Puck Buddies

by Tara Brown

  “I can’t come. I’m heading over to the training center. We have some meetings with the coach to go over our own skill assess—”

  “That’s nice,” she interrupts without lifting her gaze from her phone. “Well, if you change your mind, you know where to find us.” She turns and leaves, clicking her way out the door in her Louboutins.

  Change my mind?

  Their lack of interest in my career is mind-boggling. Every other parent in the world would be excited that their kid made the NHL.

  Benson gives me a look from the doorway where he followed her in. “Might I suggest a deep breath, sir?”

  “And a shot of whiskey, or is that a bad idea before someone works me out for the next six hours?” I laugh.

  “I would suggest the whiskey after the six hours, sir.”

  “Sound advice, as always.” Taking his suggestion, I sigh a couple of times. “I better get going.”

  “I’ll have one of your favorites waiting for you when you arrive back. Best of luck with your first practice. Charles is bringing the car out front.” Benson gives me a loving smile and leaves me to my thoughts.

  When I get downstairs to the street, Charles has the Bentley pulled around. I contemplated taking a cab like a normal human being, but I’ve got an hour until we start and it’s a half-hour drive to Tarrytown.

  “Good morning, sir.” The older man sees my expression when I give the car a once over. “Your mother’s suggestion, I’m afraid.”

  “I suspected.”

  He gets the door and I climb inside, fighting hard not to enjoy the smell of the car. It’s my favorite in the world. Riding with my dad in the Bentley was a special treat. I grew up rich but my dad didn't. He was raised in Kentucky; his parents have a farm. But he worked hard and made something of himself and married rich. He prides himself on being a self-made man.

  Something he wishes we shared.

  Fortunately, he has my older brother to groom and focus on so I only get about twenty-five percent of his judgment. If it weren’t for Tony, I would be forbidden to play hockey. But having him take over the family business distracts from my failures. Plus, my father believes this is a phase. Something I will do while I’m young, before I choose a real career.

  “Are you excited for your first practice as a Ranger?” Charles asks softly, smiling at me in the rearview.

  “I am, thank you for asking.” What I mean is thank you for caring enough to ask.

  “We are all quite proud of you, sir.”

  “Thanks.” I pull on my headphones, not really in the mood to talk about it all.

  It’s a pleasant drive, one I enjoy. I’ve always liked Tarrytown and especially Sleepy Hollow. I read the book when I was eleven and forced Charles to bring me to the village. My mother had said it was a waste of time. So I convinced Charles to take me in secret, under the guise of going to the American Museum of Natural History. It bought us an afternoon to roam the graveyards and look at the village. He agreed, I think secretly enjoying sticking it to them.

  When we get close I turn off my music and smile at the scenery. I love being out of the city.

  “Do you recall that time we came to Sleepy Hollow and did the lantern tour through the cemeteries, sir?” Charles smiles wide.

  “One of my favorite days. I won’t ever forget it.”

  “Nor I. I feared I might lose my job every time we snuck off on one of those tours or trips to sightsee whenever you came to the city.” He laughs, making me smile.

  “You were a convincing liar, Charles. Mother never suspected a thing. The English accent and the gentlemanly nod wins her over every time.”

  He raises a bushy eyebrow. “The convincingly good liar was you, if you’ll allow me the liberty to say so. For such a pleasant boy, you lie like a rug.”

  “I learned from the best.”

  The comment is offside so he doesn't agree, but he also doesn't disagree. Twenty-five years of working for my parents has shown him my comment may be rude, but it’s accurate. My father has had a record number of mistresses and my mother has houses filled with clothes and shoes my dad doesn't know about. Neither one of them spends much time with the other, and yet they have a blissful marriage. Our life is perfect . . .

  Charles pulls off the main road and turns into the parking lot of a nondescript training center. “It’s smart to have such a plain building house some of the country’s best athletic teams. No one would guess it’s the training center for the Knicks or Rangers,” he marvels.

  “Yeah, I like it.”

