Mav sits next to me, his eyes glued to his phone, looking relaxed and calm.
If only I could achieve that. The silence is deafening as I try to think of something to say.
“Have you seen this?” He tilts his phone, showing me slo-mo content a West Coast team put out. “Sounds like they cracked the code to get women interested in the sport.”
“Yeah,” I say lamely. My conversation skills suck.
As the bus rumbles along, Mav’s gaze cuts to me, a question and uncertainty written on his face.
“I don’t bite,” I joke to ease the tension.
He laughs and tilts so our heads are inches apart. “You’re not really related to O’Keefe, are you?”
“By a technicality. His mom married my sperm donor, but we only met once,” I explain. The guys from last year know I don’t talk about our feeble connection but Mav’s oblivious.
“How is that possible? Holidays, birthdays, summer vacation, none of it?” He’s truly confused.
“Some dudes shouldn’t be dads after they donate sperm. He talks to the media like we have a relationship, but I haven’t spoken to the man since I was seven. The sperm donor only talks about me to make himself look good. He’s an asshole.” That’s just the tip of the iceberg, but Mav didn’t ask for messy family drama.
“If O’Keefe grew up with him, that could explain his attitude.” Mav flips his phone over to check a notification.
“Hmm,” I say skeptically.
It’s a quick ride so we get off the bus and walk single file into the locker room while our social media coordinator films our arrival. She swears everyone online loves the content.
Toronto Titan hockey fans are rabid, which makes playing here interesting.
I lose myself in my pregame routine and join in the team dance when Benz drags me over. Most of the guys are stiff when they dance, but I’ve seen them warm up; they know how to move their bodies. It’s funny.
A Burna Boy song comes on and everyone knows it was my pick. I throw in The Weeknd or Kendrick Lamar without them noticing. I put extra sway in my hips as the team looks on.
O’Keefe sneers as he watches us. It’s too bad his generically pretty face got paired with such a rotten personality. My moms thinks his bad attitude covers his insecurities. She tries to see the good in everyone, like Mav and Benz. It’s how she got mixed up with my sperm donor.
We’re booed during pre-skate, but that only fuels our fire.
Ace says a few words about teamwork, Coach drills into us to pay attention to basics and in a blink, I’m on the bench watching Drake win the face-off.
“Do you think I’ll be that good?” Mav leans on his stick.
“Comparisons hold you back.” I lost so much sleep comparing myself to O’Keefe. What he had that my father wanted instead of me. “I’ll never be Ace, but that doesn’t mean I won’t be great on first line. We bring different things to the position.”
We flinch as Brant flies into the boards in front of us. After winning the puck, he gives us a wink and takes off.
“Crazy redhead.” Mav pulls his helmet on, ready to vault over the boards on Coach’s command.
Our first shift isn’t memorable. We don’t score, but neither does Toronto.
Shit goes down on our second shift.
Mav loses the face-off but gets his stick on the puck to interrupt Toronto’s pass. As he gains control, O’Keefe swoops in and takes the puck. Mav’s furious but he doesn’t say anything.
Finally, O’Keefe passes to Griff, who gets it back to Mav, who passes to me, and I score the first goal of the night.
“Great assist. Thanks.” I smack Mav’s helmet, and he headbutts me.
“Hell ya! Let’s gooooo,” Mav shouts. He’s silent when O’Keefe joins the celebration.
During the next shift, I get tangled up on the boards but push the puck toward a waiting Mav.
