She yanks open the door.
“Now leave me alone and let me do my fucking job.”
THREE
Joey
We won handily,and the hometown crowd’s voices echoed so loud through the arena that I was barely able to hear myself think.
The line chemistry was on point, our goaltending was our strong suit (something that we’ve struggled with in the past), and our special teams—both on the power play and the penalty kill—were outstanding.
But it was really Storm who shined tonight.
And it’s him who Lake Jordan, our captain, gives this season’s Player of the Game prize to.
This is something that I know speaks to the health of the locker room—namely that it’s good.
A fuck-ton better than it’s been over the last few years.
Better yet?
I didn’t come up with the idea of a Player of the Game.
And I didn’t buy the prize.
That was all the guys.
And it’s funny as fuck—not to mention, full to the brim with teasing. Typical when it comes to hockey locker room shenanigans, but the bejeweled fanny pack full of snacks Lake and company came up with takes it to another level. At first glance a fanny pack doesn’t seem so bad, especially one full of snacks, but because it requires the “winner” to pose with it snapped around their waist, one of the homemade cookies from a local granny who’s all but adopted some of the guys on the team in hand, it’s both reward and punishment.
Also typical for a hockey team.
Grandma Donna is the honorary granny who makes the cookies in the team’s kitchen, but what makes this a reward and not just punishment is that she developed a special concoction just for that fanny pack.
One taste and Storm quit bitching about the pictures.
Partly because her concoction is delicious (I got my own batch of the chocolate peanut butter balls) and partly because the normally trustworthy Riggs said the photo was for Donna herself, to let her know her gift was appreciated.
Of course, if that photo happened to make its way to the social media team andhappenedto find its way online…well, it’s nobody’s fault, really.
And considering I’ve already seen the picture pop up on the team’s socials, I know the normally strait-laced Riggs has been influenced by his mischief-making wife, Ella—the sister of his teammate and mischief-maker extraordinaire, Knox.
I love that for Riggs.
The newfound twinkle in his eyes. The fact that he’s not just sitting and brooding in the corner.
He’smore.
And, coach or not, I care about the guys.
So, I love the shenanigans and I love how happy Riggs iswith Ella, how happy Lake is with Nova, how happy Knox is with Ivy.
I know it’s because they’ve found women who fulfill them, who match them in respect and devotion and love, and even though that’s not destined to be my future, I’m glad for the guys to have that.
Plus, it makes for great social media.
Winking at Lake, I clap him lightly on the shoulder. “Nice.”
And then I leave the guys to it.