  Before I realize he shouldn't, Charles gets out and opens my door for me. “Here we are, sir.”

  Assistant Coach Reynolds is standing on the sidewalk, talking to one of the female players for the New York Liberty. Both of their gazes drift my way as I climb out, looking like a visiting dignitary, not the new rookie.

  “Your bag, sir.” Charles smiles and hands me the massive hockey bag loaded with more of my practice gear.

  “Remember when I said we should lose the sir and you should call me Matt like everyone else?” I mutter, taking the bag.

  His dark eyes narrow. “Remember when I told you English chauffeurs do not address anyone, not even the cockiest of boys, by their God-given names?”

  “I think asking to be normal dudes around each other makes me not cocky.”

  “Your cockiness makes you cocky.” His expression doesn't budge.

  “Can we just agree that here, you’ll lose the sir? Just around the team?” I plead. “I will suffer harder if they think I’m a soft rich kid. Trust me.”

  “They’ll see there’s nothing soft about you.” He tries but then concedes, “Fine.” He turns on his heel and heads for the car.

  “Don't wait here for me, just go do something fun. Seriously.”

  He gets in and drives to a parking spot and turns the car off, ignoring me completely.

  Coach gives me a grim nod, obviously not prepared for the new guy to pull up this way. “Brimley.”

  “Sir.” I nod back, avoiding the dirty grin coming off the cute brunette.

  “Better hustle and get ready.” He turns back to the girl and continues his conversation.

  “Yes, sir.” I try to relax so I can enjoy every moment of this walk.

  It’s only the culmination of my entire life’s work.

  Each step into the building is important and I need to pay homage to it.

  It’s like walking the red carpet. Of course the journey, your life, flashes before your eyes.

  Every hard moment and battle fought has brought me here.

  It’s something I’ve earned.

  I didn’t have to do it. I did it because I wanted it.

  My father might not see it, but we’re the same. I fight and work as hard as he does; we just had different dreams.

  When I get inside the training center, I can’t help but sigh at the smell in the air. I breathe it in deeper, savoring the scent of success.

  The air here is made up of blood, sweat, and tears and it’s everywhere, even in the foyer with the trophies.

  I linger, staring and smiling like a moron.

  In the hallway I meet up with several people I recognize from the New York Knicks. It’s surreal. I don’t normally feel short but as they pass by I’m the smallest man in the hall, at six foot three.

  I head for the hockey locker rooms, which are something out of a fantasy.

  Every guy I know on the team told me about the state-of-the-art center we had for training and the first time I saw it, back in a summer camp, I was more than impressed. I still am. It’s the best facility I’ve had the honor of training in.

  When I get to my locker, I grin at my name for longer than is cool but I don’t care.

  I’m here.

  I’ve arrived.

  A lifetime of personal goals are met in one turn of the locker room and seeing one name tag.

  “Brimstone, buddy!” Laramie laughs. “I didn’t know Rockefellers got starstruck. I thought y
ou were the top of the food chain. But look at you. Did you pee a little?”

  I lift a finger, my favorite one. “Shhhhh, you’re wrecking it. Ignore the pee.”

  “It’s just weird seeing you impressed.” He comes and pulls me to sit on the bench next to him. “So, you ready to be ridden like a borrowed whore?”

  “I don’t normally double stuff the cookie, bro, so I don’t even know what level of riding borrowed whores endure.” I grin. “But if it’s anything like the workout your mom gave me last night, I’m ready.”

  He rolls his eyes. “If you managed to get anything more than a Lysol wipe down from my mom, I owe you a drink. She was the only billet mom no one fucked, which was cool with me.”

  “I honestly have nothing to add to that.” I chuckle.

  “She’s interesting. Anyway, what’s going on tonight? Drinks with the team, after training obviously, but after that?”

  “Some club with my friends. You in? I think my buddy Brady might try to make it up from Michigan.”

