Chapter 9

Matt

I 'm in a pink jersey tonight. A bubblegum pink one that my cousin Ivy is going to insist I wear the next time I visit the hospital. She's been texting me asking when I think I'll be able to come again. But I'm not supposed to be thinking about that when the puck is about to drop and I have a two-hundred-pound defenseman right in front of me with his head in the game.

"You know thirteen is cursed right?" the defenseman tells me, his own red and white jersey is sporting the number eighteen.

It's a line I've heard far too many times before. "It's always been my lucky number."

The puck drops, and Nate wins the face-off, snapping it back to Lou. Immediately I spring into action, racing down the ice with a single-minded focus on the opposing goal. Lou expertly maneuvers around his defenseman and passes the puck to me. I'm skating as fast as I can, the cold air biting at my face.

I barely have time to process the oncoming defenseman before I feel the hard impact of his shoulder as he pushes me into the boards. I grit my teeth and push back, trying to keep my balance as he shoves me into the glass. The boards rattle, and the crowd's roar swells around us, but I stay focused on keeping the puck. I manage to shove him off, spinning away, and pass the puck back to Nate.

Nate takes a shot, but their goalie drops quickly, blocking it with his stick and sending the puck ricocheting into the corner. We chase after it, our skates carving into the ice, sending up ice shavings. The game becomes a blur of rapid movement and sharp turns, each team pushing to outpace the other.

The defenseman is relentless, sticking to me like glue. He's there every time the puck is sent my way, trying to slow me down, and I feel the frustration building in my chest. But I channel it into my game, digging deep for the energy to keep going. My legs burn, and my breath comes in bigger gasps, but I refuse to give an inch.

Lou intercepts a pass and sends the puck flying back toward their goal. I catch up with it, my heart pounding in my ears, and take a shot. The puck sails toward the net, but the goalie is there again, deflecting it with a swift catch in his glove. The crowd groans in disappointment, and I hear the jeers from the other team's fans.

"Ain't so lucky now are you Thirteen?" The defenseman taunts me as we set up again for a puck drop.

Back and forth we go, skating from one end of the rink to the other. Each rushing towards the goal is met with fierce resistance, each defensive play countered with equal intensity. The game is a gritty, physical battle, and every player on the ice feels the weight of it.

By the time the first buzzer sounds, signaling the end of the period, neither team has managed to score a goal. We skate back to the bench, sweat dripping down our faces, our bodies aching from the effort. I glance at the scoreboard, the zeroes staring back at me, and feel a mix of frustration and determination. The game is far from over, and I know we have to dig even deeper to break through their defense.

We head into the locker room while the Zamboni hits the ice and I pause just long enough to look around for a moment, hoping to catch a quick glimpse of a gorgeous, curvy, blond. But I don't see her. Instead, I see a popup on one of the screens around the arena reminding folks that they can send their favorite person a note signed their secret admirer. Which reminds me of the flowers Hannah got and I don't even want to think about those sad things.

What kind of man sends the worst bouquet of flowers to the woman he admires? If I were to send her flowers I'd make sure I knew her favorite flower, and that there were too many for her to hold. I'd make sure that her office was filled with them, and her home too. Every time she thought of the flower, or saw one, she'd smile, and think of me.

Thinking about it, I didn't see that bouquet in her apartment while I was there. Just regular houseplants. It shouldn't make me smile but it does that she didn't keep the flowers that creep without a backbone sent her.

"What are you smiling about?" Coach asks.

I drop the smile. "Nothing Coach."

"That's right." Coach tells me and turns to the rest of the team "Nothing is what we have on the scoreboard. Let's fix it."

He goes into his spiel that's part pep talk, part criticism, and a reminder to stay focused and keep going. By the time he finishes we have two minutes to get our heads on straight, and I pull my phone from my locker just long enough to text a thought to the number that I saw on the screen.

I exchange a nod with Lou. We're in this together and we won't back down. I take a long swig of my water bottle, and the cold drink feels good as it goes down.

We head back out to the ice, and as we warm up I lock eyes with the defenseman who's been shadowing me. There's a fire in his gaze, and I know he's thinking the same thing I am. The second period is going to be even tougher, and we both relish the challenge.

The second period is just as hard as the first. But I notice that the defenseman is slowing just a bit more than I am. His moves are getting just a touch more sloppy, and he's getting mad. We're close to wrapping up the second period and Nate hits the puck my way. I move my stick to receive it, and a blur moves in front of me.

Suddenly I feel a sharp pain as a stick comes up and strikes me across the face. Instinctively I bring up my glove to defend and bat it away.

The referee blows the whistle and play stops.

My teammates circle around me as the ref calls high sticking on the goon. It's a two-minute penalty and the adrenaline is protecting me from feeling most of it. I have no doubt that I'm going to have a good bruise and maybe even a black eye tomorrow.

