But that's okay. I like a challenge.
Jackson throws an arm around me, knocking his helmet against mine. “Ready to fuck shit up?”
“Always.”
As both teams line up, I go through my ritual. Tap the posts, tap my helmet, and feel that lucky card rubbing against my hair. Me and that card, we're the MVPs of our games. The most valuable and most powerful.
The puck drops and it's on. I'm in the fucking zone, blocking shot after shot like a goddamn wall. Not like I have a choice withthe rookie who replaced Alexei shitting the bed out there. Zach’s ready to murder the kid.
“Henneman, get your fucking head out of your ass,” I yell as he skates off to the bench.
Connor and Jackson score, putting us up two points by the end of the first. Connor skates to me as we head off the ice. “Still don't get why you didn't just sign with the Islanders.”
I snort. “And miss out on all this? No fucking way.”
But honestly, I've been thinking about it more and more, especially since Alexei went pro. The Islanders drafted me, wanted me. But I wanted to study science.
People always assume I'm dumb, but they couldn't be more wrong. I'm a fucking Chemical and Molecular Engineering major, top of my class.
It's my other obsession.
But I can’t call it love, though. No, my drive comes purely from hating Big Pharma. So, I turned down the contract the Islanders offered and came to Crestwood.
Zach joins us. “Going to plaster Henneman into the boards myself if he doesn’t get his shit together.”
Second period's a little better. Zach makes good on his threat, slamming our rookie defenseman into the boards after the dumbass screens me, causing the puck to slip through five-hole.
Third period is fierce, especially since we’re only up by one. Coach Nieminen benches Henneman. His replacement doesn’t play well with Zach, but at least the kid has skill. Quinnipiac gets a breakaway, and the player tries to deke but I poke the puck away.
It’s a fucking madhouse in front of the net. I'm doing splits, reaching, bending in ways I didn't know I could. Another shot. This time, the puck hits my glove and I smother it against my chest.
The horn sounds. Game over. We won.
I grab the puck and toss it over the glass to Eli before hitting the handshake line. The dork's grinning so wide, I swear his face is gonna split. Bet he'll lose his shit the first time Alexei tosses him a puck.
After shaking hands with the other teams’ coaches, I make my way off the ice. But when I skate past Coach Harper, he has the audacity to look at me with a proud fucking smile. Like he thinks we're cool now.
Please.
I blow right past him, ignoring his outstretched hand. I feel his eyes on my back, but I don't give him the satisfaction of turning around because Viktor Novotny doesn't get outplayed.
Beckett Harper wants to play games?
Fine.
I'll show him just how petty and bratty and fucking entitled I can be.
Chapter 7
Beckett
The pub's dimly lit, the low murmur of conversation and the clink of glasses filling the air. It's been a while since I've been out like this, just grabbing drinks with a friend. But Rinne insisted, said I needed to get out of my apartment and socialize like a normal human being.
He's not wrong. I've been holed up in my place since I moved to Rosewood Bay a few weeks ago. I just wanted to take the time to enjoy the peace and focus on coaching. The only person I bother talking to on occasion is my brother.
“So, how're you finding it? Coaching the team?” Rinne asks, taking a sip of his beer, his eyes fixed on me.
I lean back in my chair, considering the question. “It's different. Good different, mostly. The guys are talented, driven. A handful sometimes.”
