Page 22 of Taking Sides

FIVE

Four months later

I’m standing outside of MVP with my hands shoved into my pockets and a ball cap low over my eyes. This place is always bustling with people after a game, but tonight was our first weekend home game and the downtown area by the rink is filled with people. When a group of guys wearing Moonshot jerseys walks past me to go into the bar, I duck my head and sidestep out of the way.

I love this time of year. The nip of cold in the air promises winter is almost here and that hockey season has just begun. It’s been a good start. We’ve won seven out of the nine games played so far with one of those losses coming down to a shoot-out and the other coinciding with four of our guys being out with a stomach virus. It’s the rare kind of beginning to a season where things feel like they mesh right away. Everyone is hopeful, cautiously optimistic, and, of course, absolutely silent about it. No one wants to jinx it, especially in November.

My phone vibrates in my pocket. I pull it out and read the text.

D-Low

Did you get lost? Where the hell are you?

Me

Almost there.

I let out a sigh and slide my phone back into my pocket. My hesitation about going inside has nothing to do with how busy the place is or the fact my teammates are waiting inside. I’ve been back here at least a dozen times since that night and had plenty of good memories here before it. It shouldn’t be the only memory that stands out, but Whitney somehow cemented herself on a long list of bad dates as the absolute worst.

Unease swirls through my gut as I push into the restaurant and bar. The noise is almost enough to drown out the barrage of thoughts and images that assault me every time I step foot into this place now, but not quite. It’s like going back to the scene of a crime. And in this case the crime is the disaster of my dating life.

My teammates are in our usual spot at the back of the bar. Travis sees me first over the crowd. He lifts a hand and calls out to me, “Shep!”

“Hey,” I say when I reach them.

“Finally.” D-Low hands me a cold bottle of beer. “What took you so long?”

“Media clamoring for a sound clip about that last goal?” Nick Galaxy asks with a smile. I made the winning shot tonight, a buzzer beater that made the fans go wild.

I nod, though it isn’t the entire truth. The reporters did ask me a lot of questions tonight, though it took less time than my teammates think. But it’s an easier explanation than admitting that I dragged my feet to walk over because even a game-winning goal can’t block out the regret I feel every time I step foot into MVP.

“Well, let’s play some shuffleboard.” Trav rubs his hands together.

The group moves over to the table. I take a long swig of beer before following.

D-Low hangs back. His brows tug together in concern. “You good?”

“Fine.”

He stares at me like he’s trying to read my thoughts. Out of all my teammates, Danny knows me the best. I don’t know if it’s because he’s my roommate and therefore we spend more time together or if it’s just him. He’s a smart guy, observant and curious by nature. When he doesn’t understand something, he has to figure it out. It’s almost like a compulsion.

I smile a little brighter just for him and that seems to appease him.

As we’re pairing off into teams, Hannah hooks her arm through mine.

“Guess what?” she asks, but then doesn’t wait for me to answer. “I found someone for you.”

She lets out a happy squeal and squeezes my arm like a vise. The guys around us groan.

“Not again,” Galaxy mutters under his breath with a wince. D-Low and Penn are wearing similar expressions. Trav is the only one who looks like he thinks this is great news, and he can’t be trusted because he thinks everything his wife does and says is amazing.

“This girl is perfect for you,” Hannah adds.

“Is this the fourth or fifth time you’ve said that?” Penn asks.

“Hey, now.” Travis glowers a little at the guys. “It isn’t her fault.”

He looks at me then, a little bashful. “I didn’t mean how that sounded.”