Page 65 of The Groupie

I take the lecture because I deserve it, and I wonder how he knows that. But he’s been around the league and the team for a lot of years, so he knows things. This could be his last year which would explain his intensity. As captain, he’s made it clear he expects a legit run at the Stanley Cup this year.

Sitting on the bus, I tap my leg until Nowicki smacks my hand to stop me.

“What has you so wound up?”

“Nothing,” I lie my ass off.

The one flaw in my plan is that I haven’t talked to Rylee about it and have no idea if she’ll go along with revealing her mamma’s illness in an interview. Jett said he’d take care of convincing her to do it, but that doesn’t sit well with me.

That should be my role. I’m her… What? What am I? Her lover, for sure. That gives me standing, doesn’t it? Friend? Maybe. On my end, she’s a friend, but I wouldn’t bet my balls that she feels the same way.

In the visitor locker room, my concentration is shit. I’ve done zero mental prep and feel disconnected from hockey as I take the ice for warm-ups. Finn comes up behind me and taps my pads with his stick as he skates.

“You’re slow tonight.”

“I must be if you’re catching me.” I try a grin and force my legs to push me. Shaking my head, I don’t remember this ever happening.

Then as the cold air whisks by me and I suck in the icy air, I remember. It has happened once before. The last time I felt disconnected from hockey was right after Bill’s suicide.

The whistle blows, and I head for the gate, stepping off the ice and heading down the chute to the locker room, shaky as hell.

I sit next to Finn, and Nowicki sits on my other side.

“I’m shit tonight.”

“What’s up?” Finn asks, examining my face as if he might get a clue.

I’m about to tell him nothing, to shrug it off because nausea swirls in my gut, and confusion reigns in my head. Do I truly know what my problem is?

Fuck yes. “It’s her. Rylee. She’s in my head, under my skin, and things aren’t good.” The words stumble from my mouth like sharp-edged rocks, bruising me and making me bleed.

Finn’s eyes widen, and he blows out a breath.

“Shit. I was right,” Nowicki says. “Sorry, man.”

“What are you going to do about it? Does she know?” Finn asks.

I shake my head, unwilling to admit to the worst part, to spell out what I’m sure they suspect is the real problem—that she’s not into me. Fuck.

Coach comes in for pre-game, and I try to concentrate.

* * *

“That didn’t go well,” Dad says after the game on the phone. I’d smile, but my stitches prevent it, tugging the skin of my cheek near my right eye. “What happened to you tonight?”

I pace around my hotel room while Nowicki lounges on the bed, watching me like a worried old lady.

“My game was off.”

Dad snort-laughs into the phone. “You’re fighting was off, too. I bet your team isn’t happy with you, either. You get a penalty, Detroit scores, and you don’t come back in the game, didn’t even win the damn fight.”

“Thanks for the summary of my miserable night, Dad.” I stop and glance at Nowicki. He’s not grinning, not even smirking.

“Sorry. What’s wrong, Zak—and don’t give me any bullshit.”

“What if I tell you it’s about the girl, Rylee?” There’s silence on the other end of the line, and I turn away from Nowicki, lowering my voice. “I think I’m falling for her.”

“I’d say you’ve already fallen and stumbled, hitting your noggin good and hard.” He takes a deep breath. “Here’s your mother.” There’s some commotion in the background, and then Mom comes onto the phone.

“We’re on the next plane down to Boston. Don’t make a move without me. I need to meet this woman.” Mom’s not joking. Shit.

“You can’t. She’s not… into me.” Four words I never thought I’d be saying.

“Wait a minute,” Dad says, apparently sharing the phone. “You’re telling me you’ve fallen for a girl, and she’s—” Something cuts him off, and I’m glad because I don’t want to hear the words. They cut too deep and sting like a motherfucker.

“Don’t tease him, dear. This is serious.”