by S. R. Grey
“Thanks, Coach T.”
He blows out a breath and gets back to why he had me skate over. “Jaxon, I called you over here because I’ve been waiting for a chance to talk to you alone.”
Leaning on my stick, I say, “Why, what’s up?”
“Nothing bad,” he assures me. “I just want to tell you that I really appreciate the work ethic you’ve been displaying as of late. I feel good about giving you the assistant captain letter.”
“Thanks. I’m happy to prove to you that you made the right decision. I am 100% devoted, Coach.”
“Yeah, about that… It’s kind of what I want to talk to you about.”
I can’t imagine where he’s going with this, so I ask, “How so?”
He sighs heavily. “I just hope you know you can take time out for yourself and still be devoted to hockey.”
“Sure.” I nod. “I know that.”
“Do you, though?”
“Um, yeah, I think so.”
He glances down at his watch. “Look, it’s after one. Do you want to grab some lunch with me? We can talk more candidly if we’re sitting down, relaxed.”
I’m torn. I am kind of hungry, and Coach is a cool enough dude, but with words like “candidly” and “relaxed” I sense he’s hoping to dig around and find out what’s really up with me.
Ugh, I don’t want to talk personal shit with him.
Sharing my in-tatters love life with Dylan is more than enough. But Coach is insistent, so I give in and go to lunch with him.
We choose the cafeteria in the Desert Sports Complex since it’s convenient. Besides, by the time I’m showered and dressed, lunchtime is almost over. As it is, we make it to the cafeteria just in time before they stop serving food.
Coach orders the tuna melt, and I opt for a big-ass salad. I dig in the second we’re seated, hoping to waylay any chance of discussing personal crap by stuffing my face. But since Coach’s sandwich has to be made, he doesn’t have food to occupy him.
That means he has nothing to do but chat.
And chat is what he does.
“So how was your summer, Jaxon?”
“It was good.” I hurriedly stuff a cherry tomato in my mouth so I don’t have to elaborate.
“I heard you were staying down at Noel’s beach house.”
“Yep, I was.”
“Someone also mentioned in passing that you weren’t down there alone.”
Oh, sure it was in passing. I wonder who his source is. My money’s on his daughter, Eliza. She’s involved with one of my teammates, Benny Perry, and everyone knows he’s a good guy but tends to blab everything he gets wind of.
I raise a brow and just flat-out ask, “You hear that from Eliza?”
Coach’s tuna melt arrives just then and he messes with adjusting his sandwich for a good twenty seconds.
Any day now…
Finally, he looks up and says, “No, I heard it from Benny.”
“I knew it,” I exclaim. “That big lug’s mouth is as big as he is.”
That makes Coach laugh. “Aw hell, don’t be mad at him, son. I think the whole team knows about you and…” He stops. “Wait, what’s her name again? Oh, I know. Cara, right?”
Christ, it hurts to hear her name and know we’re not together, even if it is me who asked for time.
“Great,” I sigh. “The whole team knows, eh? That’s just wonderful.”
I groan. My private life is no longer private. But Coach is quick to inform me that no one knows the details. They’re only aware that I was on the island with Noel’s sister’s friend. Everyone suspects we hooked up, of course, so they’re kind of wondering why we’re not together.
Upon hearing that, I growl, “It’s none of their business.”
“True, it’s not. But I’m your coach and it becomes my business when I see you overworking yourself.”
Uh-oh, we’ve reached the crux of the matter, the raison d’être for this meeting.
“I’m not overworking myself,” I protest.
Though I really kind of am.
Coach puts down his sandwich. “Look, like I said, Jaxon, I love your dedication. But you’re going to burn out before the season even begins. You’re a key player, as you know. And we’re going to need you at your best. We have a lot to prove after our dismal playoff performance last season.”
I feel immediately guilty. “Tell me about it,” I murmur.
Coach Townsend leans back, crossing his arms. “Can I offer you a bit of personal wisdom?”
I’m no longer hungry and push my salad aside. “Yeah, sure, shoot.”
“I learned a lot watching my daughter and Benjamin Perry, especially in the beginning of their relationship. She kept something from him for a very long time, and it almost destroyed what they had built. But in the end, Benny realized what was important to him. Bottom line is that the past can never be changed. People make mistakes. It’s bound to happen, and we can’t control it. What we can control is how we deal with those mistakes. Do we dwell on the past? Do we make that person pay forever for the sin we feel they committed? Or do we forgive and move forward?”
Wow, Coach knows waaay more than he lets on.
But his advice is solid, so I feel okay saying, “I understand what you’re talking about, and I don’t disagree with you. It’s just… What do we do if we forgive someone and they mess up again?”
Coach chuckles. “What? Do you think you’re perfect, Holland? You think you’ll never screw up or make a mistake? Or that you never have?”
“Good God, no,” I chortle. “We all know that’s not true.”
I consider my own fuckups, like when I screwed up in the playoffs. Yes, mistakes happen. But still, I feel torn. We’re talking about the heart here, where common sense flies out the window.
Raking my fingers through my unruly hair, I grind out, “Fuck, I just don’t want to get blindsided again. That shit hurts like a motherfucker.”
