Page 47 of Fair Play
Then he turns and leaves the room.
Shit.
Have I been so caught up in my thoughts about Billie that my performance has been…lackluster?I mean, we won two out of three. But the last game was rough. I may not have been at my best, but neither was anyone else.
Well, tonight I’ll make sure it’s different.
If Coach wants my A game, that’s what he’ll get.
My teammates may not like me, but I can make sure they need me.
In an effort to change my reputation a little and not be such a loner, I’ve tried to tone down the chirping and on-ice antics. Unfortunately, that appears to have been a mistake. One I won’t make going forward.
“Let’s do this, boys!” Jensen Bang, our team captain, looks around the room. “Are we ready? Gabby—you ready?”
“Fuck yeah.” Gabe nods, grabbing his stick.
“You ready, Marky-Mark?” He looks to Canyon Marks.
“All systems go, bro.”
“That’s what I’m talkin’ about.” He turns to me. “How about you, Cassie? You ready to kick some ass out there?”
I hate that nickname—it’s short for Castellano—but I nod because it’s expected. “Always.”
“Then let’s go.”
Gabe leads us out onto the ice and it’s immediately evident that the crowd here in Minneapolis is fired up. It’s loud and energy is high. That’s either really good or really bad, because it means our opponents will be overconfident and not give it their all, or they’ll be on fire.
Either way, if they want me to make some shit happen, I have an arsenal of tricks up my sleeve.
My legs feel heavy when I step on the ice, but that’s just nerves. Once I’ve loosened up, I’ll put everything out of my mind. The crowd, Coach’s distinct warning, even Billie. All of that will be compartmentalized until the game is over.
“Coach was in a mood, eh?” Marty asks, skating next to me as we warm up.
“Last game was tragic,” I say, shrugging. “We need to do better. Especially me.”
“Nah, he was just lighting a fire under your ass. Everybody knows it’s their ass next time.”
Maybe, maybe not, but I’m not going to argue with him.
I have a job to do and they’re paying me over a million dollars a year to do it.
The game is rough,and despite my best efforts, I’m having a hell of a time making anything happen out there. And it’s not just me. Jensen is built like a proverbial Mack truck, and is constantly throwing his weight at people, but it’s like they’re immovable. Canyon is a league-leading scorer and he can barelyget his stick on the puck. The only reason we’re not losing by a dozen goals is because Gabe is all but standing on his head.
Coach switched things up and put me on the first line with Canyon and Connor, who are elite scorers, but by the third period we’re tired, aggravated, and beyond frustrated. There’s nothing worse than a game like this, but the score is 1-0. We’re only down by one. If someone—anyone—could just make something happen, we’d tie it up.
And that someone is going to be me.
I don’t know how, but as we make our way down the tunnel toward the ice, I feel an old tingle of excitement. A feeling that only hits me occasionally, something that burns deep and doesn’t show itself often. It’s confidence along with a good dose of will power—if I can wish it hard enough, it’ll happen.
The last time I felt it was two years ago, right after my second divorce, and that night I scored the only hat trick of my career. A hat trick isn’t the goal tonight, but all the better if I can make it happen.
Right on the opening faceoff, one of the D-men on the other team chirps at me.
“How’s it hangin’, old man?” He smirks.
Damn, the kid doesn’t look old enough to drive, much less play in the NHL.
