“Is everything okay? Are you nervous for tonight?” she asks.
“Yeah, just pregame jitters. It’ll all be fine.”
She taps the top of my head three times like I’m a good dog.
“You’re going to crush it. I’ll be watching and recording all your cute little goalie stretches and saves. You got this.”
She lightly punches my shoulder, shaking out her hand afterwards. I grab her hand and inspect it.
“No more doing that shit,” I say, making sure she didn’t hurt her knuckles.
She clears her throat. “Okay. Have a great game,” she says, walking away.
As she leaves, she records a few of the guys and says hello. Everyone seems extremely cautious of Sloane, making sure to be respectful and not cross any lines. That is, everyone minus Nilsen.
Who is currently staring at her like a hawk. The moment she leaves the room, his gaze snaps to me.
Just what I need, this asshole starting some shit right before the game.
He makes his way over to me in a few strides and grabs a fistful of my jersey.
“You don’t fucking touch Sloane.”
“I only touched her because she smacked my pads. She’s my friend. What’s your fucking problem with me, Nilsen?”
He laughs sardonically. “You really don’t remember? Figures.” He drops my jersey with disgust. “You stay the fuck away from her,” he says, pointing down at me.
Mikael Martel strolls along with a sigh, clearly used to dealing with Nilsen.
“Who are we staying away from?” Martel asks.
“Sloane,” Nilsen says, staring daggers at me.
“Oh yeah, Nilsen all but pissed a big mean circle around the coach’s daughter last year, Connery,” Martel says.
“I didn’t piss on anything,” Nilsen counters.
“It’s a figure of speech. Literally everyone on the team watches this big asshole pine after her. Not that he’d ever do anything about it. Right, Nilsen?”
The large defensemen shrugs, not confirming or denying.
“God, this season is going to be something, isn’t it?” Martel says.
“Just tell this asshole to cool it. He’s gone out of his way to start some shit with me. I’m supposed to be his goalie. We’re supposed to be a team. Sloane is my friend, and I don’t know why he hates me, but it has to stop.”
“Gotta say, I kind of agree with him,” Martel says, taking my side.
Nilsen finally breaks his glare to grimace at Martel. “He won’t last past the season anyway,” Nilsen says, waving me off like I’m trash.
Martel whistles as Nilsen walks away before glancing back at me.
“Christ, Connery, what the fuck did you do to him? I mean, don’t get me wrong, Bram’s an asshole on a good day. But the only person I’ve ever seen him hate this much is his cousin.” Martel taps on his chin. “You know what? I don’t think any of us know that story either.”
“I’ve tried to make peace with him. I don’t even know what I did.”
“Well, I’d tell you to stay away from Sloane, but if she’s set on being your friend, you’re kind of fucked in that department.”
I glance up at him, and he shrugs his shoulders.
