6. MILES

SIX

MILES

After sending a kiss to the heavens with Bilson, I prep my crease, stretch, and then have a word with Annette. This game isn’t just a game. Bilson’s going to be in his head enough as it is about the move, and I don’t want him to start doubting it now.

“We’ve gotta do it for him,” I explain. “You wouldn’t want to make my CB sad now, would you?” Annette radiates affirmative vibes. “That’a girl.” I give her a drink before filling my mouth with water too.

I feel like I’m finally warming up in my position. Preseason was a whole world of different to training camp, where I was saving straightforward goal after straightforward goal from my teammates that didn’t prepare me for the tricky shit some of these other players are capable of.

There’s a big difference between your instincts reacting under pressure and being prepared for what’s coming.

It’s unlucky for the opposition that I’m a fast learner.

“How are you feeling?” Stoll asks as he skates by.

“Like Seattle better be awake tonight. It’s starting to get boring out here.”

He moves off while I ignore the knots forming in my gut. It’s another game. Another chance to prove myself. But all that pep talking ain’t doing nothing for my brain because the silly fucker keeps reminding me how disappointed Bilson will be if we lose.

Nope. Not it. Not happening.

Apparently, Seattle isn’t here to play around either.

Those assholes are awake tonight, and even when the first period ends with no points on the board, I’m beat. Annette’s had my back, but I’ve had to work damn hard as well.

I catch up with Bilson as we’re about to head out again. “I know he’s your friend, but I really hate Emerson about now.”

“Yeah, I think he and Katz are making it their personal mission to show me what I’m missing,” he grumbles.

“Then let’s show them everything you’ve gained.” I hold up my glove for a fist bump, and he hesitates before bumping back.

“Don’t embarrass me out there.”

Not tonight. I take to the ice and leave the old man behind.

Annette’s hyped up and hydrated, I’m ready to go, and this second period is when my guys will get points on the board.

Except we’re barely five seconds into the period when Seattle has the puck and is bearing down on me. Katz passes to Emerson, who shoots it back to him so fast I’m sure Katz is about to take a shot. I’m in position, blood beating so loudly it’s all I can hear. Katz lines up⁠—

Then the puck is gone.

No.

I spin toward Emerson and cover as much of the goal as possible. The puck is a blur, coming right at me, and I throw out my glove, waiting for the hit that never comes.

The lamp lights up, and the home crowd goes wild.

I whirl on Annette. “What the fuck was that, babe?” I’m so mad I could kick something. I’m tempted to give her a warning tap with my stick, but I reel it in. That was as much my fault as hers.

Gritting my teeth, I water her down and force a drink myself, and then I tap her gently with my glove. “Sorry, Netty, I didn’t mean it. I was mad, you know?”

Nothing.

“Aww, come on. Don’t be like that.”

I can feel her cold shoulder even over the chill of the ice.

She’s such a brat sometimes. “Fine. Fine, it was all my fault. Better?”

She grudgingly accepts my apology, and I let out a breath of relief. The last thing I need is to be on bad terms with my posts.

Apparently, she’s still pissy with me because a few minutes later, another shot goes whirling past, and Aleksander Emerson finger-guns me. I glare at him because I can’t glare at Annette.

“All right. I get it,” I snap at her. “I was an asshole. Can we move on now?”

She finally lets it go.

And while we might have messed up with those two goals, it’s not like the rest of my team is doing all that well either. The wheels are slowly coming off, and my defense is nowhere to be seen. Seattle takes shot after shot, and it’s lucky Annette is back on board because she saves as many attempts as I do.

The more Seattle dominates, the more Bilson screws up, and he gives away an easy penalty in the third. The power play might be Seattle’s tipping point of confidence, though, because Finch sneaks one past them, making it 2-1, and we ride that score to the final buzzer.

I’m zapping with agitation. Still kinda pissed at Annette, not that I’ll tell her that, and just all-around bummed that we couldn’t get it together for Bilson’s sake. I’d give up any of our other wins to have won tonight.

