“I handled it,” Hudson Hayes, my teammate and one of my best friends, says, appearing in my room. “Lovely girl. She’s not a fan of you anymore, though.”
“Sorry, man. I didn’t mean for you to be on clean up duty.”
He runs his hand through his blonde hair. A sheepish smile breaks across his face, and he lifts a shoulder in a shrug. “What are friends for?”
“You said something about breakfast?” I ask.
“I did. Pancakes from that place up the road. Thought I’d stop by and see if you were hungry.”
“Fuck.” I groan and try to stand. My feet get caught in the sheets at my waist, and I topple back down. “I love you.”
He laughs, and his attention moves to the bed that’s missing half its pillows. The box of condoms on the nightstand and the underwearBethanyleft behind.
Fuck yeah,I’m getting good.
“You really need to find some new hobbies, Mav,” he says.
“I’m young, Hud. There’s plenty of time for hobbies.” I reach out a hand. “Help me up?”
“I swear to god if you drop that sheet and I see your tiny dick again, I’m going to be pissed.”
I check to make sure I’m wearing boxers. They might be on backward and inside out, but I’m covered. “Tiny? Go get a ruler. Let’s settle this right now. You know I’m the biggest guy on the team.”
“I don’t carry around a ruler. Do you?”
“No. I guess I need to start keeping one in my pocket so when this argument comes up again, I can provide clear evidence of size ranking. You would lose so bad, Hayes.”
He rolls his eyes and pulls me onto my feet, heading for the kitchen. It’s even brighter out here, and I regret not closing the shades last night. I straddle one of the barstools at the island, and my mouth salivates when he puts a plate of flapjacks in front of me.
“Are you going to Seymour’s later? He’s throwing a pool party and grilling burgers to celebrate our weekend off. His girl is also making brownies,” Hudson says, sitting next to me. I swear there’s a drop of drool hanging in the corner of his mouth—the man loves food more than he loves hockey. “Should be a good time.”
“Can’t.” I shove half a pancake in my mouth, and the carbs soak up the last bit of alcohol in my system. “I’m meeting with Coach today. He wants me to skate with the new guy.”
“Which one?”
“Some dude from the west coast. Coach sent me his footage, but I haven’t gotten around to watching it. I’ve been busy playing catchup.”
The guys know I spent the summer coaching the junior Stars hockey camp. As much as I’d kill to spend my first weekend off in months drinking beers and eating burgers, we’re two weeks into the season, and I’m already in over my head.
“Are you talking about Emerson Hartwell?”
I knock over the salt shaker and grab my phone. I ignore the Instagram DMs flooding my inbox and pull up the email from Coach, double checking the name. “Yeah. Hartwell. Know anything?”
Hudson hums and takes a bite of his breakfast before answering. “I think Emerson Hartwell will be exactly what weneed this season. More than any of the other players we’ve rotated through the last couple of weeks.”
“I really thought this was going to be our year.” I rub my eyes and sigh. “The guys in the locker room are finally proud to wear their jerseys, and Coach is getting more confident in his play calling every game. Then Adams went and tore his ACL in the fucking Bahamas, and our playoff dreams went out the door. Rookies shouldn’t be allowed to go anywhere without a chaperone—I don’t care if it was only for a weekend. He needs an adult watching him at all times.”
“Chin up, Cap.” Hudson reaches over and clasps my shoulder. “We’ve been through this before, and we can go through it again. The younger guys are going to be looking up to us now more than ever, and we have to show them that patience pays off. It’ll all work out.”
Hudson was drafted by the Stars the year after me. We clicked right away, and it’s been a comfort to suffer through all this shitty bad luck with someone who gets it.
“I wish you could look into a crystal ball and read the future. It would bring my stress levels way the fuck down,” I say.
“Think of it this way: things can’t get worse. Anything better than last place in the league standings is a vast improvement.”
“Wow. We’re really grasping at fucking straws, aren’t we?”
“Glass half empty, half full kind of thing. Our team psychologist would be proud,” he says.
