Page 82 of Face Off
“What’s wrong is I prefer hitting things over throwing things.” I stand with the ax above my head and give it a hard toss. It lands in the center of the wooden board, and I pumpmy fist. “That’s what I’m talking about. Hey, Red. How’s it going down there?”
“Not well,” she calls out, and she drops her head back. “This is bullshit.”
I leave my lane and walk over to her, laughing when I see that her ax landed wide right.
“You don’t like not being anything but good at something, do you?” I ask.
“No.” Emerson stares at the board. “I don’t understand the technique. It goes against everything I’ve been taught as a hockey player.”
“But a good way to get out any frustration you might have, right?” I back off and give her some space. “Try again. Focus on the target. Imagine the board as a net.”
Emerson huffs. She lifts the ax in the air and launches it forward. It doesn’t hit the bullseye, but it comes closer than her last toss.
“Better,” I say. “Nice job.”
“I was envisioning your face as the target,” she tells me. “Maybe it will help me win.”
“You haven’t checked the score?” I lift my chin toward the whiteboard we’ve all been updating as we play. Seymour is in the top spot, and Liam is right behind him. Riley is dead last, the poor fucker, and Emerson isn’t doing much better than him. “You can’t catch up, which means you’ve officially lost to me, Red. Looks like you’re coming to the bar and I’m keeping?—”
“Donotfinish that sentence,” she warns me.
“What are you keeping?” Grant asks. “Did you take something of hers? Stealing isn’t cool, Mavvy.”
“I accidentally shoved her gloves in my bag the other night when we were in Chicago. They’re better than mine, and I want to keep them,” I explain.
“Oh.” Grant looks at Emerson, and he wrinkles his eyebrows. “What brand are they? Bauer is the only way to go. They’re expensive as shit, but if you need a new pair, you should check them out. Make sure you get the Pro series, not the HyperLytes. Those suck.”
“Thanks, Grant.” She pats his shoulder, and he beams. “I’ll keep that in mind since it seems like Miller doesn’t understand what ownership means.”
“I understand it perfectly. You’re the one who doesn’t understand Finders Keepers.” I wink at her, and she scowls. “Enjoy your last few throws. You might be a loser on the board, Hartwell, but you’re a winner in my book.”
I hurry back to my lane and ignore the two middle fingers she gives me.
TWENTY-THREE
EMMY
The bar Connorleads us to is darker than Johnny’s.
Smokier, too, and the stench of alcohol from the last forty years hangs in the air.
“We’ll grab a table,” Hudson says. “Can you get me a beer?”
“Sure.” Maverick looks at Connor and Riley. “You boys want anything?”
“A water for me.” Riley rubs his neck and closes his eyes. “My back still isn’t right from that hit in Milwaukee, and I don’t want to do anything to piss off my body before our game tomorrow.”
“You haven’t gone to see Lexi?” I ask, and even in the dim lighting, I can tell the tips of his ears turn pink at the mention of her name. “She’s a miracle worker. My hamstring was acting up last week, and she massaged the pain right out of me.”
“I don’t want to bother her with something so silly. I’m doing some exercises I found online and using a heating pad. I’ll be okay in a few days.” Riley smiles. “Thanks for looking out for me, Emmy.”
“I’ll take a beer,” Connor says, and the three of them head around the corner.
Maverick’s fingers brush along my hip as he moves from my left side to my right and leans over the bar. “I didn’t realize we were going somewhere that’s been around since the Stone Age.”
“What are you talking about? It’s perfect. It reminds me of this bar back home I used to go to with my dad,” I say.
“Michiganders don’t give a fuck, do they?”
