Sweat drips into my eyes as I battle over the blue line andalong the boards, fighting to dominate every inch of ice. My jaw tingles—probably from clenching it—but adrenaline keeps me sharp.
I intercept a sloppy pass at center ice and break away, but Neal closes in behind me. I deke left, pull right, and flip the puck top shelf where Mama keeps the Christmas cookies. I hoot before the call is even made. The lamp lights red, and “I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus” thunders through the arena. My teammates crash into me with chest bumps of celebration.
One-nothing, but there’s still a lot of hockey left to play.
The second period is tit-for-tat, back-and-forth, much like a game of ping-pong, but with a puck instead of a ball. The problem is we’re all at the top of our game and are used to playing with each other, so we know each other’s strengths, weaknesses, and tells.
By the third period, I’m on fire, scoring two goals in rapid succession. The enthusiastic crowd goes wild with each one, and for a moment, I forget about my jaw, the bench, and the recent string of dating disasters.
But then Sanderson finds an opening. He scores one goal.
Nope. Make that two. Three. The old man scores four goals with less than ten minutes remaining. Guess I can’t knock greatness when the final buzzer sounds. I’ve scored four, but Sanderson has five.
This leaves me one point behind.
And if Badaszek has anything to say about it, I’ll be a day—or another twenty-nine—short of resuming play with the team.
The guys circle around me in the locker room afterward, their faces lit with glee. Yes, even the ones who wore the Santa hats like me. They don’t seem mad that we lost. It’s all in good fun for a good cause, which makes me feel better, but still. These men are like brothers on top of the three I alreadyhave and I hate that I let them down, given my circumstances.
“Time to pay up, Fletch.” Liam wears a grin that would frighten lesser men.
“What’s it going to be? Pink hair? Ballet lessons?” I ask, referring to our conversation earlier.
The guys know I’ve been struggling since the jaw injury—not just physically, but mentally, too. Hockey is my identity, and without it, it’s like skating without a stick: possible, but not ideal. Not only that, because of the situation, I just haven’t fully gotten into the Christmas spirit this year.
Coach Badaszek has made it clear that when I come back, I need to have my head in the right place and that means that today, I needed to deck the halls with some sharp play.
The team’s annual Ho Ho Hockey charity fundraiser is our biggest event, and I’d promised to do whatever it took to make it successful. We’d set an aggressive goal for the children’s hospital. We’re close, but not there yet.
They huddle together, whispering and laughing. Words likecommitmentandfollowing throughreach my ears.
Hayden turns to me with a sly expression. “What were you saying earlier about Cupid?”
I distinctly recall, but I glower because I don’t know where he’s going with this. If it’s making a formal apology to the guy who broke my jaw, done. If it’s to donate money to the charity in his name, no problem.
Redd narrows his eyes. “You know how you never follow through with anything besides hockey?”
“All those first dates and nothing more?” Jack adds.
I swallow hard. “So?”
Mikey taps the screen on his phone. “We’ve signed you up for something special. A service that’s going to find you theperfect match.”
Like Santa, I grip my belly and chuckle. “What, like a dating app? Been there, done that. Backspace. Delete.”
“Not exactly. More like ... a mail-order bride service.” Pierre waves his hands like he’s revealing a grand prize on a game show.
My jaw drops—slightly painful, given its recent history. “You’re joking.”
“Nope. And the best part is, it’s all completely legit.” Grady snaps his fingers and fires a pair of finger guns at me, blows on the invisible muzzles, and twirls them before dropping them into the pretend holsters at his sides.
The room is quiet, leaving my brain with enough silence to point out that the vast majority of Knights players are in committed relationships, if not married. Trust me, I’ve been looking. My perpetual state of bachelorhood isn’t my fault. Not exactly. I mean, I just haven’t found the one.
Well, technically, I had a hopeful contender who was fun to try to flirt with. However, she wouldn’t look my way without scowling. Back then, it was all in the chase.
I told her I was going to marry her someday. It was a joke, though, as they say, there’s always some truth in comedy, and I’ve never forgotten about her. However, if she saw me, she’d storm off in the opposite direction, and rightly so.
I was a self-absorbed and self-aggrandizing twit back then. My brothers said so.