"Bench," Nate orders me. "Get checked out."

"Yes Dad." I salute him to let him know I feel fine.

As one of the oldest players on the team, and resident single dad, he just shakes his head at me and makes sure that the rest of the team isn't getting into any fights on my behalf.

A trainer checks me over when I'm in the boards, and Coach has me sit out while our team has the power play. Doesn't seem fair to me that I have to sit out when I'm the injured party. But that's life and hockey. Nate and Lou avenge my injury by scoring the first goal of the night.

The arena goes wild. Lights flash, screaming and yelling, and I try to find Hannah amidst it all. When I finally find her I'm surprised to find her sitting behind the team bench with Lia and some other ladies.

Her mouth moves, and even though I can't hear her over the roar of the stadium I can tell she's asking if I'm okay.

"Fine," I tell her back.

She nods, and the trainer slaps me in the face with an ice pack. I turn away from Hannah, and hold the cold pack to bruise. Gameplay resumes.

"You're sitting out until third period," Coach tells me as the ref gets ready to drop the puck again.

I look up to check the clock. There's thirty more seconds on the clock. A lot can happen in that time. Which I'm reminded of when I see my message, the one I'd texted the number earlier, up on the Jumbotron.

I can feel my ears burning as I resist the urge to turn around and see what Hannah's face looks like.

Up on the screen in black and white it says.

H. I'd be your trivia partner if you'd let me.

Will she know it's for her? I really hope so.

The second period ends, and the team goes back to the locker room. Coach doesn't press as hard now that we have a point on the board. He mostly reminds us about not letting off the gas now that the finish line is so close.

I hold the ice to my face as long as I can, then pull it away.

"Oh look at that shiner!" Lou exclaims, before telling me, "Good thing you weren't pretty to begin with."

I throw the ice pack at him. "Better than your face."

"Yeah Lou." Blake, one of our goons says. "Did you see the message for you on the big screen while the ref called the penalty?"

"What message?" Lou asks.

Blake laughs so hard he doubles over. "Something about lemon bars?"

Lou immediately pulls up his phone and it doesn't take him long to find the feed. I look over his shoulder and indeed, up on the screen it said. "Hope you're enjoying those lemon bars."

"Maria." Lou's jaw clenches.

"Could be Hannah." I suggest.

Lou gives me a hard look. "Oh, I have no doubt Hannah is a part of it. But she's not the one that came up with the lemon bars to begin with."

He types on his phone placing a delivery for fifty pounds of lemons to be delivered to his place. I shake my head as I back away. I don't need to be part of whatever crazy scheme he's planning.

A cheer comes up from the stadium, and I check the time, break is nearly up, and it's time to go back to the ice. The team moves out after a super smiley couple passes the locker room exit. I'm not sure how they're walking with how wrapped up in each other they are, and she's sporting an extra sparkly ring on her finger. If I had to bet money the crowd's cheer was for them.

Just before we exit the tunnel to reach the ice I spot Hannah. She's in a pink jersey a lot like mine, only hers looks more like a dress since it falls to her knees, and she's wearing dark tights with her red heels. Red that matches the bouquet of roses in her hands. My blood starts to boil.

"Are those from the creep?" I ask her as I stomp towards her.

Her head whips up. "What?"

"Those flowers. Are they from him?" I say.

Her brows pinch together. "Who?"

I wipe a gloved hand on my face, grimacing when it pokes at my new bruise. "Your admirer. Are the flowers from him."

"Oh." She blushes and shakes her head. "No, the happy couple left them on the ice. I'm just arranging for them to get them back."

I'm not sure what to say now.

"Matt?" She asks, leaning closer to me as she says quietly. "Did you put that message on the screen?"

A cameraman comes into the tunnel.

"Oh sorry." He stammers. "I'll let you two have a minute."

Hannah's blushing so hard her face is as red as a strawberry, and I'm a little slow as I realize what it looks like. Hannah with the roses, use leaning close together. He probably thought he just interrupted something much more than it was.

"I need to get out there." I tell her.

"Yep." She waves me away and starts walking away in her red heels.

I take a deep breath and shake my head, I need to focus on the game. But the Jumbotron has a message for me when I step out on the ice.

I'd love to be your trivia partner.

The horn blows to indicate that intermission is over. I'm living on cloud nine as I square off on my spot on the ice. My cheek still stings, mostly because I'm grinning from ear to ear. I should push it to the back of my mind, but I don't want to. The game is all that matters right now, but when it's done, I have a pretty blond to talk to.

"Thinking about that fatty?" The defenseman snipes at me.

My voice is hard and unyielding as I snap. "What?"

He grins, and I know I've made a mistake. I've just exposed a weakness to him.

"Saw you flirting up on the big screen. Stick must have hit you harder than I thought if you think that cow's pretty."

"Don't talk about her like that," I warn him.

