my smile from the cameras.
Before I met her, I didn’t even realize how cynical I’d become. It’s not like I woke up one day and declared, “Hello, world! I’m giving up on women!” No; instead, it happened slowly. So slowly, I didn’t even realize it was happening until it was almost too late.
But I finally met the one girl who didn’t see me first as a “worthless short guy,” only to do a complete 180 once she found out I was a pro athlete.
Nah. For McKayla, it was kind of the opposite. Because she saw me for who I was from the beginning: just your average guy. An ordinary guy who, yes, happened to play hockey for a living. But she wouldn’t let my fame or money or status or whatever be an excuse for shitty behavior—she called me out when I needed to be called out.
And, funny thing, I liked it. I more than liked it—Ineededit. I just never knew it until I met her.
So it wasn’t just my game that was soaring. I felt like I was on top of the world. McKayla was a breath of fresh air, and I felt excited just to wake up every day. I felt like I was a kid again. I couldn’t waitto come home to her so we could start beingusfor real.
I high-fived the boys as I made my way through the locker room. The first thing I did when I got to my stall, before I even stripped off my equipment, was reach into my locker and check my cell phone. Just like she’d done for the other games we’d played this road trip, McKayla had sent me a dozen text messages throughout the course of the game.
I scrolled through and read them:
