Gametime: A Moo U Hockey Romance

by Jami Davenport

  “It’s okay, Naomi. It’d suck joining you guys ’cause Dad get his rocks off pitting Patrick and me against each other. We’re already in a bad place right now. We don’t need him making it worse.”

  “Are you sure?”

  He managed a joyless smile. “Positive. I have stuff to do anyway. See you later. And thanks for the invite.” He didn’t acknowledge the rest of the group but joined a few teammates waiting for him near the double exit doors. He left without looking back, his shoulders squared and his head held high.

  Good for him.

  I fumed as I followed our small group to the car. I didn’t speak on the way to the restaurant, and no one seemed to notice or care. We sat down, and I ordered a glass of wine. Despite the daggers I sent to Mr. Graham and my own father, even Patrick, no one paid me any mind. After all, I was just a mere female, and I couldn’t even skate. My skating ability, or lack of, was a major sore spot with my father. If I’d been a female hockey star or even a figure skater, he’d have been able to save face with his buddies who had sons and daughters who were born on skates and looked like it. I, on the other hand, had inherited my mother’s ineptness, clumsiness, and lack of balance, compounded by my phobia.

  I sipped my wine and observed. Patrick’s father was making a fool of himself, and my dad was playing him like a fine fiddle.

  The entire performance was disturbing and pathetic. Not just on Mr. Graham’s part but my dad’s too. My father needed adulation, thrived on it, and withered without it. I secretly called his first few years of retirement from hockey the dark years. He didn’t know who he was without hockey. He’d tried announcing and wasn’t ready to settle down to one thing. He’d dabbled in various business ventures, but none held his attention, not like hockey had. He still struggled, but he’d focused lately on his future, even if I had no idea what his plans were. He didn’t share such things with his daughter.

  Both men tag-teamed Patrick on going pro at the end of this school year.

  “Listen to Gene, Patrick. He knows what’s best for you,” Mr. Graham insisted. Patrick’s expression was grim. His strained relationship with his father didn’t make these dinners my idea of fun.

  “I appreciate your opinion, Mr. Smith,” Patrick said, not wanting to insult his idol.

  “I understand. You have to make your own decision, but at the same time, it must be an informed decision.” My dad turned to Mr. Graham. “You know, Graham, you’re one lucky man. You have two hockey-playing sons who’ll be in the NHL soon. Poor Naomi, here, she can’t even skate a foot without falling on her ass.”

  “I don’t skate anymore, Dad. So it doesn’t matter.”

  He shrugged and frowned.

  “Yeah, I’m pretty lucky the boys inherited my athletic talent, especially Patrick.” Mr. Graham beamed with rare pride. I caught Patrick’s surprised glance. He wasn’t used to hearing any kind of praise from this man.

  “Paxton is good,” I argued, drawing disapproving glances from both fathers. I guess I was to be seen and not heard.

  “Yeah, Pax is a far better player than you give him credit for, Dad.” Patrick jumped to Pax’s defense, and we shared a conspiratorial wink.

  “Pax isn’t you.” And that was all Mr. Graham had to say about his other son. The conversation turned to the current college season and who was likely to give Moo U a run for their money in the Frozen Four. Patrick and I exchanged glances of mutual suffering. This night couldn’t end soon enough for me.

  Finally, we were in a taxi and headed back to the hotel.

  Patrick and I burst out the taxi and hurried into the hotel, grateful to be freed from parental hell.

  “I could use a drink,” I exclaimed.

  “Me, too. Come on, I’ll buy you a tall one.”

  I sat down in a booth, and Patrick went to the bar to get our drinks. He returned and sat across from me.

  “For the record, I wasn’t angling for an invitation. I—I was just expressing how relieved I was to be out of the company of those two men.”

  “Tell me about it. They’re both overbearing, but my dad is groveling at your dad’s feet. I want to gag.”

  “And my dad is lapping up the admiration. It’s disgusting.”

  “They’re both disgusting.”

  “I thought you worshipped my father?” I teased, and Patrick grinned guilelessly.

  “I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, your dad has done a lot for my game, and he’s been really good to me, but…”

  “I know, a little of him goes a long way,” I finished for him, letting him off the hook.

  “That’s an understatement.”

  We laughed together. It was one of those moments when everything was right. We enjoyed each other’s company, but something was missing.

  I waited for that something to happen.

  And waited.

  And waited.

  Nothing.

  Not a damn fucking thing.

  No heart pounding, no butterflies fluttering in my gut, no girlie parts responding to the pure magnetism of this man. I didn’t get it. How had I fallen out of infatuation with Patrick before we’d gone on one date? He was the same guy he’d always been.

  It was me.

  I was different.

  Sleeping with Paxton had been life-changing, and my once wandering eye and ravenous palate only wanted what Pax served.

  “If our dads had their way, we’d be married off already,” I noted with a wry snort.

  “And I can’t even get you to go on a date with me,” Patrick said. He studied my face, as if I were a creature he was seeking to understand.

  “I know I’ve been evasive.”

  “I thought you were into me.”

  “I was. I mean, I thought I was.”

  He frowned, as if he’d never had a woman say such a thing to him before. “And now?”

  “I think I’m sitting here with the wrong twin.”

  His smile was slow and knowing, and he nodded. “I thought so, but Pax keeps denying you two have anything going. In fact, he’s been pushing me toward you.”

  “Me, too.”

  “Something’s going on with him, and he’s not filling me in.” I heard the hurt in Patrick’s voice and my heart went out to him. I could only imagine how it felt to have someone so close to you all your life and feel him pulling away. Pax was pulling away from both of us. I wasn’t sure I was going to let him.

  “I’m sorry, Patrick. No hard feelings.”

  “Absolutely none. My brother’s a great guy. Next to me, you couldn’t find a better guy, even if he has been a douche lately.”

  “Maybe you’re the douche.”

  “Maybe.” He grinned at me, and I laughed. “If you don’t mind me asking, what changed?”

  I considered his question for a long moment as the answer came to me as clear as day.

  “I did.”

  Patrick grinned and held up his glass. We clinked glasses, and he winked at me. “My brother is a lucky guy.”

  I laughed. “You think?”

  “I know.”

  The weight that’d been dragging me down disappeared. I’d made my choice. Now to figure out my next move.

  20

  I Believe

  Paxton

  After Friday’s game, Naomi had invited me to join her dad, my dad, and Patrick for dinner, and my dad uninvited me, adding one more humiliating experience involving Naomi. As usual, my old man sucked the joy right out of me, and I slunk off to lick my wounds. I hated the pity in Naomi’s eyes and the sympathy in my brother’s.

  My personal life had taken on a downward spiral, but my hockey life began to gather steam. Patrick and I didn’t have long, meaningful, sometimes heated discussions late into the night like we used to or talk trash while playing video games. We were as polite AF, and I hated it. Naomi and I traveled the same polite road of denial.

  My game had started to click Friday night. I’d always been hyperaware of my brother on the ice. I had a sixth sense about
where he was going and what he was going to do, but what I’d felt tonight went beyond that. I saw shots more consistently, took the good ones, and passed the bad ones. I’d scored in the second on a breakaway, barreling toward the net. I lasered a shot right in the five-hole. Icing on the cake, I had two assists, both of them providing Patrick with his two goals.

  In the locker room, Coach Garf had slapped me on the back and beamed like a proud father, something I’d never seen my real father do.

  I’d be damned if the dinner un-invitation would ruin my night. I refused to sulk in my room and joined my teammates for pizza across from the hotel. I kicked Tate’s ass at pool. Then Lex kicked my butt. And Jonah followed up by kicking his.

  Sometime before eleven, I called it a night and walked across the street to the hotel. Coach had allowed us a later curfew because we didn’t have to travel to the next game. I wanted to be in bed before Patrick came back from dinner. I’d pretend to be asleep so he wouldn’t ask me questions or apologize for our father. Being treated like I was nobody by my own father was demeaning enough. Pity made it that much worse.

  As I strode toward the bank of elevators, I heard a familiar laugh and paused. I glanced into the hotel bar.

  Well, shit.

  I froze and gaped at what I saw. Naomi leaned across the table, deep in a serious conversation with my brother. They were so intent on each other they wouldn’t have noticed me if I’d been beating on a drum.

  My stomach tied itself in knots. I’d harbored the remote hope after Halloween she might be into me more than my brother. She’d been sending out conflicting signals for a long while. Try as I might, she occupied too much space in my head. When she’d changed back to her natural hair color, I’d dared to hope she no longer carried a torch for my brother.

  Seeing them all cozy dealt my heart a fatal blow. I’d been deluding myself.

  My bolstered confidence eroded a little every second I watched the two of them. Jealousy curled through me like a vile blackness that gripped my heart in its hold and refused to let go.

  Why the fuck did everything go my brother’s way? Why not me once in a while?

  I teetered on the verge of a mega pity party.

  I turned away from them, unable to watch any longer.

  “Hey, you took off.” Lex caught up with me. His chest heaved from what had to be a sprint across the street.

  “Yeah, I’m tired. Physical game and all.”

  Lex grinned at me, admiration in his eyes. I squirmed a bit, not comfortable being the subject of someone’s hero worship no matter how minor. One more way my bro and I were different. He basked in attention, and I shrank from it.

  “What’s going on? You seem down.” Lex craned his neck to look beyond me into the bar. “Oh. Oh, shit.”

  “Yeah, oh, shit.”

  “Maybe it’s not what it seems,” he offered lamely.

  “I have eyes.”

  “That’s brutal, man. I’m sorry.”

  “It was inevitable. She’s been in love with Patrick since our freshman year, and he’s finally paying attention.”

  “But for how long?”

  “Hard to say with him, but it doesn’t matter. I’m not interested in his castoffs anymore.”

  “Even Naomi?” Lex blinked a few times as if to clarify I was the same guy standing in front of him.

  “Yeah, even Naomi. A man has to have his pride.”

  Lex nodded in agreement and switched to a more uplifting subject. “You’re figuring it out. You played awesome tonight.”

  I’d felt good about my game tonight until my father had snubbed me and now Naomi was cozying up to my brother. The game didn’t seem to matter nearly as much when I didn’t have someone to share my good fortune with.

  “Hey, Lex, I’m going to call it a night. I’m tired.”

  “Yeah, sure, me, too.” Lex and I rode the elevator up to the seventh floor. He turned one way and I turned the other. I scanned the lock with my key card and heard the sound of the bolt releasing. I walked inside, yanked off my clothes, and crawled naked between the cool sheets.

  I half expected to toss and turn most of the night, but the physical and emotional exertion of the game wore me down faster than I’d imagined. Soon I was sliding into a semiconscious state where my life was exactly the way I wanted it to be. Naomi was naked in my arms and nuzzling my neck. She felt so good, so warm, so soft.

  So mine.

  I drifted off to a night of sweet dreams and never heard my brother come in the door.

  UConn was bent on revenge Saturday night. We’d soundly kicked their asses the night before, and they wanted a piece of those very asses back tonight. I was determined not to give them what they wanted, as was the rest of our team. This was our year, and no one was holding us back.

  I’d slept like a baby all night long and woken up refreshed. When I finally remembered Patrick was the guy with Naomi last night, I refused to let it get to me. I’d use what happened last night to my advantage rather than let it define me. I’d show them all. Every one of them. My dad, who thought I was unworthy. Naomi, who preferred my brother. Mr. Smith, who barely acknowledged my existence.

  I’d let my anger drive me. I’d embrace it and bend it to my will. After years of feeling inadequate and not good enough, no more. That shit stopped here. I was good enough. I was a top player and every bit as good as my brother. Time I started playing like one.

