Overtime: St. Cloud Hockey Series, page 10
For example, Webber keeps turning that baby face of his to the boards as if looking for an exit. That’s his habit when he starts to get tired and feels like time’s running slower. Amadi’s accuracy goes down. And sure enough, his pass gets intercepted, and here come the Bulldogs again. I stop a weak shot with my left knee.
Bracken positions himself to take the next faceoff, and I glare daggers at his back. What is he doing, not scoring against Brighton College jerks? They’ve been weak all night. Bolts should be skating circles around them.
The ref drops the puck, and Bracken wins it with the kind of aggression I wish he’d have used all game long. My pulse spikes as if I’m the one breaking away from the Bulldogs’ dirtbag D-man.
“Payback time,” I mutter to myself.
The Bolts have formed a whole scramble in front of the Bulldogs’ goalie—same strategy they tried on me a minute ago. Bracken makes a pass, and lo and behold, the buzzer goes off.
The arena roars with noise as Bolts finally get one for the house. Sure, it was a garbage goal, but we’ll take it.
I brace, though, because I know our opponent. I’ve watched countless hours of film on them as far back as the Cassiano era. There’s something very douchebaggy about how they’re coached that makes them play even dirtier when they’re down.
But I’m an asshole, so I push just enough away from the net to bait them.
Coach Green hates when I do this, especially because it can backfire. But the Bulldogs have been trying the most today and have failed each time. They’re frustrated and tired. Probably embarrassed too. They never get booed as hard as they do when they’re playing in St. Cloud.
The annoying guy from earlier bites.
In fact, he bites so hard he tries to trip me without even having the puck.
The ref blows a whistle. “Interference!”
“Ref, are you blind?” the guy yells, and if looks could kill, my whole bloodline would be dead.
Alas. Now we’re in a power play for the last minute of the game.
We score a second goal, and the celebration all around the arena threatens to blow my eardrums. I’m sure Coach Green will be screaming at me too, and it won’t be from happiness, even if I got the job done.
The final buzzer goes off. As I skate away from the net, I’m intercepted by half the team. They slam into me, raising their sticks and their voices as if we’ve just won the national championship.
“Dude, that was sick!” one of them says.
“Shit, you should’ve gotten an assist for that.”
“It was stone cold, bro.”
I snort. Maybe that’s why they call me Aran “the Iceberg” Rodriguez. And here I thought it was because I’m hardheaded.
“Yeah, yeah. Get off me.” I shove my stick at the nearest guy, and one by one, they peel off.
“Duuude!”
I would recognize that voice in my sleep, even if I hadn’t already seen him. Whirling around, I head for the back of my net, where my little sister Olivia and her best friend Brooklyn parked themselves. They had ample view of my ass during most of the game.
“I have no words,” Brooklyn says, shaking his head as I brake before him and my sister. “How could you even think of leaving your net like that? Like, bro, you have some cajones.”
“It’s cojones, you fool.” She smacks his arm. “With an o.”
“Cowjones?”
Aceituna rolls her eyes at her friend. Sometimes, they come watch my games with other kids from Brooklyn’s high school hockey team, and a couple of girlfriends that my sister tolerates. This time, it’s just the two of them.
I trap a glove against my side with my elbow, and with the free hand, remove my mask. “Is this a date?”
Neither of them reacts right away. Until, as if rehearsed, Liv bursts into cackles and Brooklyn’s mouth gapes.
“What? No!”
“As if.” My sister snorts between laughs.
I hum. Luz and I have long suspected that these two have a thing, but we haven’t caught them infraganti.
“Right, don’t be out too late. And Brooklyn?”
“Yeah?” He frowns a bit.
“If you get my little sister in any trouble, I will skewer you with this stick.” I lift the weapon. “Got it?”
“Got it. Not gonna happen.”
“Get her home early.”
I push away from the boards and file off the ice. Some people remain in the stands, and there are claps as I head into the tunnel.
By the time I make it to the locker room, Coach is in full swing.
“—for the last three minutes, this game would’ve been a bust!”
I consider standing by the door and letting the worst of his screaming blow over, but just like I have a built-in radar for the puck, he has one for me. He turns around and points directly at my face.
“And you. What the hell was that, Rodriguez?”
It was the manifestation of my cojones, but I don’t say squat.
He delivers a few choice words. None of them are profane or insult my mother, but they’re annoying, nonetheless. Something about responsibility and being the leader of a team that doesn’t have an I in it. I sit at my bench and watch him in silence. Tomorrow, he’ll tell me in more muted terms how it was a good game but one that shouldn’t be replicated. We know the drill.
After he leaves, Archie starts chuckling next to me. “Coach Green is gonna Coach Green, huh?”
“I’m convinced the man just doesn’t know how to be happy,” says Jamal from Archie’s other side.
That’s a good point. He screams at us just the same whether we lose or win. But we can’t all have a Coach Young like the Strikes do. She’s level-headed even when she’s tough.
“Anyway, it’s Saturday night and we just won a big game. Guess what that means?” Archie pauses in the middle of removing his pads to wag his eyebrows at me, then at our other assistant captain.
“O’Malley’s?”
“I’ll pass,” I say.
“What?”
Half the room turns my way.
They can stare all they want, but I focus on removing my leg pads between grunts.
After spluttering, Archie says, “You pass? What do you mean you pass? This is the perfect opportunity for you to find Kelsey’s replacement.”
“After that last play you pulled off, I’m sure at least half of the arena is salivating over you, man,” adds Jamal.
I doubt most of the audience even understood the nuance of that play. Forget about salivating.
Pulling off my jersey, I dump it on my growing pile by my feet. I decide to give them a morsel in the hopes that they’ll leave me alone. “I’m busy.”
“With what?”
“Oh, do you already have someone? You lucky dog.”
Yeah, I have someone. A useless essay to finish. A quiz to prep for. A guide to read through.
None of those responses would be acceptable to these horndogs. Granted, I’m one of them. If the roles were reversed, I’d mock the tar out of them. If Coach weren’t keeping his laser beams on me, I’d be hitting up O’Malley’s and maybe a bar downtown too until I found someone to let off some steam with. That’s how I’ve been living my college life. And that’s how I’ve been getting in trouble so consistently that Coach intervened.
I already pissed the man off during the game. It wouldn’t be a good idea for him to find out I’ve picked up a new distraction. Not when Edwards is also watching my every move.
Speaking of, he glares at me from across the room. Acknowledging his existence was a mistake, because he takes it as an invitation to speak.
“Don’t be so cocky. Next time you pull that shit, someone’s going to bust your teeth, and I’ll be right there, ready to replace you.”
“Must suck to suit up for every game and only get to trash talk in the locker room, huh?”
“Guys, guys.” Archie raises his hands as if Edwards and I had been about to come to blows. “Why can’t we all just get along?”
“Piss off, Bracken.”
I roll my eyes at Edwards’s overt attempt at showing his testosterone.
“Let the record show that I tried.” Archie turns back to me. “Anyway, are you sure you don’t wanna score tonight?”
I wanna score, all right. I think about scoring every waking moment. My dreams are turning even more explicit than usual. But no girl is worth letting Edwards take my spot.
“Already busy.” My tone is cutting enough that Archie finally drops it.
Instead, he turns to Jamal. “Whatever. Let’s invite Maddie instead. She’s way more fun than this grouch.”
My whole body tenses as if there’s a Bulldog all up in my grill.
I clench my jaw hard enough to hurt. If I let even a molecule of air pass between my lips, I will fully open them and tell them they better not be thinking about scoring on Strawberry tonight. Or tomorrow. Or the next day. Shit would get too complicated if any of them start tangling with my tutor. I mean, they may even find out she’s my tutor. And that I’m flunking a class. And…
Scratch that. She’s not like our usual groupies and wouldn’t give them the time of the day. She’s the keeper kind, not the one-and-done kind.
But I know how these stooges think. If I give an inkling of concern about her, they’ll pounce on me and try to unveil the status of my interest. Which exists, yes. Because I’m interested in Strawberry’s well-being as a friend, like Ryan predicted. And none of these dipshits is right for her. I don’t know what kind of guy is right for her, but it’s not some foul-mouthed, foul-smelling, foul-playing hockey horndog.
Incluyéndome a mí.
The thought slams me in my mother tongue and makes my head spin. I rush through the rest of the undressing process so I can stand under the cold spray of water in a shower stall. I open my mouth to it, trying to wash off the bitter taste in my mouth.
Of course I’m not right for Strawberry either. I’m not even playing for her. I’m just her reluctant student. A friend at best. She’s not my type. I don’t even like eating fruits.
I’m losing my head.
I fiddle with the shower knob. Can this get any colder?
The answer is no. But the air outside is punishing. I walk slowly to my SUV, taking the sharp air into my lungs. It doesn’t cleanse me, though. I still have a pit in my stomach.
A group of Bolts exits the building. Some clap my back. Others bid me a good night. They discuss which bars to hit. Someone suggests crashing a party at someone’s house. Another gives a play-by-play of how he’s going to chat a particular girl up.
I stand in the parking lot by my car, rubbing my gloved hand up and down my head.
Nah. There’s no way I have a thing for my tutor.
I open the back door and toss my duffel bag and my stick in. Hop into the driver’s seat. Start the engine. Leave the heater as low as possible.
My heart beats like a freaking rabbit’s.
“No,” I say firmly to myself as I drive away from the facilities. I’ve only known her for, what, two weeks? Less, even.
It has to be the whole abstinence thing. I’m used to doing whatever with any girl I meet who also wants to do whatever with me. That stopped two weeks ago, and the only new girl I happened to meet during that time was Strawberry.
Wait, there were her three former roommates. But they were kind of douchey, I reason with myself as I drive into the parking lot of my building. If they’d all been decent, I might’ve hit it off with whoever wasn’t interested in Archie or the others. That’s it.
I park the car and turn it off. I’m calm now that I understand this is just the hormones talking. I only have to be strong for a couple of months more until we win the national championship and the semester ends. Then, once I graduate, Coach won’t be able to say shit about my dating life. And I obviously will have passed the elective, which means I won’t need to see Strawberry again.
My hand flies up to massage my scalp again.
A yellow Beetle drives into the parking lot and slides into one of the spots closest to the entrance. I watch as the plume of smoke from the exhaust wanes into nothing. The driver’s door opens, and out comes my tutor. Slowly. Too slow. I frown. Is something wrong?
It doesn’t matter. I don’t need to hover over her.
I drop my arm and turn off my car. I open my door and check to see whether she’s still there. With how slowly she’s moving, I’ll probably catch up to her easily. But should I?
No. I hang back and tell myself, “Aran, you’re not a helicopter.”
My eyes are glued to her as she traverses the parking lot at a snail’s pace. Something is definitely wrong. I need to not engage, though. But just as I’m about to turn on the car to drive anywhere else, Strawberry throws her arms into the air. And then she disappears from view.
A breathless moment passes until my brain clicks.
She slipped on ice.
She’s on the ground.
In a dark parking lot.
I rush out of my car at full speed.
CHAPTER 14
MADDIE
Wow.
There are stars in the sky. Even though a second ago, it was dark gray from clouds loaded with snow.
Wait, no. My eyes are closed. It just hurts like a bi—
I groan. The sound awakens me to a reality I can’t believe. I must’ve slid on black ice, and sure enough, as I paw around, that’s the cold asphalt beneath me. Now I’m not sure what hurts more: my womb, my butt, my head, or my ego. Hopefully no one witnessed this.
