Shut Out (Bayard Hockey #1)(69)

“You’re moping.”

“I don’t mope.”

“Oh yeah you do. And you know what? Sulking is a level two offense.” He raises his eyebrows and nods.

“Oh Christ. What do I have to do? Kiss your ass?”

“You know you want to.” He smirks and starts to turn around, sticking his butt out.

I snort. Now that I know him better I’m able to take his trash talk in stride.

Buck straightens, grinning. “No, you have to go out and start our cars for us so they’re warm when we leave.”

“Fuck you. That’s what command start is for.”

“I don’t have command start.” Soupy raises his hand.

Actually, neither do I; my truck is nothing fancy. But I know Buck does.

“I’m not doing it. I wasn’t moping. Or sulking.”

“Oh yeah? Check this out.” Rocket shoves his phone in front of my face.

I glance around wildly. If Coach sees him with his phone out, he’ll be in trouble. But it’s only us players right now.

I frown at the screen. Somehow he took a picture of me a few minutes ago, sitting on the bench in front of my cubby, staring at the shin pad in my hands, looking like I’ve just been told the NHL no longer exists and hockey has been outlawed.

“Shit.”

Everyone starts laughing. I hold my hand out. “Keys.”

Soupy tosses me his keys, as do a couple other guys, and I pull on my jacket, a tuque, and a scarf and jog out to the parking lot.

I need to get my shit together. I can’t be all sad and mopey. I need to be focused and tough.

As the week goes on and I still haven’t talked to Skylar, I find myself with a strange tightness in my gut. I’m edgy and restless and irritable. Concentrating on schoolwork is getting harder and harder.

Saturday night is our last game of the semester, against the Mavericks from the University of Nebraska at Omaha. Normally, I’d make sure Skylar’s going to the game. There’s a rock in my stomach as I step on the ice for warm-up, not having called her. I can’t stop myself from scanning the stands to see if she’s there.

I don’t see her.

My legs are stiff and heavy tonight and it takes everything I’ve got to focus. I’ve used all the techniques I learned: visualization, picturing processes that will happen in the game and acting them out in my mind. Becoming the character I want to be when I step on the ice. Before the game, I had my iPod earbuds in, listening to 50 Cent singing “Ready for War,” which usually revs me up. I used my strategies of narrowing my focus—first when I walk through the arena doors, symbolically leaving shit behind, outside the arena, and then prioritizing my thoughts even more when I step onto the ice. I put my equipment on in the same order I always do, using that routine to create a feeling of security and consistency. I’ve done it all because I know I’m not at my best and I’m pissed off at myself. I don’t let anything interfere with hockey.

I have a moment in the game when the puck hits my stick and I can see a clear break to the net. I put on speed, leaving behind the two D-men. I fake the Maverick’s goalie with a move to the left and he comes out, way out. The whole f*cking net is open to me, it’s the easiest goddamn shot ever, but when I shoot, the puck goes wide of the net. The collective groan of disappointment in the arena hits me in the chest. I skate to the bench, shaking my head.

We lose three-two.

I know I’m not supposed to relive my mistakes, but dammit, if I’d gotten that goal…Ah well.

After the game, the guys are all going to Curly’s. I tag along, even though I’m grouchy. Maybe a beer or two will help my mood.

We grab a couple tables and order. I’m looking around, checking out everyone who’s there, still with a faint hope that I’ll see Skylar. Although I don’t know why she’d come when I haven’t invited her. I mean, it’s a free world and anyone can go to this bar, but…it’s kind of our team hangout.

There are lots of other girls there, though. They’re approaching our table, and the guys invite a few of them to join us.

Then I see Ella walk in.

Every nerve ending in my body goes on alert. If Ella’s here, Skylar probably is too. But as I watch her, I see she’s with Natalie. Not Skylar.

I swallow and look down at the beer bottle in my hands.

What is wrong with me?

Black Jack looks over at Ella and Nat. I don’t like the look in his eyes as he assesses them.

“Aren’t those your girlfriend’s friends?” he asks me.

I glance over. “Yeah.”

“Where is Skylar?” Buck asks. “She coming?”

“I don’t know.”

Buck frowns. “You two break up?”

I shrug and lift the bottle to my lips. “Just cooling off a bit.”

Apparently she got that I wanted to cool things off when I turned down her invitation to go home with her for Thanksgiving, because I haven’t heard from her.

“Huh.” Buck gives me a puzzled squint. “I thought you were really into her.”

“Her friend’s hot,” Black Jack says.

Buck rolls his eyes. “That slut sleeps with anything with a dick.”

I straighten my spine. “Hey.”

Black Jack grins lewdly. “It’s true.”