The Puck Drop by Jaqueline Snowe

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Michael

 

Michael: Facetime later

Ryann: Wow, not even an ask. That was a demand.

Michael: Today’s a day I hate not being at Moo U.

Ryann: I want to give you shit for going thousands of miles away, but I won’t. Yeah, we can Facetime. Miss you.

I scratched a hand over my chest a few times, feeling Naomi’s watchful gaze at the diner. People at Central didn’t know my tragic past. It was easy to dodge questions about my family by saying they were out east. It wasn’t a lie. My family—meaning Ryann—was out east.  One major reason I’d left home was because everyone knew my story there. Here, no one did.

Sharing that with Naomi felt like I checked off a box I didn’t mean to. She had that look. The narrowed eyes, the sympathy etched on her face. The urge to confide everything in her kept growing, and I didn’t want that. I avoided her gaze and focused on Coach instead.

“I can’t decide between the hash browns, toast, or eggs,” he said, flipping the menu over and squinting at the back. “What’re you eating? Wait, don’t answer that. You’re young and in shape.”

“Can’t go wrong with fruit, sir,” I said, adding just a bit of humor to my voice. He eyed me before setting the menu down and shoving it to the side.

“Naomi, order whatever you want. It’s on me today.”

“Thanks, Dad,” she said, her tone a little softer than normal. I wondered if she was thinking about the news I shared, how I lost my parents. Was she realizing how lucky she was to have her sister and dad here? Or would she let her grievances get in the way?

“So, post-game analysis. I’ve had some time to think about last night’s game and how we can make adjustments before our home opener in two weeks. But, future-hockey-coach, I want to hear from you. If they were your team, what would you say to them when we meet this afternoon?”

My gut reaction would be to not talk about the game at all and do an activity that required teamwork but suggesting as much felt risky. I’d already crossed a line by saying something to Cal last night. I scratched my jaw and took a breath, hoping to buy myself some time. “Well, I’d ask the captains what they thought.”

“Good start. What else?”

“I’d want to point out what could be improved but also what went well.”

“Okay. Then?” he asked, a little bit of spark in his eyes. I had the feeling he enjoyed this banter, this give and take between us. He leaned forward onto his elbows just as a waiter approached us. We paused conversation and ordered food. I got a breakfast burrito, Naomi, a pancake breakfast, her dad, eggs, and the assistant coach, French toast.

Not seconds after the waiter left, Coach narrowed his eyes at me. Despite having two other people at the table with us, the conversation felt like a challenge just for me. “You’re holding back, Reiner. I can tell. The team is yours in this scenario, so what would you do?”

I tapped my fingers on the surface of the tabletop and snuck a quick glance at Naomi. She watched me with her lips slightly parted, and god, her lips were so full. Like pillows. Soft and pink and focus. I cleared my throat. “I’d make them do something that forces them to need each other. Shows their vulnerability.”

“Dad, if I may,” Naomi interrupted, drawing all three of our gazes to her. Her dad sat up straighter, like he wasn’t used to her speaking up this way.

Interesting.

I shifted in my seat, and in the process, my leg brushed against hers. It was a total accident, but then Naomi hit her knee against mine in a playful, flirty form of knee-footsie, and goddamn it, I fought a grin.

She was standing up to her dad and flirting with my knee. Today was a strange one.

“What is it?” Coach asked, tilting his head as he stared at his daughter. When he did that, the resemblance between them was right there in the eye shape and the way their noses fit their face.

Maybe I shouldn’t be getting excited about our knees. I moved over to the right so we weren’t touching and gave Naomi all my attention. Her cheeks had red patches on them, and she pulled on the hem of her shirt a couple of times before she opened the folder. “I created a player profile filled with stats and observations. I’ve only had time to do one so far, but I want to add an element to it.”

“Okay, I’m listening,” her dad said, his eyes moving toward the paper with a picture of Helsing on it.

“There are motivation profile tests that cost around fifty bucks. I want the guys to take them. If I consolidate the data and combine the findings with the stats, I’ll be able to provide an in-depth analysis for each player. What pushes them. What motivates them to be a good teammate, or in some cases, to be a bad teammate. This would help address the lack of team unity that is apparent.”

“Profiles,” he said, slowly and purposefully. He clicked his tongue and stared at me, then his assistant coach, then back to Naomi. I swore I could feel her anxiety growing as the silence went on.