  I skated onto the ice for warmups. My legs felt sure and strong. My blades dug into the ice. My heart pumped with purpose. Tonight was my night. My dad was here. Gene Smith was here. Naomi was working her statistician job. I had something to prove, and tonight felt right. The ice felt perfect. My body felt energized.

  Coach Garf nodded at me. “Looking good, Pax.” His smile was wide as he watched me skate around the rink with long, fluid strides.

  I grinned back at him and gave him the thumbs-up, not easy to do wearing hockey gloves.

  Patrick pulled beside me. I didn’t slow for him. I sped up, wishing he’d go away. He didn’t say anything but kept pace with me. He cast uncertain looks in my direction, as if I were a creature he’d never seen and was trying to figure out.

  In a sprint, we usually tied. When I pulled away, he didn’t pursue me. Even Patrick noticed something different in me, and he wasn’t about to tap into that before the game. He might not know how to deal with the new Paxton, but he’d have to learn. I wasn’t going back. I was going forward.

  I glanced around for Naomi; I couldn’t help it. She sat a few rows up from the bench. Her father was behind her. No one told Mr. Smith where he could or couldn’t sit. He did as he pleased.

  Lex skated past me and winked. “Hey, pro scouts are here. Word on the street is one’s from the Sockeyes.”

  I glanced up toward the box where the scouts usually sat, not that I’d know who the Sockeyes’ scout was. Shaking off a moment of anxiety, I concentrated on my warmup routine. The rest would take care of itself.

  I positioned myself, feeling calm and relaxed as the first line took the ice for the puck drop. Patrick fought for it and slapped it toward me. I spun around and raced for the net, faking out the defender blocking my way. The goalie bent down low, but my focus was laser sharp. I saw everything perfectly and time slowed down. I knew the direction the goalie was moving before he did, and I aimed a shot right through his legs. The second the puck left my stick, I raised my arms in the air to signal a goal. I was that sure.

  The red light lit up. The guys on the bench pounded on the boards with their fists. My teammates surrounded me with hugs and slaps on the back. Patrick skated up to me with a grin on his face.

  “Good one, Pax.”

  I grinned back at him. For a moment, we were best buddies again, and all the tension between us melted away. I embraced this moment of pure joy and wished I could hang on to it forever.

  I was hot, and the team recognized it. Instead of feeding Patrick the puck as we so often did, I found the passes coming my way. By
the end of the second, I’d scored another goal, and Patrick had scored none. In fact, my bro was having one of the worst games I’d ever seen him play.

  I chanced a glance toward our father. He was red in the face and shouting. I didn’t have to hear him to know he was pissed at Patrick, and there’d be hell to pay after this game. I had no delusions that he’d praise me, more likely chew my butt for taking the spotlight away from Patrick.

  Striking out of frustration, my brother took a cheap shot at an opposing player and was sent to the penalty box for two minutes. Our line didn’t miss a beat. We played on without him. Josh played the goalie position like he was on fire, and we fed off that. He practically stood on his head or used the Force to knock back some of the shots coming at him hard and heavy as UConn attempted to correct their three-point deficit.

  With one minute left, Jonah sent the puck flying across the ice to me, and I powered ahead of the defenders. Once again, I saw my shot before I took it. The puck whizzed over the goalie’s right knee pad.

  I celebrated with my teammates. I’d scored a hat trick, three goals in one game. I’d scored a few before in my high school days but never in college.

  I returned to the bench as the second line held the score of four to zero. I trudged wearily to the tunnel, exhausted but elated at the same time.

  “Paxton!” shouted a familiar voice. I cringed inwardly, but outwardly I squared my shoulders and marched down the corridor toward the locker room. I wouldn’t give my father the benefit of acknowledging him. It’d been impossible to discern whether he was angry or happy for me. I’d vote for angry because my great play made the chosen one’s game even less impressive.

  Okay, I was being a sore winner and gloating a little too much, but hadn’t I earned it?

  In the locker room, the guys surrounded and congratulated me. I basked in the glow of an incredible game.