“Um…” My fingers fidgeted with the edge of my napkin as a knot tightened in my stomach. “Actually, about that….”
YOM
Perhaps he had gone too far....
Later, in their home stadium’s state-of-the-art locker room, those last few moments in the alcove with Lydia kept looping in Yom’s head as he laced up his skates.
He had meant every word he’d said to her. There would be consequences. He’d make her and Carrington pay for the humiliation they caused him.
He just hadn’t meant to say that part out loud—or been prepared for how her soft brown eyes had widened with fear, wrenching his heart.
“You shoulda seen this girl, homie! She was all over my ass at the back-to-school festival. I mean, just straight-up begging me to put her on....”
Yom threw an irritated glance over his shoulder at Tommy Hanson, the team’s second-line center, boasting to a group of guys.
Hanson’s voice grated like nails on a chalkboard. He talked with an aggressive 90’s-era Blaccent, despite having grown up on a farm in the extremely White rural outskirts of Gemidgee. And Yom had once overheard him complaining, “Yo, Coach be thinkin’ Rustanov’s somethin’ special jus cuz he’s a Russkie and related to Mount Nik. That’s straight-up racist.”
When Hanson wasn’t being just capable enough on the ice to hold his team spot, he treated campus like a hunting ground for his dick. Whenever boasting about his “big game numbers,” he often referred to himself in the third person as Mr. Hit and Quit It.
“I mean, she’s not my usual type—sounded kinda corny, if I’m being honest. Got that Urkel in her a little too deep, know what I mean? But she’s cute in the face, and she’s got a nice ba-donk-a-donk, so yeah, I was spitting game. Then I find out who her motherfuckin’ father is. Get this….”
Yom didn’t “get this.” Hanson was a cartoon of a male, and Yom found he had no more patience for his antics.
He jammed his earbuds in and blasted C-Mello, drowning out the rest of Hanson’s story.
And just like that, his thoughts returned to Lydia.
Yom’s genetic inclination toward revenge was still coursing through him, but...
She’d sounded sincere when she apologized. Her voice, soft and trembling, kept replaying in his head.Truly, sincerely, so, so sorry...
Also, there was that bit about her breaking up with Carrington.
She was no longer with him. Did that mean Lydia was a free agent? Maybe what she’d said to the guy with yellow dreadlocks was just a made-up story to let him down gently. The girl he’d met in Berlin had seemed like the kind of person who’d make up a story to avoid confrontation.
Yom’s heart raced at the memory of how fervent she’d looked when she apologized again instead of pushing him away. Maybe she wasn’t lying this time.
Yom clenched his fists, trying to suppress the flicker of hope rising in his chest.
“Hey, Yom, you ready to kick some ice?”
Yom blinked and looked up to see the locker room now empty, save for Lars Andersson, their team captain, who stood over him with a quizzical look.
“You all right?”
Lars was yet another Minnesotan currently playing for the Gemidgee Yolks. But Yom preferred his easy-going, folky accent to whatever Hanson was trying to emulate.
“Da, I am ready to kick some ice,” Yom answered, repeating the pun their highly devout coach often used instead of the less cleanly worded “kick some ass.”
Gametime.
Wiping all thoughts of Library Girl from his mind, Yom rose to his feet and followed his captain out of the locker room.
This Lydia business could wait. He had a winning streak to maintain with the Yolks.
And win they did.
From the very first blow of the whistle, Yom dominated face-offs, winning nearly every one and setting up play after play. Halfway through the first period, he scored the first goal with a perfectly executed wrist shot that flew past the goalie’s outstretched glove. By the second period, the Yolks were up 4-0.