It feels like a long walk to the locker room, and Bilson beats me there. He’s sitting in front of his cubby, still in full gear, dark hair a sweaty mess, and usually sweet eyes dull.

That won’t do at all.

I throw myself down beside him, dying to get these pads off but wanting to make sure he’s okay first, which is pretty fucking ridiculous, considering he’s been in this position a thousand times more than me. Talking shit out is important though; it helps you get out of your head, and not enough of my teammates face their emotions like that.

“You good?”

“Yeah, just sucks.” He yanks his jersey over his head. “Now I’ve gotta see Aleks and Dennan and hear about how that could have been me if I stayed.”

“Yeah, but if you’d stayed, you wouldn’t have gotten my awesome broship bracelet or had a rookie clinging to you like his life depends on it.”

“You’re right.” Bilson hangs his head back. “What have I done?”

I laugh, feeling confident enough to leave him now he’s at least making jokes.

We go through our usual cooldown and shower. Talk to the reporter circulating the locker room and listen to Coach reminding us that “Next time! Next time, we’ve got it!” I try really hard not to shoulder the blame of the loss when it was the whole team out there. The thing is, our forwards have each other. Our D-men have each other. They’ve got their lines and the people they work with side by side.

I’m the loner at the end. I meant what I said to Bilson. If they fuck up, they’ve got each other to pick up the slack and stop the worst from happening. If I fuck up, that’s it. Having Annette beside me helps.

Stone and Seddy are right where I left them in my cubby, so I tuck them in my pocket and pack up my gear, ready to go back to the hotel before our early flight out tomorrow.

Bilson appears beside me. “Ready to go?”

I glance around to check he’s talking to me. “Go where?”

“I need backup with Aleks and Dennan. I voted, you lost, so now you have to hold my hand and remind me I’m pretty.”

I pretend to look him over. “Well, I can do one of those things.”

“Just hurry up.”

“Ahh, asking for a favor, then insulting me. How could I say no to that?”

“That question implies I’m giving you a choice here.”

“What are you going to do? Kidnap me?”

“If it comes to that.” He’s so serious I almost believe him. “We’re going to the bar where I met my ex-wife⁠—”

“Which one⁠—”

“And I know she’s going to be there. She makes it a point not to go to games anymore, but she’d always meet her WAG friends afterward.”

It’s a struggle not to laugh. “And you can’t meet them somewhere else?”

“You want me to ask the winning team of superstitious hockey players not to go to the bar we always drink at after we win a home game?”

He’s got me there. “Then don’t go.”

Bilson looks stricken. “But it’s the Queer Collective rules. We always meet up with each other.”

“I thought that group was for queer dudes?” I look him over, but this time, I actually look, wondering. “You said you’re not queer.”

“I’m an honorary member!”

“I didn’t know that was a thing.”

He crosses his big arms and pouts at me. “If you want me to go alone, fine. I will. I’ll get ribbed by my old teammates, and have to see my ex-wife, and mope over her not giving up Killer, and deal with a loss all on my own …”

I blink at him.

His arms drop to the side. “Did my guilt trip work?”

“Nope, but nice try, bro. Lucky for you, I want to drown my sorrows and tell your old buddies how much I hate them. Lead the way.”

Bilson punches the air and calls goodbye to the others while I follow him. He doesn’t seem as down as I was expecting, which is a relief, and no one blamed me for the loss. It fucking sucks, but it could be worse.

Like seeing my ex-team and my ex-wife worse.

I tuck my hands into my pockets, thumb brushing Seddy’s rough sandstone face. The rocks started as a bit of a joke, a fill-in for not getting to have pets of my own, but I’ve grown to love them. They’re not a joke anymore. I can’t imagine if someone took one of my babies and didn’t give them back, so Bilson losing his Killer must have been horrible.

It plays on my mind the whole way to the bar.