Page 1 of Face Off
ONE
EMMY
I’ve beenaround a lot of penises in my life, but the one six inches away from my face is the last one I ever wanted to see.
“Grady.” I throw my arm over my eyes in a desperate attempt to shield myself from his flaccid dick. “We made it two seasons without this friendship turning weird, and you pick my last day to act like a creep? And in a sacred space like our locker room of all places?”
“Someone stole my boxers.” Grady Whitlock, my best friend and one of the only reasons I’ve survived my stint as left winger with the San Diego Iguanas of the ECHL, the NHL’s AA league, has never been the shy type. “You know I’m not like that.”
“The proximity of your balls to my mouth says otherwise. I think I might have nightmares.”
“Hang on.” There’s a string of mumbled curses followed by the zip of a duffle bag and the rustle of clothes. “Okay. You can look now.”
I open one eye and sigh in relief when I find myself staring at dark jeans and not a scrotum. “Thank god. Who stole your boxers?”
“Probably Andrew,” Grady grumbles. “The fucker has had it out for me ever since I beat him in last week’s practice shootout. Sorry, Em.”
“I forgive you, but only if you never show me your junk again,” I say.
“Maybe we can hypnotize the memory out of you.”
“That, or I’ll take a sledgehammer to my skull. You’re going to have to find someone else to flash, buddy. My flight is in three hours, and then I’m out of here for good.”
Grady frowns. “This place isn’t going to be the same without you, Emmy.”
“Getting called up to the big leagues was the last thing on my bingo card for this year, and I’m this close to freaking out.” I pinch the air with my thumb and forefinger. “Come to think of it, can you show me your dick again? It’s veiny, but it’s way less terrifying than thinking about the future. Me? An NHL player? Are theysure?”
“Ah.” He rubs his jaw and smiles. “We’re in the deflecting stage, I see. People call what you’re experiencingemotions, Emmy. You should embrace them. They don’t make you weak.”
“I know that.” I wave him off, but a string in my chest pulls tight when I look at him. “It’s all very sudden.”
He walks toward me. When he’s close enough to reach, he cups my cheeks with warm fingers and calloused palms. “You can do hard things, Em. This transition isn’t going to be easy, but it’s the opportunity of a lifetime.”
Dammit.
I was really hoping to sneak out of here without our conversation turning deep. Grady has this way of drawing big, scary feelings out of me and forcing me to wear my heart on my sleeve, and I’m not sure I can handle that today.
I fidget with a loose thread on my shorts. My palms are clammy as I tug on the long, frayed strands of denim, and I swallow down a deep breath.
“Am I out of my mind to take this offer? For giving up the sure thing I have here? You know I hate sitting still, but it feels like I’m jumping into the ocean without a life vest.”
“Think of it as the next step. A redirection,” Grady says, always the voice of reason in our locker room. “You’ve worked so hard for this. It was only a matter of time before an opportunity came knocking.”
Call me selfish, but Ihaveworked hard for this.
Really fucking hard, and now I have a chance to play for the DC Stars, our NHL affiliate team.
The Stars used to be a powerhouse who made it to the playoffs a record-setting twenty-four years straight. They’re in a slump now, and they can’t seem to break out of it.
They’re coming off their eighth losing season in a row. A Stanley Cup Champion banner hasn’t been unveiled in a decade and a half, and things aren’t starting well for them this year, either.
An early season injury left their elite rookie winger with an ACL tear, and they’ve been rotating AHL guys through the empty roster spot without any success.
I learned all of this during a call with my agent and the Stars head coach. After nearly half an hour of flattery and reciting a list of my accolades that stretch back to high school, Coach Saunders extended me a contract offer because he liked how I played and admired my tenacity.
I kept waiting for someone to tell me it was a joke. A giant misunderstanding that should’ve happened to a different Emerson Hartwell, but the punchline never came.
And now here I am, with my bags packed and my heart in my throat as I lean forward and hug the man who’s become a brother to me.