Chuckling, Coach says, “Jaxon, welcome to the world of love.”
Ms. Hockeypants
I spend my time away from Jaxon doing what I should’ve done a long time ago—coming clean about Mr. Hockeypants.
That’s right; I share with the world who I really am.
I reveal the woman behind the mask, exposing everything. I also explain that there’ll be a new format for the blog and a kinder, gentler tone when it comes to real people. No more personal attacks.
Sure, I’ll still call out bad plays, stupid moves, and the like, but no more mean-spirited crap.
I also change the name of the blog to reflect more who I am—Ms. Hockeypants. Yeah, I kind of got the idea when Jaxon called it that. But it makes sense. It fits me.
I expect to lose a bunch of followers, but a funny thing happens—the blog explodes with new subscribers. More people than ever seem to like the new Ms. Hockeypants, and traffic and views go through the roof.
My faith in humanity is restored.
Under my new moniker, I publish a post about the start of the preseason, titling it “It’s the Best, Hockey-est Time of the Year.”
I talk about new starts and how every team has a chance to go all the way. I review the rosters and discuss who I, Ms. Hockeypants, expect great things from. Jaxon Holland is one of my “Guys to Watch.”
Once the post goes live, I hit my highest numbers ever.
Wow.
Sponsors and advertisers start coming to me and I receive all kinds of offers. I open the comments again, but with a warning to keep things civil. The love I receive for coming clean and making positive changes to the blog tell me I did the right thing.
This isn’t for Jaxon anymore, or even for me.
This is for everyone.
I want to be a positive influencer in the world of hockey, not a Negative Nelly.
One night, when I’m basking in the glow of doing the right thing, I receive a call from Noelle.
She starts off the conversation like we spoke two minutes ago. “So guess what, bi
otch?”
“Hello to you too,” I reply with a smile. She just slays me.
“Hey, there’s no time for formalities. I have good news.”
“Well, then.” I laugh. “Do share.”
“Yours truly has just won a two-night excursion to that posh new spa up near Mesquite.”
“Ooh, lucky you,” I reply. “I hear it’s really nice.”
“It is. Now I just have to figure out who to take.”
“It’s for two?” I ask.
“It is indeed, Cara. And you know what that means.” She pauses for effect. “You are the one totally coming with me!”
“Really? No way.” I’m all in and excited, but then I remember something. “Wait. Aren’t those packages for couples only?”
“They are, yes.”
“I feel bad, then. You should take a guy.”
She snorts, “What guy? I don’t have a boyfriend. Come on, Cara. There’ll be free champagne and strawberries there. And I promise we’ll have fun.”
I laugh. “Let me guess, there’ll be couples’ massages and lots of candlelight too.”
“Yep, and probably a big, heart-shaped bed we can share, though I promise not to steal all the covers.”
“You’re such a romantic,” I tease.
“That’s right, I am. So have I won you over yet with my smooth talk? Will you be my date?”
She’s so silly.
“I don’t know. When is this little getaway?”
“It’s for Friday and Saturday night.”
“Hey, Friday’s my birthday,” I exclaim.
“That’s right. See, so you have to go now. I’m not about to leave you sitting home all alone, sulking over Jaxon on your damn birthday.”
Ugh, I hate hearing his name.
Closing my eyes, I whisper, “We had plans for my birthday, Noelle, such big plans.”
I think back to Jaxon’s birthday and how wonderful that entire day was. I remember him promising to make my birthday just as special. Too bad I screwed up everything.
I sniffle, and Noelle says in a much more serious tone, “Cara, please come with me. I think it’ll be good for you to stay busy. Let this be my birthday gift to you.”
I think about it. She does have a point.
So I murmur a resigned, “Okay.”
“Okay means you’ll go?” she checks.
“Yes, I’ll go.”
We go over the details and disconnect.
Afterward, to my surprise, I’m actually smiling. Despite my initial hesitation, I feel excited about something. That hasn’t happened in a while, so I guess I must be healing.
I muse out loud, “I just hope Noelle and I have fun.” … “No, wait, I know we will.”
No more wishes and hopes. I’m making things happen, damn it.
The spa excursion with Noelle is definitely the right decision. This is about moving forward, with or without Jaxon. What other choice do I have? I haven’t heard from him, so who knows if he’ll ever forgive me.
I have to accept the reality that he and I may be done for good.
That makes me sad, and I wish things were different, but I at least know now that if I have to move on without him, I can.
And I will.
Life will go on.
Topping Naked Birthdays
I put a lot of thought into what Coach Townsend had to say at lunch.
He’s right—love is messy.
I guess since it’s been so long since I was in any kind of relationship, I’ve forgotten the rules.
And the first rule is you have to forgive. People are going to fuck up. It’s inevitable. Like Coach so wisely stated, you can’t stop it. It’s how you respond that’s within your grasp.
I ask myself if I’m still mad at Cara for not telling me about Mr. Hockeypants. Like for real angry.
My answer is no, not anymore. It’s in the past, where you can’t change what’s happened.
Do I wish Cara had told me that she was behind the blog before I inadvertently found out?
Sure I do.
