Play:Shipping Up to Boston by The Dropkick Murphys
“Finally, the Prince has arrived.” Assistant Captain Cooper Anderson’s voice trumpets, heralding my haggard entrance. “Grady, you can stop shitting your pants now.”
Grady’s feet halt their frantic pacing across the outline of a hockey rink on our locker room floor. With a pivot, he takes me in and lowers his hands from his head on an exhale. “Oh, thank god. You’re five minutes late for morning skate and look like shit, but at least you’re here.”
“You’re going to get premature wrinkles if you keep wearing your face like that.” I gesture to his furrowed brow and frown before taking a long sip of my iced Dunks. I’m five minutes late, but the caffeine pit stop was necessary for my headache this morning.
“Going to? He does not have wrinkles already?” Big Ed, our Captain, smirks, drawing out his dimple. The slight indent on his cheek does little to disarm him of his imposing stature. At six-foot-nine, Big Ed not only stands as one of the tallest players in the League but also one of the oldest. His battle-scarred face, from years of playing hockey in Slovakia, used to scare me when he was a young player on my father’s team. Now I’m thankful I play with that face rather than against it.
“I definitely saw a few wrinkles in his player picture. Those high-definition cameras weren’t forgiving this year.” Coop shakes his head.
Wes Larsson lurks in a corner and shrugs on his practice sweater. “I thought he looked stately. Like an older Chris Hemsworth.”
“I think Chris is older than him,” Coop adds thoughtfully.
“No way. I’m googling it.” Wes reaches for his phone in his locker, resting next to a picture of him with his mother.
Grady mutters something into his hands, scrubbing them over his face.
“No shit—a full eleven years older than you, Grady. Fuck, he looks good. I wonder if his skin routine is posted somewhere. I’ll send it to you if I find it.”
“He’s eleven years older than me? Really?” Grady observes his anxiety-ridden face in the mirror. Normally, I’d feel bad the guys are tag-teaming on Grady—he’s more sensitive than he lets others see. But with all their attention focused on him, I’m free to settle back into my locker and focus on centering my mind for gameday. “I bet he’d have wrinkles if he were left in charge of the asshole, too. So fuck all of you.”
“I feel like the height difference between Big Ed and me would make it difficult, but okay,” Coop says. “Just do me a favor and buy me dinner first. I haven’t been out since Mandy had CJ, and I need to feel appreciated to reach my peak performance.”
“Yeah, you know, Coop, I don’t think I needed to know that about you.” I laugh, tossing my pads on. “But I think I’d need more than dinner. No offense to any of you.”
“Some offense taken,” Big Ed says with a sigh. His calloused fingers nimbly work the laces on his skates. “I’m a very delicate lover.”
A violent cough comes from Grady’s corner. “Wrong fucking time to take a sip of water.”
I slap his back a few times as he chokes and sputters.
“I’m sure that Katarina is a very lucky woman.” I bite the inside of my cheek, holding back a laugh while Coop and Wes tactfully hide their faces in their cubbies.
A wistful gaze settles on Big Ed’s face as he stands and turns his attention to a framed picture of his family. “And I’m a very lucky man.”
“Hey, Parker. Did you see Veronica posted a break-up video about you guys?” Wes asks, his gaze locked on his phone.
Coop shakes his head. “I’m not surprised. Mandy said she’s been a terror on set since you broke up with her.” His wife, Mandy, plays a computer-hacking witch on Veronica’s demon-slaying show that is shot locally in Salem, Mass. “What happened to you two? You seemed happy-ish.”
“Didn’t work out.” I shrug. As much as I’d love to be honest and tell the guys it was a stunt, I signed a non-disclosure agreement.
Grady, of course, knows, but I didn’ttellhim. He figured it out because he’s watched way too many rom-coms.
“My Katarina wasn’t too surprised. She said you didn’t have the look,” Big Ed adds.
The pull of cloth tape slices through the air-conditioned locker room air. “Jack’s never had the look,” Wes says, winding the tape around the blade of his stick. “Except maybe at a beer or something.”
“Oh, he has that look for someone, but he’ll never make a move, so it doesn’t matter.” Grady chuckles, probably glad the conversation has shifted in my direction.
The jerk.
“That girl in his apartment this summer, right? What was her name?” Coop asks.
“Aulie—” Grady supplies before I can tell everyone to fuck off and mind their business.
“Aulie, right. What’s up with her?” Coop picks his eyes up from tying his skates and meets my narrowed stare. Suffering through a killer headache, I’m able to supply a little extra heat with my scowl. Coop greets it with the desired, eye-widening, shutting up-now reaction.
