But for me…
My entire life is riding on this.
I head to the locker room with my grocery bag in one hand and my duffel in the other.
“You’re late,” a voice echoes. “Again.”
I pause the playlist, smiling at the large man in full Lucky Striker’s gear. He’s big enough to work as a bouncer in one of the famous clubs my teammates used to drag me to. Except, his terrifying image is shattered by the helmet with the giant Hello Kitty sticker on it.
Hard to take a guy seriously—even a guy Renthrow’s size—when he’s rocking an animated character on his forehead.
Although I’m not one to judge since I have an anime character permanently inked on my skin.
“I’m on the brink of being late. But I’m on time.”
“You always show up when everyone’s already on the ice.”
“How do you know that? Are you stalking me, Renthrow?” I grin.
Renthrow makes a disgusted sound and I am once again reminded of why I like to mess with him.
“What’s in the bag?” Renthrow asks.
I hide it behind my back and the plastic rustles. “Nothing.”
Renthrow’s eyes narrow in a way that I’ve seen him do with his six year old daughter. He turns his assessing gaze from thebag to me and I try my best not to squirm. He decides not to pry because he grunts with finality and stomps to the door.
“By the way,” I stop him, “do you know if the team manager needs help with anything? I could clean his office or file some paperwork or something?”
Renthrow’s eyebrows fly up.
“I feel like I could help around more. You know? Show that I’m more than just a good player.” I clear my throat and hope my expression isn’t as desperate as I feel.
“You should ask Max. Not me.”
My shoulders slump.What did you expect?
“Max doesn’t exactly talk to me,” I confess.
It’s been two weeks of training and while other players have gotten stern talking-tos or praise from the team leader, I haven’t been approached at all. It almost feels like I’m invisible. Like I’m just here to fill up space.
Not that I mind.
I’ve got my toe in the door at least, but I also can’t sit back and assume things will go my way. I have to trysomething.
At the door, Renthrow turns slightly to me. “Max will be at the town fair this Saturday, helping out a charity booth.”
My eyes brighten. “Noted.”
Renthrow walks out. “Get a move on, Campbell.”
“See you out there.”
After Renthrow’s footsteps fade, I stride into the showers and check the stalls to make sure no one’s inside. Then I return to the lockers, sink into a bench and extract a new package of pain relief patches.
Peeling back the plastic, I check over my shoulder to make sure I’m truly alone and then paste it over my leg. The patch has a slight, burning sensation, but I’m used to it by now. I stick on three of them, making sure to cover every inch of rough-textured skin along theDeath Notetattoo. When I’m done, I roll my sweatpants down to cover the patches, grab my hockey gear and join the others on the ice.
Twap!
