Page 58 of Until We Burn
“I mean, it was a great game. Callo’s goaltending was incredibly strong.”
My grip on the sponge shakes. I peek over the G-Wagon and nearly scream when I see Sam Muir, Roger Hamilton, and Anthony Benigno talking near the car wash.
It doesn’t matter how many times they’ve been here. Seeing them show up always has me on the brink of losing my shit.
They tower over everyone in their jeans and fiery red Vancouver Phoenix jerseys. What has me sweating and hyperventilating is Anthony Benigno, their renowned center. Scruffy and stoic-faced in his backwards baseball cap, he listens to the boys with simple nods and fleeting, amused smiles.
I try to keep my nerves under control as I scrub at the grime flecking around the bumper.
Anthony Benigno has been my hero ever since he gave me a puck at the first NHL hockey game I went to with Uncle Manu in 2012. From that day on, I modeled half of my plays after him. Benigno is quick and sly in his skating and deking despite being six foot three. I have always dreamed about following in his footsteps, from playing at DHU to going all the way to the NHL.
“Kai, right?”
Goosebumps rise on my skin. I slowly turn my head.
Holy shit.
Anthony Benigno stands there drinking a can of orange seltzer. A faint, amused smile draws across the scruff on his face.
“Oh, uh—” I quickly throw down the sponge. “Y-Yes, sir!”
Benigno chuckles and waves his hand. “You don’t need to do all that. Just call me Anthony.”
“Yes, sir—” I shake my head with a nervous laugh.“Anthony.”
He reaches out and shakes my hand, his grip strong and sure. “That was a good game you played last night against Ottawa.”
“You…you saw it?” I sputter.
“Yeah, I watched the highlights after my game against the Seattle Shrikes.” He arches his brow and nods in approval. “Nice job stealing the puck from Brandon Reichman.”
“Yeah.” My heart pounds under my chest as I fight back the urge to scream. “I-I’ve, um…I’ve had some practice.”
“I bet you have.” Anthony smirks. “Playing against a tough team will always get you fired up. Especially when you go pro. Is that still in the cards for you? I heard it’s your last year and everything.”
“I’m hoping s?—”
Laughter bursts behind me. “Yo, there he is!”
My smile falls as a group of guys with patchy, pimpled beards approach me. My stomach churns at their obnoxious grins.
“Hey, man.” A guy in a red crewneck tugs out a piece of paper from his pocket. “Do you mind signing this?”
He unfolds a picture of a severely jacked up man. His giant arms strain with veiny muscles that swell bigger than his head.
“It’s for my uncle,” the guy chortles. “You got him into doping, and he’s really inspired by you.”
Anger spikes inside of me when he dangles the photo in my face. Mocking laughter erupts all around me.
I snatch the photo, crumple it, and throw it to the ground.
“I think you need to leave,” I snap.
The guy rolls his eyes and chuckles. “Come on, we’re just playing around.”
“Well, people usually laugh when there’s a joke. You might wanna work on that part.”
The group blows raspberries in my face.