If Lou hears, well, there's going to be a lot of unnecessary roughing calls.

"Or what?" he taunts. "I'm a big boy, maybe a big girl like her would want to?—"

The puck drops and I don't care as I slam into him to shut his mouth. He shoves me back just as hard, and drops his stick. He doesn't want to play he wants to fight. I'm not sure who throws the first fist, but we're both swinging when the whistles blow and I still don't care. No one says those things about Hannah.

The crowd's cheers blend into a distant roar as I focus solely on making him regret the words that came out of his mouth.

Suddenly, hands grab me and pull me away. Someone else pulls him away too, and a ref intervenes before the fight can get bigger.

"Beat him on the scoreboard," Nate tells me. "Whatever he said, it'll hurt him more when you put points on the board."

Finally, the chaos subsides, and we're both escorted by refs to the penalty box. I throw my stick down before sitting on the bench. Adrenaline and frustration are running high. And I look at number eighteen sitting in his own box. His head is down, and I know I've made my point. No one insults Hannah and gets away with it.

While I'm stuck in the box, The other team scores a goal. We're now tied and the clock is dwindling. Nate's advice is ringing in my ear and I'm furious with myself for falling for his taunts, and I promise myself I'll make it up to my team.

By the time the clock hits zero for me, I'm bursting out of the box ready to join my team. Coach signals me to the bench and I skate as fast as I can to get there.

Someone else goes out as soon as I jump the boards.

Coach is watching the ice as he asks. "Your head fixed?"

"Got it figured out," I tell him. "Put me in."

"Go."

I swap with a teammate and I'm in the game. Nate nods to me when he sees me. Acknowledging my return, he fakes as if he's going to pass to Lou, but sends it my way instead. The defenseman on me isn't as good as eighteen was and I'm able to get some breathing room with the puck as I break away towards the goal. I'm moving hard and fast as I fake out the goalie as if I'm going to shoot a backhand. Instead, I switch and slap shot it into the corner of the net.

The horn blares and the crowd goes nuts as my goal is announced around the arena. I've redeemed myself and it feels good. But seeing the smile on the pretty blond sitting behind my spot on the bench feels even better.

After the game, we head over to Karaoke, everyone on the team that is except Nate. He's busy with Lia and Penelope. I look around for Hannah, but don't see her anywhere in the bar. There are tables and a few booths with padded benches and she's not sitting at any of them.

Lou claps me on the shoulder, before telling me. "I get first dibs at the mic."

I groan. "Come on man, why do you have to ruin a good night?"

He laughs. "I sing like an angel."

"Did your mom tell you that?" I ask.

His smile gets even bigger and he hurries to the stage.

Dan the goalie moves next to me. "You had one job."

"Eh, let him sing one song. Then I'll distract him with the smoothie bar."

Karaoke is the only bar Coach lets us go to after a game, thanks to the headlines the goons made after one too many drinks. If we wanted to drink, our options included soda, smoothies, or fancy protein shakes. Coach had been sober for the last nine years and no one on the team was going to risk him breaking that streak because he felt he had to babysit us. So we bought out the bar for the night and they only serve non-alcoholic beverages while we're here.

The music for a familiar pop song starts playing, and Lou belts out the first lyric so off-key I can see a collective wince go around the bar. Lou's singing can only be described as the sound of a rooster going through puberty crossed with the sound of a donkey's laugh. I wince and look at Dan who wears a similarly pained expression. For a guy with a naturally deep voice it's amazing he can produce some of the sounds he does.

"Please," Dan pleads. "My ears can't take any more of this."

"I'll get him off the stage."

I walk up the stage steps, and when Lou sees me coming, he starts dancing around the stage so he can keep the mic away from me. He knows the words by heart so there's no need for the screen listing the lyrics.

"Lou come on," I tell him. "Take mercy on us."

"Sing with me, Matt!" Lou says into the mic.

The team cheers at the suggestion, and a sound guy steps up on stage to hand me a mic. It's the same song and dance we do every karaoke night. When I inevitably end up on stage to get Lou off, he only agrees if I sing it with him. I don't sing with the same abandon that Lou does, but I hit the notes a lot better, so I sing louder to try and drown out Lou. The sound guys must turn off Lou's mic, because he looks at them and taps his mic.

When the song is finally over, Lou and I hand our mics back to the sound guys.

"My mic stopped working." Lou complains.

With a straight face the sound guy says, "Must be the battery."

Lou's eyes narrow. "Happens a lot when I'm up there."

I put an arm around Lou's shoulders. "That's what you get for going first. You get to test the mics."

The sound guy dips his head down, but I can see the smirk on his face.

"Let the guy put a new battery in. Let's get a smoothie."

Steering Lou to the smoothie bar is much easier now that he's had his time up on stage. For the rest of the night as I enjoy the strawberry banana smoothie in my hand I keep an eye out for Hannah. But she never arrives.