Something odd registers. It takes me another second to make out approaching footsteps. I finally open my eyes right as someone drops to their knees beside me. Did I hit my head so hard that I’m hallucinating?
“Where are you hurt?”
Nope. I would recognize the voice that is smooth like velvet and rich like a wine and makes me feel heady. Or that last part could just be the headache sinking in.
“Aran?”
He pauses his inspection. “Glad you recognize me.”
Just my luck that the hottest guy I’ve ever met has been selected by fate to witness every one of my humiliations. I don’t know whether to laugh or cry. Sliding my elbow up, I attempt to sit, but his hand on my shoulder pushes me back.
“Stop.” At the strength of his command, I have no choice but to obey. “Don’t move. It could be dangerous.”
“Huh?” I blink hard.
“Where did you hit yourself?”
“Um, my butt and my head, I think. Maybe my elbow too?” It’s throbbing like a toothache.
The lampposts cast a weak light around the area, which is probably why I didn’t notice the frozen patch. Even so, I can make out how Aran’s expression darkens almost to the point of anger.
“Let me check a few things before you move.” He leans down the opposite way, and I feel his hand cinch around one ankle, then the other. “Felt that?”
“Yeah.” Like brands on my skin, but I don’t say this part.
“Move your feet for me.”
I will move a mountain for him if he keeps talking all soft and concerned like this. Clearing my throat, I stretch out my feet a little.
“Okay, lift your arms.”
I do.
Sighing, he holds on to my hands and slowly pulls me up. I didn’t bother putting on my gloves before getting out of the car, because it’s hard to fiddle with my keys while wearing them. But he isn’t wearing any, either. The heat of his skin is shocking against mine. It feels feverish, but he looks healthy. Maybe he just runs hot in more than one way.
Too quickly, I’m on my feet and swaying. His hands abandon mine to steady me by my upper arms.
“Whoa, are you dizzy?”
“A little,” I admit.
Air hisses between his teeth. “Depending on how hard you hit your head and where, you may have a concussion.”
“I don’t think it’s that bad—”
“And I don’t underestimate blows to the head or the spine,” he snaps.
He lets go of me and takes a step back, as if I’m the one burning. His breathing grows harsh in the span of a few seconds, and he sucks air deep into his lungs to slow it down. Now that he’s not looking at me, he finds my bag on the ground and picks it up before turning away.
“C’mon, you’re going to my place.”
As I brush away gross slush from my coat, I ask, “Why?”
“Because I’m going to make sure you don’t fall asleep tonight.”
His response is so shocking that I stumble. With a yelp, I land against his back.
I feel him shift slightly, and his voice comes over his shoulder. “My, my. The little Strawberry has a dirty mind on her.”
“Ugh.” I push him away, glad he can’t see how my face is probably turning scarlet. “You’re the one who said it all weird. And I’m fine. You don’t need to bother.”
“Yes, I do. No one’s getting hurt on my watch.” He grunts at me or at his keys. Or at both.
Aran opens the building entrance and holds the door open for me. The automatic lights fire up and cast deep shadows on his face. He’s still concerned. It’s kind of cute to find out he’s capable of that feeling.
At the stairs, the tiniest moan escapes me. Climbing up four floors isn’t my idea of passing the time while on my period. But then I sense a massive wall of heat beside me. Aran waits to see if I need help. Something deep inside in my chest squeezes.
I focus on the steps one at a time. The slow, silent trek to our floor helps me clear my head. One of my many problems with guys is that the moment they’re kind to me, I develop an instant crush. It’s taken forever to understand that just because a guy is decent once, that doesn’t mean he has feelings for me. And even though I’m still mechanically climbing stairs, I recognize this moment as the crossroad it is.
On one side, I could fall so fast for Aran that I break myself in the process. That’s my usual pattern. On the other side—the harder, seemingly less interesting one—I could recognize that this is just him being a good Samaritan. As a hockey guy, he’s probably seen terrible injuries, and if he witnessed anyone else slip and fall, he would no doubt react with the same concern.