  “Brady Coldwell?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Dude, I’m always in when you blue bloods are down to party, but adding Coldwell means I’m doubly in. Maybe Sami Ford and that hot blonde will be there again.” He nudges me and waggles his blond eyebrows. No one has let me live down the night I took Sami Ford home. They all assume I had a threesome with two almost unconscious girls, which is fairly funny to them.

  “It’s safe to say we’re too pedestrian for them.” I use her own words against her.

  He cocks an eyebrow. “Pedestrian? I don’t even know what that means, man.”

  “She’s interesting.” I laugh and throw the words back at him.

  “Well, whatever. Let’s do this.” He slaps me on the back. “I hope you had your Wheaties, eh. It’s time to change.”

  The locker room comes to life as the doors burst open and other players filter in, each offering me a handshake or a slap in the arm or back or even a hug. The captain offers a hug.

  This is them coming back to work after summer break so everyone is pumped to see the team. I’m not the only new player so the welcomes are rolling off everyone’s lips. Mostly it involves more spanking than I’m technically comfortable with. But it’s hockey.

  My adrenaline starts to build as we head out for the beating of a lifetime.

  My first day training as a Ranger. Not a prospect. Not a junior. Not a college kid. A real NHL team member.

  It’s magical.

  For about fifteen minutes.

  Then it’s painful.

  On the tenth flight of bleacher sprints I learn exactly what a borrowed whore feels like. It’s a bad feeling. I make a mental note never to borrow whores. They don’t like it. No one does.

  The excitement of being on the team has died, along with one of my lungs.

  “COME ON, LADIES! GET THOSE KNEES HIGHER!” the assistant coach screams at us.

  “WHO’S SORRY THEY SPENT THE SUMMER DRINKING BEER AND JERKING OFF?” Our fitness coach shouts and laughs at us as we all groan.

  “I’m sorry,” I whisper through a cough.

  “It’s gonna be a long day, bro,” Laramie heaves. The flush in his face is gone and he goes pale. He takes a knee and blinks a few times until the color comes back. “I’m gonna barf.”

  “Yup!” I nod and try to get my breath as we wait our turn to take the next flight.

  Long day doesn’t describe the level of hell I’m in.

  Not even close.

  Chapter Six

  Second chances

  Sami

  “Are we dancing this time or did we come just to get your sober face in the papers again? ‘Cause seriously, I’m getting tired of going out for nothing. We go to these places for photo ops so your dad can pretend like he doesn’t have shares in everything in the city and he’s not using you to make money. Because that would be tacky and your father would never be tacky, out loud.” Nat mocks me as we click our heels along the pavement from the limo to the club entrance. She’s gotten so much easier about going to clubs now that we’re almost of age to be drinking. She actually likes going out. But I don’t. I dislike it even more now.

  I don’t glance at the huge lineup. I don’t care who’s here. I want in and out. “Face in the papers,” I groan. “Dad told the owner I would come this weekend. We only have to stay an hour. Then we can sneak out the back and go eat carbs, drink wine, and watch a movie.” I wink but she doesn't seem impressed.

  “But I put on heels and makeup and I look pretty. Can we go to a fun club after this one?”

  “You’re the Paper Bag Princess. You look pretty in sweats. And this will be a fun club. My dad doesn’t invest in anything that isn’t a sure thing.”

  “You’re his sure thing. And I texted William and told him we were coming here. He’s in the city for a couple of nights. If he comes I want to have fun. You promise to be fun, for me!” She gets that annoying whine in her voice, the one I want to slap the shit out of her for. Mostly when it’s used with the name William.

  Hearing his name makes me want to leave early even more. I had a bad feeling she might tell him we were coming out.

  “Deal,” I mutter as the cameramen and women shout at me to turn around.

  I pose perfectly and spin, allowing exactly ten Mississippis before turning back to strut up the stairs, adding a little extra swagger for the cameras. “I have gone years with no bad PR, as of this summer. This is like an anniversary dinner.”

