Raffi Shaw had an assist and Brady Faber scored his first goal in his third game for the Raccoons as a recent transfer to the team from Michigan.
Faber, 18, made it 1-0 with a snap shot from just inside the blue line at 7:54 of the second period.
“The Snow Pirates are such an aggressive team as far as how much pressure they put on you,” Coach Bales said. “We didn’t get out of our zone as quickly as we’d have liked in the first period. But we started to get forward and into their zone a bit more.”
Raccoons Captain, Apollo de la Peña, had nothing but praise for the visiting team. “They’re a solid team, hard to play against. They play fast and tough. They’ve got really good sticks. Unfortunately for Séb, he took shots from some of the best. And there is no goaltender better than Ares.”
Part of me wants to roll my eyes. Sure the guy’s going to say that about his brother. He’s also not wrong. We’re championship-heat hot right now, without a shadow of a doubt, and it’s in large part to Ares between the pipes.
Someone blows their nose, and I know for damn sure pigs can’t do that. Bacon’s smart as hell, and if we teach him to do something, he’s pretty quick on the uptake, however, to my knowledge, no one’s ever taught him to blow his nose.
Plus, pigs don’t have thumbs.
“Hello?” Dropping the slice of turkey on the counter, I lick my fingers. Probably rude to punch someone in the face with turkey-juice fingers, but it’s equally rude to break into someone’s house to blow your nose, so I guess we’re even.
We have a couple baseball bats lying around the house.Not necessarily for protection, some of the guys play in their spare time. But right now, it’s the closest thing on hand to confront The Sniffer. I probably don’t need it, but it’s coming with me, just in case—I’m definitely not our team’s muscle. If there’s trouble, I’ll need a weapon for sure.
The first three bedrooms I check are empty. The light’s on in the main bathroom, shining through the door that’s barely cracked open. Movement, sound, light—safe bet whoever’s home is in there. Just call me Detective.
If they are a robber, that’s not where we keep the meds, so they’re shit out of luck if they’re looking for a quick high.
“Hello?”
“Shit.” It’s a female voice, but I’m on alert so I don’t lower my bat. There’s a scramble in the bathroom, Bacon screeches—whoever’s in there probably stepped on his tail. He hates when people do that. “Be out in a minute.”
The door snaps shut, the faucet turns on, there’s a couple splashes of water, and it’s not long before the door opens again.
Athena de la Peña—whose brothers and closest friends call Hen—steps out in sweats and an oversized hoodie that falls all the way to her knees. I’ve never seen her so casual before.
Her hair hangs limply around her face. There are dark circles under her eyes, and if I’m not mistaken, a bruise blooming on her cheek. But I’m not close enough to look, and she’s staring at me like if I don’t stop looking at her she’s going to stab me.
“Could you put the bat down, Raffi?” She puts her hands up. “I’m unarmed.” She jerks her head at the potbellied pig at her feet. “Bacon might disagree. There was an incident with the tail.”
Wincing, I nod, lowering the bat. “Are you?—?”
“I’m waiting for Scott.”
We speak at the same time, our words colliding in the thickair between us. She’s very clearly not okay, and I don’t know her well enough to get in her space. All I want to do is hug her. She looks like she needs a hug. But Athena doesn’t do hugs.
“Scott,” I repeat his name slowly in case I misheard. Scott isn’t one of her three brothers, and while he’s a close family friend, I wouldn’t guess he’d be her first call when she needed something.
The de la Peñas close ranks hard and fast when something goes wrong.
“I can call one of your brothers if you want?”
She shakes her head for a long moment before she speaks. “I need you to pretend you didn’t see me, Raffi.”
I’m not hugely comfortable with the suggestion that I lie to my brothers, the guys who have my back on the ice. But when her voice cracks on the word “please,” the decision is made. I’ve never heard her say please to anyone, ever.
“Sure. No sweat. I won’t say anything. You want some Gatorade? I was just making a sandwich.” As I point behind me to the staircase, I shake my head. “That’s a lie, I was planning to make a sandwich but I got sidetracked eating lunch meat straight from the packet.”
That gets the smallest smile from her. I suck at making tea, but I’ll make her ten cups right now if it makes her feel better. She looks like shit.
She walks down the stairs in front of me in silence. In the kitchen, she leans against the counter, folds her arms, and stares blankly at a spot on the wall in front of her. If she doesn’t want to talk, I won’t force her. I’m not going to make her make small talk if she just doesn’t have the energy. Scott can’t be too far away, and when he gets here I’ll haul ass and give them their space. But first, I’ll feed her. Everyone loves sandwiches.
It’s very clearly not a sordid, secret, sexy rendezvous between them. If anything I’d say she needs a friend, and thatfriend currently isn’t me. I’d almost prefer it was a sordid affair to keep secret from her brothers. Her energy is all off, and she’s sad. It’s disconcerting.
Snagging my slice of meat off the counter, I wiggle it at her. “I left this here when I thought we were being robbed.”
