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“Agreed. I try to stick to beer, especially during the season, but once in a while you have to let loose and doing a shot for Monique felt appropriate tonight.”
“You guys seem close.”
“We are. She’s a lot of fun and a consummate professional. The clips she makes for me so I can watch video on my own time are exactly what I need and technically she doesn’t have to make them of just my plays, you know?”
“She seems like the type to go above and beyond.”
“Absolutely.”
“Have you met her husband?” I asked under my breath.
He gave a little nod, but there was no mistaking the distaste on his face. “He’s an arrogant prick. I’ve never understood what she sees in him, but it wasn’t my place to say that. I’m just extremely pissed off that he’s hurt her. She deserves better.”
It surprised me that Nash felt so passionately about what Monique’s husband had done. I hadn’t expected that kind of emotional depth from him, which made me feel a little guilty because I knew firsthand what it was like to be judged on looks alone. Maybe he wasn’t so bad.
“I don’t even know the guy and I want to throat punch him,” I said after a moment.
“Maybe Mo will let you at him since she won’t let us do it,” he said, loud enough for her to hear.
“Don’t you go putting any ideas in her head!” Monique said to him, wagging her finger. “She does not need to be corrupted by the Mavericks!”
“I think it’s too late for that,” Boone said, his dark eyes twinkling. “She’s one of us now, so…” His voice trailed off as he shrugged.
“Too late for what?” I asked, looking around the table.
“Oh, you’ll see.” Nash had an innocent look on his face but there was no mistaking the laughter brewing beneath the surface.
“Don’t listen to them!” Monique called to me. “You just stay your sweet, innocent self. These boys are not to be trusted.”
“You wound me, Mo!” Nash clasped his chest, as if in pain.
They continued their back-and-forth banter, and despite Monique’s playful warning, warmth filled me. It had been a long time since I’d been part of a group that made me feel like I belonged. I hadn’t been part of the Mavericks organization very long, but I was one of them now, and I liked it.
Chapter Twelve
Nash
* * *
“How can you not call that? What the fuck? That was slashing!”
Our entire bench erupted as Lars took a stick to the face. Even Coach was worked up, gesturing and yelling as our offensive lines made a change.
“Somebody get that ref a Chicago jersey!” I yelled.
The fans behind us were also not having it. St. Louis and Chicago had a major hockey rivalry, and every seat in the Chicago arena was full tonight. We needed this win, because the momentum wasn’t on our side right now, and I didn’t have another grueling bag skate in me.
The crowd roared as a fight broke out between Lars and the guy who had slashed him, McGill. Instinct made me stand up, ready to join the fight, but Wes put his arm out to stop me.
“He doesn’t need you,” he said, watching the scene a lot more calmly than I was.
Becoming our team captain after Ben died had somehow mellowed Wes. He’d learned in the year and a half he’d been captain to choose his battles, and to be a calming force for our team.
“Un-fucking-believable,” I grumbled. “Guess decent vision isn’t a requirement to become a ref these days.”
“He was looking right at it,” Wes said. “That fucking ref is just being an asshole.”
The game was tied, each team having two goals as we approached the last minute. When the first line went back in for our shift, my focus was entirely on getting the puck into the net. Wes, Boone, and I passed it back and forth, my heart racing faster than usual.
We were in the playoffs. Last season, after losing Ben and his wife, we’d scraped through and ended the season below five hundred. But this season, our first without Ben, we wanted to win for him. I wanted it more than I’d ever wanted anything. We’d shed many tears together as we moved forward in a daze last year, broken by the loss of our friend and captain.
He and Lauren would never see their two young children grow up. Wes and Lauren’s friend, Hadley, were raising them now, with our entire team behind them. Every time I saw Ben’s daughter in the family box wearing her Mavericks sweater, her face painted in our team colors, I wanted to win the Cup for her.
I was in perfect scoring position. The Chicago tender was all fucking over me, though, so instead of shooting, I passed it to Boone. He slid it into the net like a pro and the arena erupted in both cheers and groans.
