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My parents are MIA. I didn’t expect these three to come to this game, let alone Mom and Dad. They don’t even want me to touch a stick.
“Who’s the kid who keeps waving, and how are his arms not falling off?” Chelsea squirts water into her mouth.
I sigh. “A family friend. The other two are my siblings.”
“Aw, cute!”
Not.
Like the grown adult I am, I stick my tongue out at the three of them. They don’t see my grin as I face forward again. I’ll show Aran and Brooke how it’s done. And I’ll show everyone who said I could never play again that I, in fact, freaking can.
CHAPTER 7
MAX
“There’s no I in team, and yet so many of you are whining that you weren’t made team captain?” Coach Green shakes his head, hands on hips like a disappointed parent. “Instead of thinking long and hard about why you weren’t selected?”
Damn. Coach doesn’t have to go so hard.
I balance my weight from one foot to the other. Most of the grumbling hasn’t been about me. But really about the fact that everyone wanted that C for themselves. Which means, great, we have a team made up of selfish pricks.
And then there’s Boucher. He points at my face with his stick. “Are you sure you didn’t pick him because he’s some sort of celebrity?”
The hell? I reel back from the awkwardness that is taking way too much space in this locker room.
I’m not the more famous Cassiano. But the optics of having an opening game of Cassiano versus Cassiano are probably too good to pass up for St. Cloud, a school that still needs to find its place in the conference. Because, of freaking course, I have to faceoff with Leo tonight. Our opponent for this friendly game couldn’t be any of the other ten teams, but the Bulldogs of Brighton College.
“So what?” I ask, annoyed to the point of barely holding back f-bombs. “The fact that a handful of people know my name won’t make us win. Why don’t you go out there and show everyone that you have the leadership skills for the job?”
Nate whistles. “Man, I got some baby cream for that burn if you need it.”
“Why do you have baby cream?” Conor can’t hold back his laughter.
“The jockstrap chafes the family jewels. Don’t judge.”
And those two are my alternate captains, ladies and gentlemen.
“That’s right,” Coach continues. “Just because you don’t have a C on your jersey doesn’t mean you shouldn’t go out there and lead the charge. And that’s what I want all you bunch of ninnies to do out there tonight. Is that clear?”
“Yes, sir.”
Weakest chorus I’ve heard. This game is going to be a disaster.
Boucher slams past my shoulder on our way out to the ice, like a child. It’s not like I was desperate for the C, but Frankie Boucher has less common sense than I thought if he thinks this attitude makes him more deserving of the role.
The arena is bathed in red flashing lights that make the ice look like it’s bloody. Apt, because Leo’s team isn’t exactly known for playing clean. The stands are packed with Bulldogs fans who boo us the moment we enter. The Bulldogs circle the rink, stoking their fans to an even louder greeting.
I’ll score at least one goal and shut them up.
One of the Bulldogs breaks formation suddenly, speeding up toward me like I have the puck and we’re in mid-play. My lungs expand and contract with a heavy sigh.
Here we go.
“If it’s none other than Maxi Pad!” Leo’s obnoxious voice arrives before the spray of slush as he brakes. “Who the hell was fool enough to put a C on your chest?”
“Screw all the way off, Leo.”
He laughs, knowing that sound is enough to sour my grapes. “Oh, this is gonna be epic. Can’t believe I’ll have the honor of crushing you on your college debut.”
