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“I’m going to be the team’s athletic trainer. And I just found out tonight, literally an hour before the game.”

I shrieked and threw my arms around her. What an opportunity! Willa would be such a great trainer for the team. “Can I make the announcement on our team social media sites?” I asked her. “Or would you rather I wait until tomorrow or Monday?”

“I start Monday, and I have some things to still button up at the gym, so I’d appreciate it if you announced it tomorrow at the earliest,” she said.

“Got it.” I was so busy texting the news to my team and hinting at the important announcement to the press, that I nearly missed the Tusks coming onto the ice.

Everyone managed to stay upright as they entered, and a few managed to even pumped their fists in the air as their names were called. Once more the team was bare-chested, with their numbers painted on their chests and backs, and their name painted across their shoulders. Worse than the paint was the accent piece the owner had insisted upon, even though I’d tried my best to dissuade him.

Around each orc’s neck was a plaid, woolen bow-tie.

“It’s fucking Chippendales on ice,” Stephanie gasped out a laugh. “Oh God. I want to bang them even more. Are they going to start dancing like some kind of flash mob?”

“Is this one of your public relations campaigns, Abby?” Jordan asked, grinning widely. “If so, then congratulations, because this is going to be all over the internet in five seconds.”

“Even Eng is wearing one,” Willa announced. “Tell me your secret, Abs. How in the hell did you get him to go along with this?”

“I…I didn’t. It’s not me.” My phone was indeed blowing up with notifications from social media. Sneaking a quick peek, I saw all sorts of posts, reels, tweets, and pictures with comments about the bowties. As tacky as it was, the accessories seemed to be a hit with fans.

Now I just needed to figure out how could I buy them in bulk to sell at the merch store to fans.

The anthem began to play so we stood. After the song was over I noticed Bwat looking at me so I smiled and gave him a thumbs-up.

The first period was a total shit-show. It was a miracle the Ducks hadn’t scored because they were literally skating circles around the Tusks. We shouted encouragement, and when the team took the ice for the second period, I hoped the Tusks could at least score one goal, and not lose too badly against the Anaheim team. Everything was proceeding pretty much like the first period until Bwat nearly took the puck, only to lose his balance and knock down a member of the opposing team as he fell.

I gasped, getting to my feet as the human hit the ice hard and stayed there. Bwat had felt so guilty when he’d knocked Dylan Emmet down, causing the player to have a concussion. If this guy was seriously hurt Bwat would probably quit the team and go home.

And I really didn’t want him to go home.

I didn’t realize that my thoughts were mostly about the orc and not the injured human until the man rose to his feet, albeit with unsteady legs. The crowd cheered and clapped, and I felt relief that the man wasn’t leaving the ice on a stretcher - relief for both him and Bwat.

The whistle blew and the crowd collectively booed at the penalty. Bwat spent some time arguing politely with the referee before he skated over to the box. As he took his seat, the crowd cheered. Bwat deserved the penalty, but he’d given them the sort of hockey that attendees wanted to see, and I was sure everyone here had known that the whole thing had been an accident.

He had quickly become a fan favorite in addition to a media darling. While he might be a terrible skater and an even worse hockey player, people loved him. Still, I was concerned. Was this game right for Bwat? Maybe he would be better off with a different career; one that didn’t have him concussing humans on a semi-regular basis.

Somehow the Tusks managed to keep the Ducks from scoring during the power play. At the end of his two minute penalty, Bwat climbed over the boards and skated like a drunken sailor across the ice. Then two strides later he was barreling toward one of the human players with intent.

“What the hell is he doing?” I muttered.

“Standing there like a damned statue. Just like that asshole always does,” Willa replied.

It took me a second to realize she was talking about Eng and not Bwat. During that time the human had nimbly moved out of Bwat’s line of attack. Once more Bwat lost his balance, flailed, then slammed his elbow down onto a human player’s back as the man tried to duck under. They both fell like trees. The whistle blew, and again Bwat headed for the penalty box.

This time the crowd began chanting his name. I frowned. While it was great that the fans adored him, these constant penalties were going to get him in serious trouble and maybe even kicked off the team.

But would that be a bad thing? For me and the marketing effort, it would, but maybe it wouldn’t be so bad for Bwat. Still, when I caught his eye I made a “calm it down” motion with my hand, hoping he wouldn’t spend the rest of the game trying to crash into members of the opposing team and either accidentally or on purpose knocking them down.

This time the power play did not go in our favor. There was a near miss shot, that our own team knocked into the net, providing a ridiculous assist for the Ducks. The orcs argued with the referee over whether it should count or not, and I began to laugh. Ridiculous really was the only way to describe it. Actually, entertaining was another good descriptor. The Tusks might not be good at playing hockey, but they sure as hell were putting on a good show for the fans of either team.

And maybe that was the best I could hope for.

17

BWAT

Ever since we’d walked into McHenry’s I’d kept Abby in my peripheral vision. I’d also kept my eyes on her most of the game, which might have contributed to my poor performance.

Well, that and the fact that I sucked.