11. BROOKLYN

CHAPTER 11

brOOKLYN

I 'm the busiest player on the ice. A lot of people think my job as a defenseman is to block the opposing players from executing their plays, and dassit. But that would be if I was a run of the mill defenseman.

On top of that, I'm in charge of protecting my forwards so they can carry the puck to the opposite net. And also of instigating key opposing players—especially the short fused ones—so they focus on me and not my forwards, which means drawing penalties.

And when we get them? I'm on the special team to kill them too. Not to mention, I'm the last line of defense before our goalie. Who by the way, I have to protect with my life if that's what it takes, plus do whatever I can so he can keep a shutout for the team stats. And if there's a slight chance? I'm going to slap the puck so hard that I blow a sixth hole through the opposing goalie and bag us a goal.

It's why I average over thirty minutes of play every game, while some of the other guys hit half of that. It's also why I have so many chances to show off.

The first one comes in the first period. A Brighton guy breaks away, salivating at the chance of a goal. But I've mastered the art of positioning myself, and even though I have a late start, I dive right when he swings hard and tap the puck with the tip of my stick. It veers off into the air and Schwarz, our goalie, makes an easy save.

"Show off," he tells me while the play's stopped.

We both know that play could've gone wildly different and end up in a Brighton goal anyway, but it didn't. "You're welcome."

Chewing on my mouthguard, I slightly turn to the seats across center ice and spot Liv right away. She's talking with her friends, more animated than I've ever seen her. Hand gestures, shifting from one side to the other.

And totally ignoring the game.

I narrow my eyes. Challenge accepted, Olivia Rodriguez. I'll make you watch me.

By the second period, no one's on the board yet. I figure I can instigate some shit and the chance couldn't be more perfect. I spot Brighton's top defender tailing one of my first line forwards as he carries the puck from the sides. I take off like a freight train and crash into the Brighton guy just like one, all legal like, but he still goes down like a boulder.

I lift my head up and make eye contact with Liv right through the glass. There's a cringe on her face, like she knows just how much the other guy must be hurting. But the play's still going. Fallen guy tries to hook me with his stick and gets a penalty.

He glares at me as he gets sent to the sin bin, and I stick my tongue out and wave my gloved hand like a damn brat. Gets them every time.

"Wow, I'm really glad you're on our side." Bloom chuckles as we skate off to the bench for the PP. "You are absolutely insufferable."

"Talk dirty to me," I say with a fake roar .

"Let's order pizza from Romano's for the after game party."

We climb over the board and plop our asses on the bench. I say, "Are you asking me out, Bloom? I'm single right now and I may get ideas."

He shakes his head. "Sorry, Blondie. You're not my type."

"Well, neither are you. My type is…" I trail off, my eyes sliding across center ice again.

Liv's watching me now.

I tilt my head.

She's not my type. I gravitate to sporty girls. In fact, Liv knows my first ever crush was her sister—no doubt one of the items in the long list of embarrassing reasons why Liv thinks I'm the cringiest.

Anyway, my girlfriends in high school were two cheerleaders—separate occasions, of course, I'm not a douchebag—and a tennis player. I briefly dated a figure skater at the start of freshman year. I haven't dated anyone steady since, but most of my hookups have been jocks of some sort. They understand the lifestyle. They know the game goes first. School second. Them third, maybe tied with friends or even in fourth place.

Liv is the kind of girl who should be in first place. I know that—I've always known that. This is what has never made her my type. So why am I looking at her right now?

She's not my type , I repeat to myself.

My brow furrows as I focus on the ref dropping the puck for the faceoff. Brighton is a good team, a Frozen Four contender. I don't know if it's because they're severely underestimating us after years of us sucking sweaty armpit, but plays are developing as if this was a choreographed practice drill. I squirt water on my face as the PP special team scores our first goal of the night.

Liv doesn't jump to her feet like the rest of the arena, if anything she looks bored. My lips twitch. I've missed seeing that.

She used to come to every one of my games even though she abhorred every second. She was the only familiar face in the crowd for me. Is tonight an outlier, or is she going to become my person again?

I should ask her. I'll find her after the game. But first, we have to win it. The least I could do to acknowledge her efforts is to not lose like a clown.

When the lines change again, I hit the ice like a boulder. The Brighton guy who fouled me is out now, and he immediately gets in my grill. "Hey, asshole. You think you're so tough?" He pushes my chest hard.

I tuck my tongue against my cheek but can't keep the grin off my face. "If I wasn't, what would that make you? The worst defender in the conference, I guess."

I dodge the swipe, laughing my head off when it gets him a misconduct because the refs aren't messing around tonight. I skate across the Brighton bench, biting my tongue in an oopsie expression that gets them all shouting lovely epithets at me. Boo freaking hoo.

