A few of the guys snort.
“You haven’t scored since the New Year’s Eve game,” Gray reminds me.
“On and off the ice,” Shaw chimes in, laughter chasing his words.
I rise to my feet, shaking my head at all of them. “Okay, fuck you all. It’s not my fault the entire team is playing like shit and on a losing streak. There’s no fucking chance that’s the reason behind it.”
“I mean, who’s to say it isn’t?”
All eyes are on me and judging by the looks on every single face, they might all be buying this.
“Think about it,” Theo says, rising to his feet as he walks over to me. “You’re one of our high energy guys. We all feed off of it. If you’re down, whether we realize it or not, we match that.”
My jaw drops. “You’re not seriously blaming me.”
“Not directly,” he explains, frustration washing over his expression before it fades. “At the end of the day, we’re each responsible for the way we play. There’s a synergy, a cohesiveness to our team. If one of us is off, it has a ripple effect.”
I chew on his words, letting them sink in. Again, there’s some truth behind them. Normally, when someone’s having a bad day, the rest of the team can pick up the slack. But after getting our asses handed to us time and time again, it wears you down.
“Am I supposed to just throw my resolution out the window?”
“Maybe,” Cross says, shrugging his shoulders. “It wouldn’t hurt to try, right? You just need a distraction off the ice. Someone to feed that boisterous ego of yours.”
“You do have a tendency of being a little more showy when you have someone to impress.”
What the fuck is this? An intervention? I didn’t sign up to have the entire locker room tell me about myself. I already know I’m a bit overly confident, if you will.
“It’s a theory to test.”
“A theory,” I snort, rolling my eyes dramatically. I grab my clothes to head to the wash room. “Yeah, whatever, I’ll think about it.”
There’s no way I can’t not think about it now that they planted the little superstitious seed in my mind. I love my teammates. We truly are like family and they’re great guys, but fuck them all right now.
My hair is still damp from the shower, making it difficult to ignore the chill in the air as I climb out of my car. As much as I don’t want to believe it, there could be some truth to what the guys were saying. I’m just as superstitious as the next guy on the bench. What if they’re right? What if I’m the reason behind our losing streak?
Self doubt isn’t something that melds well with my confidence. My ego doesn’t like it.
My footsteps are heavy and I pull the hood of my sweatshirt over my head to block the snow flurries dancing in the air. January in Massachusetts tends to be pretty brutal, especially where Hillford is, not far from the coast.
I tuck my hands into the pockets of my winter coat and put my head down as I walk down the sidewalk. There’s a coffee shop on my way home that is part of my routine. On days I have to be at the rink, whether it’s for practice or a game, I always stop here on my way home. And I always order the same exact thing: an extra sweet caramel macchiato.
At least there’s one thing I haven’t done wrong to mess up the way I’ve been playing.
The coffee shop is busy when I step inside, seeking reprieve from the falling snow. Baristas behind the counter move about in a flurry, taking orders, making drinks, and calling out the names of customers.
Along the left side of the counter are two self-service tablets to place your order. I typically just order from there and now is not going to be the time I do anything differently. The one on the left is my preferred tablet. The one on the right is already occupied and there are two women standing in front of the one I like on the left, although neither of them are paying any mind to the screen.
I pull my hood down, brushing my hair from my forehead as I slowly approach. Their backs are to me and as I step up behind them, I can see the screen clearly.
“Thanks for your order,” it says in bold black letters.
“Excuse me.”
They both glance over their shoulders to look at me. The woman on the right immediately narrows her eyes, spinning her body to face me head on. Her friend stares back at me for a moment, her auburn hair shifting along her back as her soft blue eyes do a quick scan of my face.
A smile spreads across my lips as my gaze trails across her delicate features. She’s gorgeous, but not in a loud obnoxious way. It’s more so the quiet, tender kind of beauty. The kind that demands your attention and slides under your skin like a sharp needle.
Who are you?