I nearly called Vanya six times, then nearly called Hugo another four. In the end, I took my folded cane in one hand like it was a weapon and searched every single room, closet, and under each bed until I was satisfied there was no one there trying to kidnap and/or murder me.
I locked all my doors and windows, then slept like shit, which meant this game was either going to go to the fucking dogs, or I was going to rally and break one of my records.
There would be no middle ground.
“For five million dollars,” Antoine said, annoyingly slowly as he interrupted my thought spiral, “would you kick a baby?”
I burst into laughter so hard it caused a coughing fit. I was expecting a lot of questions, but that wasn’t one of them. “Jesus, Bouchey. What the fuck is wrong with you? I thought you were going to ask if I’dmurder a brother or send one to live on Mars or something.”
“What did Jonah do now?” Daniel asked from across the room.
I laughed a little harder. “Okay, that’s fucking hilarious. And he didn’t do anything. Well, he’s still dating that fucker from the Glaciers, which makes half that team constantly in my business, but no. He’s not on my shit list at the moment. I was trying to answer Bouchey’s dumbass question if I’d kick a baby for five million dollars.”
Daniel hummed as he dropped to the bench near me, making mine shake. “What kind of baby? Like a human baby? Because probably. As long as I didn’t have to kick it that hard. Puppy baby? Hell no.”
“You’re fucked-up,” Antoine said.
I lost the conversation as my phone started buzzing with texts, and my heart sank into my feet. I didn’t have my earbuds in, so I wasn’t about to check them where everyone could hear it because if it was who I thought it was, I was in no mood to deal with it. And I didn’t want anyone to hear Hunter’s bullshit and then start asking me questions I was not prepared to answer.
Of course, anyone who was foolish enough to commit open blackmail like Hunter was wasn’t the sharpest crayon in the box. Or whatever that phrase was. But I was still trying to use that to my advantage and shut him the fuck up without him leaking everything he claimed to have on me.
Not only would it ruin my reputation for thepublic, but I’d never be able to show my face around any locker room ever again.
Maybe.
Probably.
It was hard to assume that my team would understand. They were good guys, but they were also a bunch of fucking dude-bros who liked the smell of jock cheese and thought never washing them was lucky.
I, at least, had the decency to have my unwashed thing be my socks and not the strap that went up my butt crack and spent all game gently caressing my hole.
“…think I would probably kick a small child for five million, but not a baby,” someone was saying.
God, were they still on this?
I couldn’t turn around with my pads on, so I twisted as best as I could and felt around for my little box that held my AirPods. It took me a lot longer than I wanted in these fucking pads, and not for the first time, I resented being good at hockey, which kept me strapped in a million layers for more than half the year.
No one was paying attention to me as I slipped one into my ear, then connected my Bluetooth. I didn’t know why I was listening now. Maybe I really was a masochist. Or was it sadist? I didn’t fucking know the difference, but while I swore I didn’t like pain, I also had no self-control, and that always made things worse.
‘Messages: Hunter: Good luck at the game. Answer your fucking phone. Sent at six fifty-eight p.m.’
My stomach squirmed, and I threw my phone back into my stall with no clue where it landed, but fuck it. If it got lost in the void, that would at least solve my problem for a little while. Until Hunter got a wild hair up his ass and decided to show up at my place.
But that was a future Micah problem.
“Hey, bud. You ready?”
Antoine tapped his stick against my leg, and I grabbed the end, hauling myself to my feet. Balancing on skates was like second nature to me now, but there was always a moment of wobble. Most people didn’t realize that being totally blind, my balance was fucked on a good day, and the effort it took to combat that was exhausting.
I didn’t resent my reality or the fact that I’d chosen to do this for a living, and it helped that the rest of my teammates not only got it but were also patient with me.
Reaching onto the bench, my fingers snagged my mask, and I shoved it over my head before tucking my stick under my arm, then following Antoine’s guide toward the ice.
I could hear the crowd—louder this year than they had been last. There were more butts in the seats, and I didn’t want to give credit to anyone but us—in spite of the fact that last year had still been kind of a shit-show.
But I knew it wasn’t just that.
The Glaciers had gone out of their way to bring attention to the PPHL. They’d filmed a ton of content over the summer, and the first day of pretraining, Ben told us that several of our games were already nearly sold out.
