He took one step back, keeping his fists clenched and ready at his side. Eyes burning with the need to prove he wasn’t all talk.
Great. I wouldn’t get out of here without physical contact.
As soon as I stood, he punched me in the mouth.
And it was on.
His second punch grazed the side of my head and I was able to grab hold of his wrist. I brought it down hard, spun and turned his arm into a chicken wing, tucking it tightly against his back and using it to propel him forward, smashing his face into the table.
He howled.
His friends ran.
“Not so easy to spew hatred when your mouth is full of blood, is it?”
He whimpered, “Let me go.”
“Nah. I’m happy to hold you until the cops show up.”
“No! Don’t call the cops!”
I looked at Ash. He nodded and pointed at the waitress.
“You took the first swing. Got a restaurant full of witnesses to attest to that fact. You were verbally abusive before that.”
He thrashed hard and I dug my elbow into the side of his head to keep him still.
The manager shooed other patrons away.
Ash hadn’t moved from his side of the booth. Cheeky bastard.
The cops arrived way sooner than I’d expected and took the guy off my hands.
I gave my statement, but the situation was pretty cut and dried. Bully loses and everybody wins.
“I oughta tell you, cuz, your lip is bleeding,” Ash said.
“Shit. Did I get any on my shirt?”
His gaze swept over my top half. “Not that I can see.”
“Good.” I’d just slipped my suit jacket on when the manager returned.
“I’m really sorry this happened. Your meal is comped.”
“Thank you.”
Ash held out my topcoat and shoved my arms in.
The manager cleared his throat. “Just so you know, we pride ourselves on diversity in our waitstaff and our customers. Please come back.”
“Just keep the bullying assholes out and we will.”
As soon as we were outside, Ash threw his arm over my shoulder. “We should do this at least once a week. That was fun.”
“Says the man not bleeding.”
“I would’ve jumped in if you needed it.”
“I know.” I touched my hand to my mouth. I’d definitely be sporting a fat lip tomorrow.
When we reached the parking lot, he stepped back. “All the punching and bleeding and name-calling aside, I’m glad we met up tonight.”
“Me too.” I held my arms open. “We cleared the air. Now we hug it out.”
He laughed and he returned my hug in that manly backslapping way of his.
“Drive safe. See you at the office.”
Sixteen
GABI
Skating with former NHL players was massively good for my hockey ego.
Even before we’d cemented the nitty gritty of the game plan for tonight, I’d had three of my new teammates tell me they’d watched me compete in the Olympics. And Rexall, the oldest man in the group, a player I’d grown up watching who was now a private skills coach, gave me props for sticking to my principles and walking away from my assistant coaching position at UND.
Then there was Matt “MM” McCoy, the hot, single goalie from Winnipeg who flirted with me incessantly.
That was good for my female ego too.
Rexall would serve as our coach. As team captain, Jax worked us hard. Since he and I were both centers, we wouldn’t be on the ice at the same time during the game, but during practice, line one—his line—played against line two—my line—and we raced up and down the ice.
After a two-hour practice, we were dialed in as much as we could be.
I removed my helmet and peeled down my outer layer, which was soaked in sweat. I snagged a bottle of water and drained it, then grabbed another and plopped down at the end of the bench.
Jax remained on the ice, holding a clipboard. “Listen up.”
Chatter stopped.
“Tonight at Xcel we’re in the smaller locker rooms designated home. Eastern Conference players, EC for short, will be in the visitors’ overflow locker room.” He looked at me. “Will it be an issue for you, being in our locker room?”
“Nope.”
“Good.” Jax moved on to the next item on the agenda. “The uniforms aren’t done now, but they will be hanging in your locker spaces by game time. Just a reminder that we don’t have equipment managers, so bring your own gear: sticks, tapes, wax, et cetera.”
“Yeah, don’t forget your skates, Nils, like you did on that trip to the kids’ hockey camp in Calgary.”
Connor “Nils” Nilsin flipped off John “JK” Kingston and I remembered they’d been teammates for a time in Anaheim.
“The official program inserts will also be done by game time. During both breaks between periods, we will be set up to sign autographs on the inserts and provide photo ops for game attendees.”
“Does that mean we’re expected to wear our team jersey for the photo ops? Or are we expected to be in game day attire?” McCoy asked.
“Better be two sets of jerseys in that case, ’cause ain’t no one wants to get close to us after we’ve played in them,” Patrick “Parn” Parnell said.
“Eh, spray a little Febreze and they’ll be just fine,” Rexall said.
I snickered. He sounded just like my former teammate Dixie.
“You’ll be in fresh jerseys.” Jax grinned. “You’ll also be on club level during the game.”
That was a bonus.
“That’s all I’ve got,” Jax said. “If anything changes, I’ll text you. So I’ll see you at the Xcel players’ entrance at five.”
The guys headed to the changing room.
I stood. Before I made it halfway across the ice, Jax said, “Gabi. Hold up.”
“Yes?”
“Look, you being in the men’s locker room isn’t ideal. But the other option was to have you share another locker room with SanSimeon-Wipf.”
