Page 37 of He Has Charm (Boston Brawlers Hockey)
“You better. Because Harper deserves better than you. Not that she’d give you a shot since she knows better. One of the most hardworking and honest agents in the business. Maybe the most honest.” I grunt, knowing he’s right.
“Not to mention the hottest agent in the business,” I grumble. The short drive is barely enough time for me to get my head back in the game and ready to play, but as soon as we step into the back hallway on the way to the dressing rooms, the smell of dank and ice and hockey equipment that permeates the place puts me squarely where I need to be.
* * *
In the locker room before the game, Coach tells me I’m starting on the second line at right wing with Brady Mac, the wily old veteran who was my hero when I was in high school. Brady taps me with his stick as he walks by. I follow him out to the tunnel and we jump on the ice.
What I’m not prepared for is the massive cheering from the crowd. It’s still early, but the place is more than half full with fans eager to watch pregame warm-ups. Shit. My heart thuds. I haven’t been in front of a home crowd like this since college playoffs. The energy and enthusiasm thunder through my system and as I skate around the perimeter, the familiar icy breeze calms me, getting my heart rate down to normal, thank fuck.
As the rest of the guys take the ice, we organize for shooting drills and confine the skate around to half the ice. The other team comes out and does their thing on the other side of the red line at center ice. It’s business as usual.
Or it should be, but my chest pounds unnaturally and I stop at the blue line. A puck comes my way and the instant it hits my stick, I flick my wrist and shoot, aiming reflexively for the top left corner of the net. Finn is quick, plus he knows my moves and he stretches his glove out and the puck smacks hard into it. Shit. He moves on to the next save for the next shot and I look for another puck, gather myself, skating in a small circle, doing nothing to unwind my tension.
Then I look up at the crowd again, to the seats a few rows behind the bench, to where I’m pretty sure Harper will be sitting with her friend. If she’s arrived yet. I scan, keeping the puck on my stick until I spot her. She’s wearing a suit. With a Brawlers cap. I pop a grin.
O’Rourke bumps me on his way by.
“You going to shoot that puck or date it?” he says. I snap my eyes to the net, zero in on the upper right corner, which is a long shot from this angle, but I’m a pro and this is what they pay me for—to make the tough shots. With the flash of quickness I’m known for, I rip off a wrist shot and Finn has no time to adjust as it catches the corner, pinging the cross bar as it ricochets in.
“More like it.” O’Rourke grins. We finish our warm-up drills and skate off the ice. When we get to the cement tunnel that takes us from the gate in the boards to our locker rooms, the mass of fans hanging over the rails shouts at us, begging for autographs. Most of them are kids and I stop to sign some things automatically, taking random programs held out to me.
Until I get to the third one and this pen isn’t held out by a kid. She’s a well-stacked, full-grown woman wearing a skintight Brawlers jersey with a massive amount of cleavage showing. She hands me a photograph to sign. It’s a photo of me in a Brawlers uniform. We only had the pics taken recently before practice. I dash off my signature quick, but she grabs my arm and hauls herself forward, yelling something about how she’s in love with me and would do a sex video with me anytime.
She’s about to fall over the rail into my arms, but someone pulls her back and I thank god for security. But when I look up, I see it’s not security who intervened. It’s Harper. Even in the face of her scowl, I flash her a grateful smile. Someone yanks on my arm to pull me toward the dressing room and I move away.
“Are you a fucking chick-trouble magnet?” Finn asks as he walks with me, pushing through the locker room door. “That damn action was recorded for posterity by multiple phones. Some of the kids saw and heard it too. Great job reforming your image.” Fuck.
“Could have happened to anyone,” I say. “Am I supposed to ignore the kids wanting autographs in case a random wacko shows up?”
“Looks that way.” Finn slaps my back and pulls off his helmet. We take seats on the bench and wait for the coach or one of the captains, either O’Rourke or Brady Mac, to step up. What we get is all three teeing us off. Coach is low key, Brady Mac brings up the energy, and O’Rourke slams it home until we’re banging sticks hard enough to break if they were the old wood ones.
Finn leads us out and the guys line the hallway down to the opening. We can hear the music and the crowd buzzing. The guys act up, checking and poking each other with sticks. I shove Brady and yell at him.
“We need to outscore the bums on the first line. You in?”
“All in,” he shouts back in my face. Coach walks past us, game face on, and disappears around the corner to the passageway heading for the gate. We all follow and the crowd erupts, the lights are bright and flashing, but it’s not nearly the shit show they put on in NOLA. The fans are doing most of the heavy lifting to make the place rock. No special effects needed.
My adrenaline kicks in as we skate out and each player gets announced. When they get to me, I let out the breath I’ve been holding. The applause is loud although punctuated by more than a few catcalls. We line up at the blue line for the anthem. I put my hand over my heart to feel it thumping, to get my head into the hockey zone, and I zero in on the flag then the banners hanging from the rafters. A chill climbs my spine because this is one helluva chance I have here with this team. And I can’t blow it.
Hopping on the ice for the line change, I take my first shift in the game. I chase down the guy with the puck at our opponents’ end of the ice as he circles around. I almost catch him but end up trailing him to our end. Aiden stops him and I pick up the loose puck. After spinning around, I turn on the afterburners and race back at top speed. I see Brady trailing in my periphery with one defenseman ahead. Stick handling as if to go around the defense, I pass the puck back to my left to Brady where it lands on his stick and I go around the defenseman, almost in front of the goal. Sliding to a stop, I look back and feel more than see the puck coming as it lands on my stick and, with a flick, change the puck’s direction to slide it under the goalie’s pad to the back of the net.
The goal light flashes red and I raise my stick in the air then collide with Brady as we celebrate our goal.
“Fucking awesome pass, Mac. What a feed.”
“I heard you were fast, but fuck,” he says. “Where were you hiding that speed in practice?”
“That’s my game speed.” I grin as the rest of the guys catch up with me. We head over to the boards to take a rest and the next line takes the ice. The fans are going wild and I hear a chant though I’m not sure what they’re saying. O’Rourke bangs my pads with his stick.
“You hear that? It’s official. The fans have adopted you as one of their own.”
“What the hell are they saying?”
“’Charmer,’ I think.” He shrugs. “Or it could be ‘porn star.’ Not sure.”
I laugh. “Fuck you.” I turn to see if I can spot Harper and I do. She’s beaming and not shy about giving me a double thumbs-up. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her smile that wide. A guy could get used to the brilliance in that face, that look all just for me like my private cheerleader. One who really cares.
The rest of the game goes well with a few more scoring chances but the score ends up one to zip and we’re flat-out exhausted with the effort of keeping up with our closest competitors. We all pay homage to Finn, skating to his goal and congratulating him on his shut-out with various forms of praise, including punches, head butts, and hits with the stick. All in the name of crazy hockey ritual fun.