“This is a badass idea,” I said, needing to reassure her. I’d use that shit in a heartbeat. “I can’t imagine all the correlations you could find there.”

“Right? What if we have a way to connect that Helsing is motivated by collaboration and team wins and the fact he has the most assists? Or the opposite? There would be targeted interventions in place to help the team,” she spoke too fast and too loud, and it was cute as hell.

Her nerves disappeared, and instead, she was a ball of excited energy. I loved it.

“It’d be cool to track opposing teams too, to see what the best match ups are.”

“Oh yes, once we get something in place, the sky’s the limit, really.” She flipped over the sheet of paper and grabbed a pen from her bag. “The survey results compared to last year’s stats and the ongoing ones from this year, plus observations… we could come up with a set of questions that are consistent by player.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, trying to read her scribbles on the paper.

“Like, a Likert scale. 1-4. Likely to take a shot himself or pass the puck. Likely to score. Likely to block. Again, just spitballing here. We’d have to agree on these questions so we could apply them to every player.”

“Wait. This would help the players… how?” her dad asked, his voice a little gruff. With that one question, Naomi deflated.

Her shoulders slumped, and her eyes lost that little glint she had seconds ago. Being an outsider to their family, I could see exactly how she took that question. He was assertive, and without the innate assumption that his intentions were good, she’d shut down.

But I learned a bit about her dad since I’d come to campus. He was direct, and when it came to hockey, he was intense. So, his question was to gain understanding, not belittle her idea, and it seemed I was the only one to understand that.

I needed to help, now. “Coach, what’s confusing to you? What the players would have to do? Or how we could get the information to them?”

“They fight me on study tables and tutoring, so getting them to complete this quiz would be hard. Does it take long?”

“No, not at all, Twenty minutes,” Naomi said. “We could buy however many we want and give them codes with a deadline before next game. That’s all they would need to do.”

“Hm,” he said, nodding to us and elbowing his assistant coach in the side. “What you think, Hank?”

“Sure. I want to see what little Fletcher comes up with.” He smiled at Naomi, and she grinned right back.

My muscles tensed at that grin. She never smiled at me like that. How old was Hank anyway? Thirty? I thought he had a wife or something. I frowned at him, but Coach spoke again. “Send me the details, Naomi, and we’ll do it.”

“Great.” She beamed and scrunched her little nose. She put the paper back into the folder and slid it between herself and the wall. Her happiness radiated off of her, and I decided I liked her being this smug. This happy.

Naomi Gordie Fletcher deserved to be proud and happy, and it felt good knowing I helped her navigate that miscommunication. Because wasn’t most conflict just that? Misconceptions or misunderstood messages? 

* * * *

“Dude, he was kinda into my idea. I wasn’t sure at first, but I think it’ll be great,” Naomi said, an hour later as we strolled across campus. Neither one of us said where we were heading, and I wasn’t going to ruin the moment by asking what we were doing.

It was nice just being with her and chatting with someone I enjoyed spending time with. Nothing more, nothing less. There was no reason to overcomplicate the feelings going on in my mind and think it was more than that. I couldn’t afford to think it was more. “I’m excited for you.”

“Thanks, by the way,” she said, her gait slowing. She reached over and gripped my forearm. “I know what you did.”

“And what is that, besides being wonderfully charming?”

She rolled her eyes and scrunched her nose again. Goddamn it. The motion shouldn’t be that cute, but it was, and my own lips curved up as I stepped toward her. Her grip tightened, and she said, “Clearing up the confusion.”

“Ah, well, it was easy as a third party. Also, let me ask you this. Hank.”

“Hm? There wasn’t a question in that statement.” She let go of my arm and giggled. “Are you insinuating something?”

“This is a judgement free zone, obviously, but I picked up on some vibes there.”

She snorted and waved a hand in the air, but it didn’t hide the slight blush creeping up her neck. “There isn’t anything to pick up.”

“Liar,” I said, unsure if I was teasing her to get a real answer out of her or because it annoyed me. She was off-limits. Coach’s daughter. The biggest hell no of all and yet...if his assistant coach was into her, then maybe it wasn’t horrible to think about kissing her every time she smiled?

“It’s nothing.”

“Oh, Naomi Fletcher has a crush on Hank.” I elbowed her side softly, and she did it right back, except in true Fletcher fashion, she tripped.