But am I going to hold it against her forever?
No, I’m not. I love that woman, and nothing can change that fact.
So why am I still staying away from her?
Shit. Good question. And I don’t really have an answer.
That tells me I don’t need any more time. I’m ready to see if she’ll have me back.
It’s a Thursday morning and I’m on my way to the arena to slip in a short practice with Dylan. He and I decided to get in a little extra ice time before the Wolves’ first preseason game, which is tonight.
I think about calling Cara right away.
When you realize you’ve made up your mind about something, especially in an affair of the heart, you sort of want to share the good news immediately.
But then I realize that this is too important for a rushed phone call. I’d much rather talk with her in person.
That way I can hold her, kiss her, love up on her…
When I walk into the locker room, I’m smiling like a fool. Dylan is already there and immediately takes note of my good mood. It’s kind of hard not to when I’m all happy and upbeat.
Hell, I’m even whistling a little tune.
Damn, that’s enough of that. Dude is going to think you’ve gone loco.
I quiet down immediately, but it’s too late. Dylan has already heard enough of my out-of-tune melody to know something is up.
“Someone sure is happy this morning,” he says, chuckling. “I know it is pretty awesome that you get to work out on the ice with me and all, but still, I’m truly touched, Holland.”
“You’re such an ass,” I chortle. “And I hate to break it to you, but you, my friend, are not the reason for the whistling.”
“No?” He covers his heart, pretending to be devastated. “I’m hurt, man.”
Laughing, I take a seat next to him on the bench.
“You know what?” I say. “You’ve changed a lot from last season. You’re actually a pretty funny guy, Culderway.”
“Hey, I try to be these days. Chloe’s always telling me that life’s too short not to laugh.”
“Amen, my brother.”
He’s lacing up his skates, but stops to look over at me. “You seem a little different yourself, Jaxon. You’re not the same guy you were a year ago, or even last spring.”
“What?” I laugh. “You mean I’m no longer an asshole?”
“Ah, hell, you were never that. You were just a guy trying to figure out who you were and what you wanted out of life.”
I snort, “Is that a nice way of saying I was a player?”
“Maybe.” He shrugs. “But I’ll leave it at that.”
“Fair enough, Dylan.”
A beat passes, then he asks, “So the whistling and smiling when you walked in… Does it mean something good happened?”
I nod. “You could say that.”
He raises a questioning brow. “Does it have anything to do with a certain someone named Cara?”
“Yep.” I smile. “I’ve decided I want to be with her. I’m done being mad about all the Mr. Hockeypants crap. I understand now why she held off on telling me.”
“Good for you,” he says. “Oh, and by the way, it’s not called that anymore.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Her blog. It’s now Ms. Hockeypants.”
Well, this is news.
“You’re shittin’ me, right?” I say.
“I would never. Go check it out for yourself.”
I do exactly that. I pull up the site on my phone and find out Dylan isn’t lying. Cara’s blog is indeed now called Ms. Hockeypants.
And there’s more.
It appears she’s made all the changes she told me about, and then some.
“Wow,” I murmur as I scroll up and down, clicking links here and there. “She did everything she told me she was going to. And people really love it. Look at these great comments.” I glance over
at Dylan. “This is, like, way better than the blog was before.”
He agrees, murmuring, “For sure.”
I share with him then that I’m going to talk with Cara, but I want to do it in person.
“This is too important to discuss over the phone.”
He laughs. “Hell, you just want to see her, man. Admit it.”
“I do,” I confess. “I miss her like fucking crazy. And I’m ready to end this stupid not-seeing-her shit. I just hope she still wants me.”
Dylan replies, “Oh, I’m sure she will. Love doesn’t just die like that. So, are you heading over to her place after we’re done today?”
“I was going to, but I actually think I’ll wait till tomorrow.”
Dylan looks confused. “Why put it off?”
“Because, my man”—I pat him on the shoulder—“tomorrow just happens to be Cara’s birthday. I figure we can celebrate that and the fact we’re back together. It’ll be perfect.”
Dylan puts the brakes on my plans, though, when he frowns.
“Oh no, what’s up?” I ask, worried.
“Uh, maybe nothing. But you might want to check with Noel first.”
Jealousy flares. “What the fuck would he have to do with Cara on her birthday?”
Dylan holds up his hands. “Calm down, Holland. Not him, but his sister. He mentioned something about Noelle and Cara heading up to a spa in Mesquite for her birthday.”
“What?”
He tells me again and I’m naturally disappointed.
But then I come up with an absolutely brilliant solution, a plan that’s so good it may even top naked birthdays.
Wow, the Wolves Look Freaking Great
I hunker down on the sofa to watch the first Wolves’ preseason game, armed with a big bowl of popcorn and a beer.
I have my tablet handy as well, so I can take notes. I’ll use them later to write up a Ms. Hockeypants post. All positive, of course, in keeping with the new blog tone and direction.
Though I don’t know why I’m even worried. The Wolves come out flying on the ice, clearly pumped for this game against the Avalanche.
I’m not kidding. From the time the first puck is dropped, it is nonstop action. Brent Oliver, the captain, scores a goal in the first three minutes of play.
