Keller: Locke, you still there?
Keller: Whitlocke?
Keller: Lockey Poo?
Locke: Shut the fuck up, Keller.
Keller: HAHAHAHAHAHA
Hayes: I have no idea what’s going on.
Hutch: Same.
Lawson: Me either, but we can discuss this more later.
Lawson: Now, do you guys think I would look good in briefs?
Hayes: For fuck’s sake, Lawsy.
Keller: Does anyone have any bleach to erase the image I just got of Lawson in tighty-whities?
Hutch: Please stop talking, Lawson.
Fox: Even I have to sit this one out.
Locke: Yeah, too far.
Lawson: What? You guys see me in my panties ALLLLLL the time! Do I have the ass for them or not?
Lawson: Guys?
Lawson: Foxy Baby? Hutchy? Hayesy? Lockey Poo?
Lawson: Kells?
Lawson: Aww, come on! You all muted the group, didn’t you?
Lawson: Hello?
Lawson: HELLO?!
Lawson: Fuck you. I’m getting the briefs anyway.
CHAPTER 19
LOCKE
“Let’s do this, boys!” Lawson shouts down the bench, his mouthguard dangling from his lips as he chews on it. “Pick it the fuck up!”
He’s right. We do need to pick it up. We let Jersey tie the game with just five minutes to go, and it’s not the first time we’ve done it this road trip. We’re exhausted; that much is obvious. Being away from home for so long always does that, though. Being on the road and not sleeping in your bed starts to get to you after a while, and it’s even worse if you have someone waiting for you to get home.
While I don’ttechnicallyhave someone waiting for me, I have Nessa, and I miss her as if she were mine. She certainly feels that way, and I’m eager as fuck to get back to her. Our late-night FaceTime calls have been great, but they aren’t enough. I need to see her, and not just through a screen. I need to touch her.Worshipher.
We just need to hang on to these last few minutes and send this game to overtime. We can beat them three-on-three, I know it. Hayes drives to the front of the net in an attempt to stuff the puck past the goalie’s pad, and we all rise on the bench,watching and praying the puck will cross the line, but it doesn’t. We sit back down as the linesman loses sight of it and blows the whistle.
We get set for another face-off, this time sending Lawson, who is damn good on the draw, out there in hopes we can win it back and get a quick shot on net and surprise the goalie. It doesn’t work. He catches it with ease. We try again—still nothing. Our time is up before we know it, the buzzer going off and signaling that we are indeed headed to overtime.
“Fuck!” Hutch slams his stick on the boards next to me. “Fuck!”
