“What’d I miss?” he asks, coming to stand next to me.
Nobody talks for several moments, mostly just giving him stares of disbelief.
“What the hell are you doing here, Hutchinson?” Coach Smith finally says.
“Uh, practicing? Season starts in like four days, Coach.”
“I’m aware. I’m also aware that your fiancée just had a baby last night. So I’m asking again—what the hell are you doing here?”
“Uh, I’m…uh…I’m the captain?”
He looks around like he’s waiting for someone to step in and rescue him, but none of us speaks up because I’m pretty sure we’re all wondering the exact same thing. Practice should be the last thing on his mind.
Then suddenly, everyone talks at once.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?”
“Go home!”
“Get the fuck out of here!”
“Go be with your fiancée!”
“Leave!”
I have no idea who shouts what, but it’s hilarious to watch his eyes widen and him scramble to get off the ice. I breathe a sigh of relief when he’s out of sight, and Keller chuckles beside me. I don’t give him the satisfaction of looking at him.
“I fucking swear… You boys…” Coach Smith mutters, shaking his head and turning back to us. “Well, now that that is out of the way… Fox, you’re in net first. Whitlocke, Lawson, let’s run it.”
So we do. We run drills and we skate. We meet with the special teams coach and run some plays. We do all the things we need to do, and not once do I think about my captain or my new roommate or the shitty situation I seem to have gotten myself into.
Or at least that’s what I tell myself.
Even though he floods the Serpents Singles group chat with photos, Hutch misses the next day of practice, too, and I’ve never been so relieved not to see my captain.
Nessa is moving in today. In fact, I’m supposed to meet her at the penthouse after this to let her in. I had a key made for her yesterday, and it’s been taunting me as it sits on my kitchen counter ever since. I can’t tell if it’s a reminder that I’m making a mistake, that I should talk to Hutch, or that I’m jeopardizing everything I’ve worked so hard for. No matter what, it’s still happening.
But first, I have to survive today’s practice with Hutch back on the ice.
Not that I’ve given him much chance to since I’ve practically been avoiding him, but he hasn’t said anything about Nessa. This leads me to believe one of two things: he doesn’t know about her new living situation, or he doesn’t care.
I’m hoping it’s the latter.
“That’s good, that’s good, that’s good,” Lawson says.
The pass from Poldzkin hits his stick right on the mark. He skates it toward the net, and Fox tracks his every movement. Lawson drags his arm back and releases, and the goalie drops at just the right moment to block the shot, the puck thwacking loudly off his pads.
“Fucking nice, Foxy Baby. Very nice.” Lawson taps him on the pads that just stopped a beautiful shot.
The forward skates to the back of the line, and we all inch forward, watching as Thomas does the same thing, then Peirson. Fox blocks both shots, and it looks damn promising.
I get the puck from Poldzkin and rush toward Fox. He follows me, shuffling his skates as I move. And he’s good, really damn good, but I’ve been around this league a lot more years than he has, and I know exactly what to do next. With just a quick flick of my wrist, the puck goes top shelf and hits the net before Fox even realizes what’s happened.
He chuckles when he looks behind him, like he can’t believe what just happened.
“Sorry,” I say, tapping his pads.
“I can’t even be mad about that one.” He smiles at me. “That was a nice shot. Keep doing that all season long, and you’re going to be our top-scoring defenseman once again.”