Right before play resumes, I catch Liv shaking her head at me. It's like she might've forgotten my style. A lot of defenders use their physicality to intimidate their opponents. I could, too, yet I just amplify my blimbo personality until I become truly insufferable. That, paired with my top notch stamina and conditioning, is what makes me an effective D-man.

Aka I'm a pest who doesn't quit. Which is also the approach I'm going to use with Liv now that she's let me back in her life.

The game ends with the Thunder Bolts winning by shutout, the most satisfying game of my life so far. I follow my teammates through the tunnel and pick up a pair of skate guards, my ears roaring with their chatter but even more with the rapid drum of my heart. Without telling anyone, I split right where I should've gone left for the locker room. I pause to shoe on the guards before leaving the players area.

"Brooklyn!" Some girl exclaims. "That was such a great game. Would you?—"

"Yes, thank you." I glance over her head, scanning the faces until I spot the one I want. The girl keeps talking and I give some non committal sound as I side step her. It takes several sorry and excuse me to wade through the throngs. Fortunately, it raises enough attention that Liv notices me quickly.

And she tries to run.

I shout, "Aceituna." It stops her dead in her tracks, if only so she can glare over her shoulder. My lips twitch. "Stay still, woman."

She turns her face to one of her friends who's saying something as I approach. When I finally reach her, the full force of her brown eyes is on me.

Damn, she could be a hockey player with that glare.

I prop my hands on the butt end of the stick. "So, what'd you think?"

"Barbaric, as usual." She folds her arms, face pinching in even more annoyance.

"I know you liked it," I say, nodding, which makes sweat drip down my nose. "You were proud of me for drawing a penalty without fighting."

"I—what?"

"It was all over your face."

"You were watching Liv's face during the game?" one of her friend's asks. She's one of the girls who was with Liv on the night I caught Trent cheating.

I startle. "Oh, hey. I'm Brooklyn. Who are you?"

"Mina Lee." She presses her lips tight as if trying not to smile. "Not to be confused by chopped liver."

I blink slowly .

"Good game out there, Tatum." I turn to the other voice and find Dee Meyer standing next to Liv. Her I recognize because she's a Strike.

"Huh. What's up with the sudden sportsmanship?" I ask her.

Meyer waves a hand. "Credit where it's due. If y'all keep playing like tonight, you'll crush the season."

Oh, this is an opening.

"It depends." I slowly face Liv again. "Will you come watch my games again?"

"How does that even relate?"

I grin. "I play better when you're rooting for me."

Her long eyelashes swoop up and down with rapid blinks. "Um. You'll have to pay me, Brooke."

A rush travels up my spine. Brooke. Not Brooklyn. This is an improvement.

"Name your currency." One of the other girls clears her throat and once again I'm reminded that we're not alone. Time to shift gears. "Anyway, are you all coming to the after game party?"

"No—" Liv starts to say and is cut off by the non Strike.

"Yes! Where?"

"Bolt House," I respond.

"No." Liv frowns. "Definitely not. That place is the source of all my traumas. What if something terrible happens again tonight?"

"Or…" I drag the word in a way I know irritates her. Sure enough, her expression darkens even more. "You could go, have a good time with your friends—" Here I motion at the other girls and myself. "And conquer your fears like the badass we all know you are."

The non Strike nods sagely. "Your former best friend has a good point." She gives me a sly look. "I'm her bestie now, bud. Sorry. "

Meyer rolls her eyes. "No, I am Liv's best friend."

I smile. "I'm extremely competitive, in case you didn't notice."

Liv rubs the bridge of her nose. "Can't I just go home and wallow in my misery?"

Misery? Is she still pining after her asshole ex?

I grit my teeth. Rather than showing how annoyed that makes me, I hook my arm around Liv's neck and pull her to me. She knows what's coming.

In a lethal voice, she says, "Don't you freaking dare, Body Odor."

I sure must be reeking right now, which will make this more effective. Dropping my free glove on the floor, I dig my fingers in her hair and mess it up, making sure she's trapped between my arm and my side. The angry squeaks make me laugh. My veins thrum back to life, as if I was starting a new game shift.

"Say you'll come and I'll stop."

"No! Stop!"

Her hair is so soft I may not stop anyway.

"I'll tickle you next."

"Fine, we're coming." Her voice comes out distorted and I finally let her go. Liv takes large gulps of air, her face as red as a tomato. "Oh. My. Word. You stink so freaking bad, I almost died." And for effect, she dry heaves.

Same as usual.

I bend down to pick up my glove. "See you there." I glance at the other girls. "You too, of course." And with that, I basically skip back to the locker, where Coach Green will blow my eardrums up for disappearing for a few minutes.