One of her feet got stuck on the other, and in slow motion, she fell into my side. Oomph. All her weight landed on me, and I caught her before we both hit the cement. I wrapped my arms around her, holding her against my chest as she regained her balance, and fuck.

She tilted her face up and stared at me with her large brown eyes framed by dark lashes.  The same heat I felt in my gut reflected back at me. Her pouty, smart mouth was right there, and she wet her bottom lip with her tongue.

My skin prickled with want and desire as her lemon scent clouded me. I ran my hand up and down her back, almost groaning at how she arched against my hand. It wasn’t even intentional. It just happened. “Uh, are you, okay?” I asked, my scratchy voice a dead giveaway to the storm brewing inside.

“Hm, yes,” she said, breathless and needy. She made no moves to let go, nor did I. We just stood there, wrapped in each other’s arms with my heart trying to see how many times it could beat a minute. I would win first place, for sure.

“Naomi,” I said, pleading with her for something. For her to kiss me, for her to understand why I couldn’t kiss her. It was all very confusing, and when she tightened her grip into my shirt, I swallowed so hard we both heard it.

High pitched laughter caused me to jerk back, jumping away from Naomi like I’d gotten caught smoking pot in high school. A woman walked by, talking way too loud on her phone, and my face heated. I’d been about to kiss her. There was no question.

I rubbed the back of my neck and frowned as Naomi glanced at the ground. I should say sorry, anything, but my voice stopped working. It was like my mind knew I had to say something, but my mouth disobeyed every order. Who was running my body anyway? It certainly wasn’t my brain because I knew I should be leaving her alone.

“Um, hey, do you have plans tonight?” she asked, looking back up at me. The sun hit her face just right, and her eyes seemed more hazel.

“Nope.”  I’d probably work out and annoy Freddie.

Wow, my life had changed in a year. As an undergraduate, I partied and always had something to do with the guys on the team. Here though, I didn’t have a circle. A familiar wave of sadness clouded over me as memories of the team hit me. The hockey house. The festivals. The pranks. The endless list of people to call if I wanted to work out or grab a drink. Here… I had two people. Freddie and Naomi.

Because you keep people out. I told my mind to shut the hell up. I hadn’t gone to therapy since I moved out to Illinois, and I knew I should. Ryann and Jonah brought it up every other time we talked, but it just seemed like another thing to do. Plus, I knew why I was this way.

It was so when they left, it wouldn’t hurt as bad. I understood that. It was hard enough just having Ryann and Jonah in my circle. The twins were too busy with their lives and new teams, and it was tough seeing them fulfill their dream of playing in the NHL. Once it got closer for them to go, it was easier to back off. Cutting people out was easier if you did it to them first.

Letting more people in? God, they’d be able to gut me. I shook my head to clear my thoughts and forced a smile. “Why? You got some fun plans going on?”

“Well, kinda.” She shrugged one shoulder and scrunched her damn nose again. “Our building has themed open-house nights once a month. It’s this ridiculous social outreach to bridge the gap between our neighbors which sounds dumb. But we love it.”

“A house party,” I said, grinning. “With shitty beer?”

“Pretty much. The theme is 90s grunge.”

“Oh, will we be listening to Nirvana and wearing oversized flannel shirts?” I asked, a spark of excitement hitting me at being able to go all out. I loved that shit at Moo U and hadn’t found a way to get involved here yet. Schoolwork took most of my time, and I’d die for a distraction to keep me from feeling lost. This felt like the old me. The fun Michael.

“Absolutely. Here, give me your number. I’ll text you the address.”

“Smooth. If you wanted my number, all you had to do was ask,” I teased, finding comfort in our familiar, lust-free zone we did so well in.

She rolled her eyes. “Such a player.”

“Used to be,” I said, too quickly. I wanted her to know that, and her gaze lingered on my mouth for a few seconds. “Anyway, can I bring my roommate? I’ll get a permission slip signed if needed.”

She snorted. “For sure. I’ll see you later then?”

“Sure will. Don’t trip on your walk back. I’m still keeping score.”

She smiled, and for the first time in a while, I was excited to put myself out there. I was doing this college thing away from home, without hockey to fall back on, and it was equally terrifying and exhilarating. Now, my only problem was my growing attraction to Naomi.

It was becoming a real fucking issue.