“Hard pass. I’d rather be stark naked center ice of the Xcel Center with a sold-out crowd than spend one second in an enclosed space with Asswipf.”
“I figured. But to be honest, I’d feel more comfortable if there was another woman in the locker room looking out for you.”
“You probably have a point.” I thought about it for a moment. “How about Margene?”
“Perfect. I’ll tell her.”
* * *
* * *
I spent part of the afternoon prepping for my Friday interview and the remainder indulging in my pregame ritual of playing solitaire games on my phone.
On a whim and since the weather was decent, I decided to wear one of my new chic outfits to the arena. The gray wrap pants, paired with a peach-colored lacy camisole layered under the cream blouse with the sheer chiffon sleeves and the split ruffled collar. Since I probably wouldn’t be in regular shoes for very long, I tossed the pumps in my travel bag to change into in the parking lot.
I’d packed my gear bag as soon as I’d arrived home from practice. Unlike NHL players, more often than not, women hockey players were in charge of hauling our own equipment. Several years ago I’d customized a suit bag for my gear. Long enough to contain my sticks with a separate zipped compartment on the bottom for my skates, tape and wax. Pads, socks, helmet and gloves filled the remainder of the bag space with one small slot in the top for a purse. It was heavy, but I’d added a wider, stronger metal hook on the top for ease of carrying.
Jax and Margene waited at the entrance for me with my stadium pass.
Margene whistled. “Lookit you, hot stuff. Damn, Gabi. You’re quite the fashion plate.”
I laughed. “This old thing?” But I was pleased t
hat she’d noticed.
“Give Margene your bag.”
“That’s fine, Jax, I can haul my own gear.” Even if I was wearing heels, I was still twenty-five years younger than Margene.
“As I’m aware. But Channel 9 Sports wants to interview you.”
“Now?”
“Right now.”
My stomach tightened. “Why me?”
“You’re the first woman playing in a sanctioned NHL exhibition.” He smirked at me. “Although you don’t look like a hockey player right now.”
“Har har.”
“Come on, they’re set up over here.”
I followed Jax around the corner.
Lucas Griswold, who was currently in the hot seat, stumbled a bit over his words upon seeing me.
Jax snickered beside me. “Yeah, surprise, motherfucker.”
We waited until the interviewer finished with Griz before we approached her.
“Pashma?”
A luminous Indian woman who I recognized as the core sports anchor for Channel 9 News, turned and beamed at Jax. “You weren’t just yanking my chain about giving me an exclusive, were you, Stonewall?”
“Nope.” Jax turned, silently urging me to walk forward. “Pash, this is Gabriella Welk. She’s part of the Western Conference team for tonight’s Hockey Legends exhibition game.”
I offered her my hand. “Pleased to meet you. I loved the piece you did on the growing popularity of girls’ cricket.”
That surprised her. “Thank you. I’m sorry to admit that I don’t know a thing about you.”
The man behind her leaned over her shoulder and read my entire, full-length bio from his phone. Out loud.
“Now I have a basis for this interview.” She cocked her head, allowing a quick perusal of me. “You are interview ready, so have a seat.”
Two high-backed stools faced each other in front of a white screen, with lights and other equipment overhead and an enormous camera in front.
Pashma handed me a microphone. “We can edit this, so no worries if you get stuck. That said, it’s usually best to get it in one take.”
“Understood.”
“Talk to me, not to the camera. We’re in our own bubble, just having a friendly conversation.”
I nodded.
She perched on the edge of her chair, keeping her right foot on the floor and hooking the heel of her left shoe on the chair rung. Neat trick. That positioning gave her great posture and kept her clothes from bunching up. I’d have to remember that if I got an on-air position.
The stealthy assistant handed Pashma an index card and she scrutinized it before glancing up at the cameraman.
“Ready, Pash?”
“Ready.” She smiled. “I’m at the Xcel Energy Center in St. Paul with an exclusive on tonight’s pregame entertainment before the Wild take the ice. With me is my very special guest, Gabriella Welk. If that name sounds familiar to you, it should. Gabi is an icon in the world of women’s ice hockey, having won two silver medals with the U.S. Olympic Women’s Ice Hockey Team, two Four Nations Cups and three World Cups with the U.S. Women’s National Team. She was also the first woman to be named assistant coach for a men’s college hockey program. Tonight, she’s making history again by playing in an NHL-sanctioned exhibition hockey game as a member of the Western Conference team. So welcome, Gabi, I’m thrilled to get to share this good news about your participation in this event.”
Look at her, don’t look at the camera. “Thank you, Pashma. I’m beyond excited to be here.”
“What is the most exciting aspect of playing in tonight’s game?”
“It’s the opportunity to compete against, and partner with, some of the best male hockey players in the league. To be seen and treated as an equal.”
“You’ve won international championships. You’ve played in both the National Women’s Hockey League and the Canadian National Hockey League. You’ve coached on the college level. You even coached your younger sister Dani into a spot on the 2018 U.S. Olympic Women’s Ice Hockey Team. Coming on the heels of their gold medal win, what do you see as the future of women’s hockey?”