  “It’s amazing how easy it is for you to win your father over by going to a club or restaurant he’s an investor in. My mom wants nothing less than her first blue-blooded grandchild before she accepts me for who I am. Honestly, the only reason she’s letting me get a degree in graphic art is because I’m dating the William Fairfield.” She says it like it’s a chore, but she and I both know she’s so into him she has almost stopped existing on some levels. “She thinks I won’t be working come next year when we grad. She’s certain I’ll be a stay-at-home mom and a homemaker, mixing William’s drinks and rubbing his feet.” She rolls her eyes but the vision isn’t so off.

  “My dad’s so busy he doesn’t have a moment to care what I do, so long as the pictures in the papers show a lady. Because, honestly, that’s how he finds out what’s happening in my life. This shoot tonight marks three years rehab-free.” I wink.

  Nat grins. “If he knew how dull you’ve become, he might actually miss Rehab Sami.”

  “Sometimes I wish I had been in rehab, just once. Then I could add it to the repertoire. Us Upper East Siders need more stories with edge. I’m tired of the same old bullshit. Party in Southern France, party in New York, party in LA, party in the right crowds with the right people who talk about the right shit. I’m tired of boating, skiing, shopping, and travel. And I’m even more tired of listening to people whisper about dating the wrong people while holding the hand of the right person. Rehab is at least dangerous and edgy. It might make me cooler than I am.”

  She laughs. “Only you would say that.”

  “Admit it, this club is filled with the two types of douche bags who exist in our world. There are the ones who want to tell you about their latest trip, pretending to be hipster chic and how they’re saving the planet and deconstructing all their meals and beverages. Or there are the ones who don’t pretend to care about the environment at all. They’re jet-setting the world and their destinations are better than yours. The rest of the club is filled with the naive people who want to be in our world but have no idea the cost of being here.”

  “You sound like you’re getting bitter from lack of sex. Your vag has to be filled with dust bunnies by now. What’s it been, years?”

  “No, dick. I had three one-night stands before I started seeing my therapist. She wants me to find worthy people and I haven’t found anyone. It’s hard for a girl to get laid and have respect for her vagina.”

  “I have nothing but respect for my vag.”

  “Right. The point is, I re
fuse to date someone who doesn’t make me feel fluttery.” I point at my stomach. “If I don’t have that jittery nervous feeling in my stomach where I almost feel like I’m going to poo but I’m not, I’m not so much as having a drink with you. And I notice them the moment I meet a guy I like, or whatever. It’s science.” I still have never told her about Matt and the black cab.

  “You and those nervous pains. You’re a moron. The feelings you’re getting are actual poo cramps. If you ate more greens you wouldn’t have those stomach twinges. It has nothing to do with boys.” She and I have disagreed about the way a girl’s body reacts to certain men. For me that someone is a man I have never named and he was the last one I felt them with.

  The fact she’s never felt that way with Fairfield is hugely surprising . . . not!

  “Stomach cramps won’t matter when my parents get their way and marry me off to the right kind of rich guy. My dad has been courting men already.”

  “You won’t end up in an arranged marriage. You’re Sami Ford. You are above that.”

  “We both know this is my fate.”

  “Oh my God, princess. No one feels sorry for you. Tell your dad to suck it and do whatever you want in life. He can’t take away your trust fund. You’ll always have money.”

  I turn and cock an eyebrow. “Really? You’re going to go pots and kettles this early in the evening while we’re still sober and William is on his way over?”

  “Yes. Besides, I actually like William. I think one day we’ll make awesome adults together.” She laughs as we are seated at a table in VIP and drinks are brought. Mine’s a red wine from France that Drew Barrymore had on Instagram. I’ve been drinking it for about three months. Nat’s is a glass of red from the label she’s stuck on from BC, Canada. The guy is from New York but lives in Canada and ages the wine in pyramids. It’s weirdly cool. It’s on the list of shit we need to see. Who even knew Canada had wine, let alone pyramids?

  “It’s nice in here.” Nat nods approvingly. “I like the blue lights.”

  “You mean the same blue lights that are in every club? Admiring the decor doesn’t mean I’ll want to stay.”