No
Good
Because I’m looking forward to playing with you, too
Nicko, February 1st
We continue to play insanely good hockey. Sometimes our goals are nothing but sheer luck, and at other times our line works like a well-oiled clock. Despite the success, I miss the naturalclickI felt when sharing the ice with Xander. Instead, Kristiansson, Zollweg and I usually stay for an extra hour of passing and shooting drills after Coach is done busting our asses in training.
Since football season is over, Micah has fully taken over our kitchen, feeding us with healthy carbs and lean proteins, which has done a lot to bring my weight back up. Well, that and the candy bars I stuff my face with during classes. But due to regular morning runs and extra gym sessions with Sasha, my stomach still feels constantly empty.
Just like my inbox.
It doesn’t matter that we have raked up more wins over the past weeks, there’s still no word back from the Rebels. I’m tempted to reach out to my dad and ask if he has heard any buzz about them dropping me, but I don’t want to act out Xander’s nepo-baby prejudices.
“You could ask Hart if he has received his contract already,” Linden points out when I confide in him one evening.
“Nooo,” I whine as I let myself fall back onto the carpet of our living room floor, then slowly roll onto my belly to start my stretching routine. “He’ll know that I have absolutely nothing then.”
“So?” Linden frowns at me over the top of his biology book. “If the Rebels don’t plan on signing you, he’ll find out anyway once training camp starts.”
“I knoooow, but I don’t want to see his stupid smug grin when asking him about it.”
Linden huffs out a laugh at that, then shakes his head at me. “I thought you guys were getting along after spending Christmas together.”
I think of how Xander sucked me off in the guest room, swallowing my release as I buried my fingers in his hair.
“We’re not.”
“But you message each other now.”
That is technically true, but our exchange is strictly game-day related. Basically, we’re telling each other what plays we fucked up. We also have an ongoing argument about dog breeds and what kind of puppy we would get if we had the chance. Xander is dead set on a pit bull even though a Chihuahua would clearly be the better fit for him.
If the Rebels won’t sign me, I can beat him to getting a dog at least.
***
We're going to leave for two away games on Saturday morning, so I have some extra time to attend Nate’s home game on Thursday night. Depending on our team’s position in the conference, we usually stop that routine when it gets into thefinal phase of the season. The Bats’ and Badgers’ hockey teams have been friendly enough over the past few years, but even the tightest friendship ends when there’s a chance of making it to the Frozen Four.
The Bats step on the ice with the shattered confidence resulting from a last-minute loss on Tuesday, falling into a defensive position right from the get-go. I really want them to put an end to their downward spiral. My reasoning is not purely altruistic: If they beat Maine, we might be able to advance past them on Saturday.
“Come on, Nate!” I pound my fist against the plexiglass when my twin skates toward the tunnel after the first period. Instead of my brother, number 48 stops in front of me, raising one brow.
I still hate how he’s able to do that.
“What are you doing here?” Hart asks as his teammates pass him on their way to the locker room.
“Just witnessing another of your downfalls,” I answer casually, a small grin tugging on my lips. “Did you fuck up your Wordle today, or what is this shitshow?”
Xander rolls his eyes at me, ready to follow his team, but I stop him with another punch against the glass divider.
“Wait! For real now: You have to focus on the left blueliner. He’s hurt or something. He always turns away from the hit.”
“Thank you, Coach Van der Hoff, but we actually reviewed a lot of tape and–”
“That’s not something you see on tape, Xander, come on now! I think Nate got him good with his check. If he’s not taken out, you need to bring the pressure onto his side.”
Xander cocks his head at me, squinting. “That’s a pretty shitty move, Hoff.”
