Page 9 of From A to Us

It was like a real-life sociology project with a dash of mystery thrown in.

“I mean,” Eli muttered, “does anyone like whole wheat?”

“It’s like the Indiana Jones Five of bread.”

Eli’s laughter brightened the hallway and lit up his face. Lit something up in Nolan’s chest too.

Nolan took the letters back when Eli handed them over and they left with their stash of water bottles.

And Freddie’s messenger bag.

chapter

two

“I can’t fucking shoot,” Eli grumbled, flopping onto the home team bench after his shift. In the offensive zone, New Jersey tried to keep Vermont away from its own net, but deep into the third period, the Trailblazers were dominating this game even if Eli was playing like this was his first time on skates.

Par for the season, really.

“You’re having a bad day, Eli,” Sandro Zanetti said from his left. The man had been like an older brother to Eli ever since he’d mentored Eli in his rookie season last year. “They happen.”

“The net was wide fucking open. I caught the rebound and missed. Who does that?”

Zanetti didn’t get a chance to answer because Coach Madolora sent him out for his next shift, which meant he’d close out the game since there was less than a minute left on the board.

Eli rolled his shoulders and tried to shake off yet another bad game. Zanetti was right: they happened. But when they happened consistently, it became a problem not just for him, but for the organization.

But it was fine. He was fine. They’d won without him scoring a single goal, proving that he was dispensable.

Fuck, he did not want to be dispensable. He’d worked his ass off to be here. He belonged right here, on this team—he knew it in his gut. But he’d only be allowed to stay as long as he was earning his keep. Sure, the Trailblazers had a reputation for rarely trading their players, but rarely wasn’t never. And Eli refused to be one of the few who got sent packing because he couldn’t cut it.

He had to figure out how to get his mojo back.

Twenty minutes later, showered and changed, he lay on the floor of the locker room and waved an imperious hand. “Go ahead. Read it to me.”

“Are you sure?” Standing over him, Deeley frowned down at his phone. “It’s not exactly . . . nice.”

Eli groaned theatrically and closed his eyes, as if that would make the inevitable any better. “Just do it,” he ordered his teammate.

“Okay,” Deeley said, the reluctance clear in his voice. “‘The Vermont Trailblazers won 4–0 against New Jersey tonight for their third straight home-game win, which was dominated by the Trailblazers’ goalie, Matty Coates, who shut Jersey out for the second time this season.’”

“Whoo!” Eli pumped a fist. “Yeah, Matty Coates!”

“I think he’s in the kitchen,” Deeley told him.

“Ugh.” Defeated, Eli dropped his arm. “Keep going.”

Deeley’s sigh was very put-upon. “‘Despite the Trailblazers’ second-place standing in their division after almost a dozen regular season games so far, forward Eli Parker’s sophomore slump continues, with the twenty-five-year-old failing to show up for the game yet again.’”

“Twenty-six,” Eli corrected absently, opening his eyes to squint at the Trailblazers’ logo on the ceiling. “Well, tomorrow technically. Which is in . . .” He checked his watch. “An hour and ten minutes.”

“Your birthday’s tomorrow?” Deeley asked.

“Uh-huh.”

“Dude. How come I didn’t know your birthday’s on Halloween? Yo, Sandbaker! It’s Eli’s birthday tomorrow. We need to take him out.”

That earned Eli a chorus of happy birthdays from the few teammates who hadn’t gone home yet.