Page 67 of Punchline
Carson cocked a brow. “Didn’t you just say like fiveminutes ago that the only reason there are goals on the board right now is that both the goalies suck?”
“There is that,” Marek admitted. “But someone still has to get the puck into the zone—onside!—and into the goal.”
“Which is tough,” I deadpanned, “especially when their entire defense is punch the other guy in the face.”
Jake choked on his beer. I chuckled and patted his back, which earned me the finger.
Onscreen, the refs broke up the fight. The players went to the boxes and continued screaming at each other through the glass while the teams set up for another faceoff. Before they’d even finished their time, they each had a teammate join them for their own five-minute penalties. Yeah, pretty typical HLW.
Good thing I never played in that league.
Wow. That was a thought. As the game went on, my stomach curdled around the beer I’d drunk. What if I had ended up in that league? Some guys did claw their way up from there to the PHL and even the NAPH, but it was tough. And though, all joking aside, hockeywasa more important skill at every level than fighting, there was a lot more fighting in the HLW.
I’d have gotten my ass handed to me.
And I wouldn’t have known Marek, who wouldn’t have introduced me to Jake, who wouldn’t have taught me how to fight…
And I wouldn’t have broken my stupid hand, and…
It didn’t matter, though, because Iwasn’tin the HLW. I was quite firmly in the PHL. Right?
Except Coach had us watching this game so Marek could give him feedback on a couple of forwards with potential to come up. There was a third line forward whowas currently filling my spot, and he was on a six-game point streak.
What if, after my hand healed, there was no room for me in Vegas? What if they didn’t re-sign me at the end of the season? What if I had to go play somewhere else, assuming another PHL—or HLW—team even picked me up? Shit, what if that stupid fight had derailed my whole career and my whole life?
Guys went down with injuries and bounced back all the time. It was part of hockey. But any minor league player knew that another man’s injury was his chance to shine and lock down a spot on the team. It was cutthroat in its own way, but that was how things worked.
So what happened if my absence gave someone else the opportunity to ensconce himself on my team, and when I came back, there was no place for me?
If the team didn’t re-sign me at the end of the season… then what?
Rolling a swig of beer around in my mouth, I surreptitiously watched my boyfriend as he and Carson listened to Marek explaining a play that had just happened onscreen. What if Jake thought I was a loser? Or worse, what if he felt guilty? As if he’d caused me to lose my career? What if he withdrew from me and?—
“Hey, Berns.” Marek stood and gestured toward the kitchen.
“Oh. Uh.” I got up too, taking my now empty beer with me. To Jake, I asked, “Do you want another?”
He shook his head and smiled. “I’m driving. Better not.”
“Fair enough.”
As I continued toward the kitchen, Carson called after me, “What about me?”
“It’s your house, idiot,” I threw over my shoulder. “You want a beer, ask your man for one.”
That garnered some grumbling, which made me chuckle, if a bit halfheartedly.
As soon as we were in the kitchen, Marek turned around and pinned me with a look. “All right. What’s going on?”
I halted. “Uh. What?”
He rolled his eyes. “You’ve been zoning out, and you’ve had that look you always get when we’re down a few goals with time running out. Like you’re about to panic.” Inclining his head, he repeated, “What’s going on?”
“Oh.” I put my empty bottle on the counter. “Just… ” I pointed irritably at my arm.
Marek’s lips quirked. His scrutiny didn’t lessen in the slightest.
I avoided his eyes, which probably didn’t do a thing to make him less suspicious.