“Historically, more girls get interested in hockey after a major event like the Olympics. What I’d like to see is more women who grew up playing the game reactivating their interest and participation in it. The only way there will ever be any female coaches in the NHL is if hockey players and fans see women in all roles in the hockey world. Then they’ll also realize that gender isn’t as important as skill and passion for the game. We’re still waiting for a female referee in the NHL and I can only hope team owners will give women a chance to prove themselves as coaches as well.”
“Agreed one hundred percent. So back to tonight’s game . . . you’ve never played together until today’s practice. How does the Western Conference team’s talent stack up against your opponent’s?”
“To be honest, the only player I know for the Eastern Conference is the team captain because Jax told us at practice. I have no idea who else we’re facing on the ice, but regardless, I’m confident that we’ll come out on top.”
“Score prediction?”
“Two-one, Western Conference.”
“Okay, you heard it here first, folks. Last question. Who do you consider the most influential female athlete in history and why?”
I said, “Billie Jean King,” without hesitation. “Because she had the skill and the championships, but she also forever changed the way fans saw women’s tennis and she fought for equal rights and equal pay for female players.”
“Thanks for stopping by, Gabi.”
I kept a smile on my face as Pashma faced the camera and finished the wrap-up. When the cameraman said, “Cut,” I jumped up.
“Thanks for this. It was fun. But I’ve gotta get ready to play.”
Jax fell in step beside me. “You are a natural in front of the camera, Gabi.”
Here was a natural segue into a “funny you should mention that, Jax, but I have an interview tomorrow to try and make that a reality” type of comment.
Alas, I said nothing besides, “Thanks.”
There weren’t a bunch of people hanging around outside the locker room yet, so maybe we’d have a little time to get prepped in peace.
The guys were in various stages of undress as I walked in. I didn’t gawk and neither did they. They gave me a rash of shit for being a camera hog, and I volleyed it right back at them—none of their faces were pretty enough for prime time, which just proved a locker room was a locker room regardless of gender.
Margene had found a semiprivate corner for me to change in, which I figured was as much for the guys as it was for me.
After I donned the underlayer, I ducked around the opposite corner to warm up with cardio. Jumping jacks first, which morphed into jumping frogs. Twists, toe touches, deep knee bends, ending that circuit with high-kneed running in place. Then I worked on upper-body strength. Pull-ups, push-ups, plank, downward-facing dog, which I transitioned into a handstand, followed by handstand push-ups with my toes touching the wall and my spine curved. A few more stretches, then I concentrated on neck and head rolls while I breathed to get my heart rate back into the normal range.
Then I joined the guys with my sticks, tapes and wax.
“So what’s your tape job style, Welk? Ovie? Pasta? Orr?”
“Full blade. White tape,” I said. “White with twisted gray sticky for the butt end. Boring.”
By the time I’d readied both sticks, we had to warm up.
I walked across the rubber mats that stretched down the hallway until I felt that first blast of cold air that indicated we’d reached the arena. I took a deep breath and hit the ice.
I loved this sense of anticipation. The hard pull of my muscles that burned as I moved, no matter how much I’d stretched beforehand. The chill and the s
ounds of blades gliding and slicing across the ice. All familiar even when I was in a new place.
Then the Eastern Conference team emerged to skate.
I concentrated on doing my own thing and not tracking where my nemesis was, but she didn’t grant me the same courtesy.
She skated around me. “Get used to that, Welsher.”
“What? You always being a step behind me? Newsflash, Asswipf, I’m already used to it.”
“No, me skating circles around you.” Then she leaned over with her stick across her legs as if we were in a face-off. “Finally get to make you bleed tonight.”
“My ears are already bleeding from the shrill sound of your voice.” I skated off with my teammates.
In the locker room we listened to last-minute strategy. Made final adjustments to our gear.
My nerves didn’t kick in until the announcer singled me out. Spotlight in my eyes, crowd roaring in my ears, I skated forward out of the lineup and waved. Then the announcer did the same for Asswipf.
MM got into position in front of the net. The first line spread out around the face-off circle and our second line returned to the bench.
Wipf didn’t skate first line, which meant we’d be on the ice at the same time.
We’ll see who draws first blood, bitch.
Jax won the face-off, sending Parn the puck. He wove through the EC defenders and passed the puck to Knight, which was intercepted by an opposing player. Then all the action moved down to the other end. MM saved a shot and then a rebound shot.
I got so engrossed in watching these guys play—hard to believe they were all retired—that I hadn’t watched the clock to see my shift was up.
“Line two. Give ’em hell.”
Jax was first in and I was first out. Parn passed me the puck and Nils took his place on the ice.
I had the puck across the blue line until a check on my left side caught me off balance. She stole the puck, passed it to a dude roughly the size of a bear and they hustled toward the opposite net.
Asswipf had turned this into a physical matchup ten seconds into us sharing ice time.
You want it that way? I’m in.
Want You to Want Me Page 15
