“Okay. Sunday, then. Good night, Hockey Boy,” she wishes me softly.
I’m thankful she has the willpower to end this conversation and put me out of my misery.
“Good night, Tater Tots.”
10
CALLUM
Arizona is in fine form tonight. They’ve been making us work hard to break the puck into the offensive zone. Vega steals it from their defense and shoots it up the board to DuPont, who slaps it toward the net. It rebounds and Arizona is all over it, quickly taking possession on an odd man rush. Luckily for us, they’re offside on the entry and we catch the break that could give us a chance to win this game.
My lungs work overtime, sweat trickling down my back as I position myself. Tension crawls up my spine, my eyes burning from exhaustion. We didn’t win yesterday and losing back-to-back nights would be unacceptable. We still have seconds left on the clock and, with the score tied, this game has entered next-goal-wins territory. The puck drops and Moore flicks it to Kubanski.
Arizona rushes him but he’s off toward the offensive zone. I keep pace, meeting him just as he crosses me, letting me swipe the puckand snap a quick shot before their tendy realizes the exchange. By the time he’s thrown himself onto the ice, the puck slides through his five-hole.
I pump my fist in the air, skating away in victory as red flashes behind me. Seconds later, my boys crush me—cheering, hooting, celebrating. When we break apart, Moore and I are facing each other, grinning from the win. Out of nowhere, a switch flips and his smile wavers.
“Nicely done, Spuddy.”
He skates off before I can say anything. Knocks on my helmet draw my attention away from him as thumps on my back and more ‘well dones’ are tossed at me. Novak points toward the screaming girls wearing our jerseys. I wink and wave as we skate off the ice and back to the locker room. But all I’m fixated on is how I hate this awkwardness with one of my closest friends. And how it needs to be fixed.
***
Rohan Moore is an enigma. Calm, commanding, even-tempered. In the three years I’ve played with him, I’ve never once seen him stir up shit. He takes the A on his jersey as seriously as Vega takes the C on his.
What I’ve never been able to understand is his near monk-like behavior. The man has women falling all over his surly ass but barely gives them the time of day. There was a rumor he had a secret girlfriend a year ago, right when Theo joined the team. But no one has any proof of it.
What Moore thinks, feels or does is anyone’s guess. The only time he ever seems to lose his temper is when we play against Vancouver, whose main enforcer was Moore’s former D1 teammate. I wonderif Moore’s three-game suspension last season had to do with their rivalry, or if it was something else entirely.
No one on the team except Coach, Vega, and Moore himself know the story, and it’s clear they won’t reveal why our star center was benched.
Maintaining a mystery is an art Rohan has perfected. I haven’t. I need shit out in the open so it doesn’t feel like there is the constant threat of an anvil ready to fall over my head.
I nod at DuPont who passes by, his arms around a leggy woman who’s hanging on to him like he can help her defy gravity. I snort and shake my head when he shoots me a happy grin before leading his lady friend toward the exit.
I wish I could do that too, but I’ve unfinished business to attend first. With determination pumping courage through my veins, I grab two lagers and saunter over to the booth where Rohan sits.
I slide the beers across the table and take a seat, holding my mug out expectantly. He hesitates for a moment before picking his up to clink against mine. The silence is not tense, but it’s not as easy as it should be.
“We cool?” I start.
“Hmm.”
“Did you fail Communication 101? Use your words, dumbass.”
He groans, sounding a lot like a bear. His nickname, Yogi Bear, makes perfect sense.
“I don’t want you to be a grumpier bastard than you already are,” I needle. “Talk to me.”
He grumbles under his breath and I can’t help but roll my eyes.
“Let me recap. You called me a man-whore and warned me to stay away from your cousin.”
His gaze snaps to mine. I don’t blink.
“Fuck off, Finnigan. I was feeling protective. I’m s—”
I interrupt him before he can even finish.