The Puck Drop by Jaqueline Snowe

CHAPTER FOUR

Naomi

Mona pursed her lips and tapped her pointer finger against her chin. “The rink is cold, yes?”

“Yes,” I said, eyeing the mountain of clothing options on our living room floor. Helping me decide what to wear to the away game took the entire crew. We all knew I had the worst fashion sense—but best budgeting skills—so Kelly, Lilly, and Mona all pitched in to help me out.

“You obviously need warmth,” Lilly said, picking up the orange long sleeve shirt that had a blue stripe on each arm and tossing it at me. “But to be sporty cute. You could wear that with a hat? And a blue vest?”

“And earrings. Hoop earrings are the quickest way to gain confidence,” Kelly said, walking to stand next to Mona as she eyed the options on the floor.

Despite the nerves and roller-coaster of emotions I had about attending my first college hockey game, there was the lingering urge to look good that had everything to do with Michael Reiner. Never in my life had a guy dismissed Cami with a look and then eyed me.

He did that at the library, and I hadn’t stopped thinking about it since.

“Why does she need confidence though? Our girl is fucking smart, cute, nice, and forgiving. If Cami were my sister, I would’ve punched her in the tit the second I saw her,” Mona said, the fierce loyalty of her friendship reminding me that it was okay that Cami and I weren’t close anymore.

I had these girls.

Lilly met my eyes and wiggled her eyebrows. “Because of the other sexy intern working with the team.”

My face heated as all three pairs of eyes looked at me.

Mona tilted her head. “Excuse me?”

“Oh, she didn’t tell you that this tatted up guy didn’t even give Cami a glance?” Lilly said, coming up and smoothing my French braids before patting my cheeks. “Our girl here has the attention of Michael Reiner. Look him up online. Right now. He is…  fine.”

“I regret telling you this,” I said, resting my forehead on Lilly’s shoulder. She caught me at a weak moment, and I spilled everything. We didn’t have many secrets between the four of us, but most stories of me flirting—or failing at flirting—were often withheld.

Mona and Kelly eyed her phone and gasped.

“What the fucking fuck? A hockey player?” Mona said, her face transforming into a scowl. “Girl, you know the rules there.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” I muttered, not needing to analyze all the reasons why my semi-crush on Michael Reiner would remain just that. Thankfully, Kelly saved me.

“Look at his face. Just look at it. And his hair. Oh, and his tattoos. You’re going to be sitting next to him at every game? Fletch, you’re going to drool.”

“I know! That’s the problem!” I groaned into my fist as butterflies exploded in my stomach. It was foreign to want to be cute for someone else. Knowing that I wasn’t attractive compared to my sister meant dressing was easy. I didn’t put a lot of stock into my appearance because she would always be the prettier twin. But with Michael? He called me data girl and winked at me. “Ladies, nothing is going to happen. I might just be wanting to be a bit shallow? Is that… horrible?”

Lilly rolled her eyes. “There is nothing wrong with a little vanity. I know what you’re wearing. Go put on your black jeans and come out here. We’d be breaking our roommate vow if we didn’t sex you up from time to time. Now, chop-chop, Fletcher. Let mama take care of you.”

* * * *

 

My feet dragged on the pavement as I approached the bus loading area to the south of the rink. My mascara was the best it’d ever been, and my jeans and orange fitted sweatshirt looked good, yet nerves still fluttered around my gut.

The heat of the summer air lingered just a bit, but the wind was picking up as I neared the parking lot filled with lots of commotion. The equipment manager stood with a clipboard, eyeing all the gear, and players were everywhere, like little ants.

Some laughed. Some wore headphones. Others came out of the rink carrying their bags. One guy looked up as I neared and lifted his chin in a quick greeting before moving past me. I was used to that from hockey players. Polite indifference.

I pulled on the straps of my backpack tighter and tried to calm my heart rate. It wasn’t being around athletes that had me nervous. My babysitters had been guys in hockey gear who grunted a lot. It was the fact I was doing this. Going to a game with the team and my dad. After spending most of my life avoiding the sport that drove my parents to divorce, now I was knee deep in it. I can do this. I can be bold.

I took a deep breath of the chilling fall air and jumped when a massive body appeared next to me.

“What up, Klutzy?” Reiner said, flashing me a smile that had no business making my toes curl into my shoes. What I wouldn’t give to have his good looks and confidence. I’d rule the damn world.

“Reiner,” I said, a little too breathy. It wasn’t from his proximity or the fact he stared at me longer than a few minutes...or so I told myself. “You scared the shit out of me.”

“Pay better attention then. You’re about to get on a bus filled with hockey players. You gotta be prepared for anything,” he said, his voice losing a bit of the playful edge. “So, stat lady, did you bring graph paper and bar charts for me?”

I rolled my eyes so hard I was surprised I didn’t lose eyesight. “Oh my god, obviously. I carry them in my bag, always.”

“Sarcasm suits you, Fletcher.” Michael’s eyes warmed for one brief second, and in that small moment of time, I wondered what it’d be like to always be on the receiving end of that look.

He was so large. Charismatic. Handsome. He didn’t think twice about letting me be his fake girlfriend at the bar and had the ability to talk to anyone with an ease I never could. His dark blue eyes matched the Central hockey polo he wore, and his easy grins caused my stomach to flutter. Just looking at him made my breath lodge in my throat.

My mouth might’ve dropped open, but I wasn’t sure because everything felt too hot. My skin. My neck. My body. I tore my gaze away from him and focused on the asphalt. “Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit.”

“But the highest form of intelligence,” Michael said, wiggling his dark brows. “I know that Oscar Wilde quote too. I should get a sticker.”

I snorted. I couldn’t help it. He laughed too, and the weird hold he had over me broke—which was good. I wasn’t Cami and never would be. I liked Steve Kornaki type of guys, not athletes. I’d heard all the stories over the years. The debauchery. The stream of hook-ups. The heartbreaks. Hell, before Cami and I grew apart, I’d hear her cry through our thin wall at home.

I knew better than to entertain the idea of crushing on a hockey bro. Throw in the fact he was working for my dad? It was a lose-lose-lose situation, and those were certainly odds I didn’t want.

“Reiner, come with me,” my dad said, his coaching voice on full blast. It was the same Dad voice he had at home but more authoritative. Like he added an extra syllable to each word to make people listen. Reiner stood straighter next to me and took a step toward him.

I wanted so badly to ask if I was just chopped liver but bit my tongue. “And me?”

“Oh, Naomi, hey. You should get on the bus. Sit in the front.” He pointed to the one nearest us and put a hand on Reiner’s shoulder. “I mean it. We’ll be there in a second.”

My chest tightened, and my skin felt too small for my entire body. I was just dismissed. Like that. No, so glad you’re here, or are you nervous, or do you have any questions?

He had to realize this was so outside of my comfort zone. That my pulse worked too hard for the situation. But Dad was always about hockey. My mom knew it and left because of it. For one second, I thought about not doing this. Exiting the parking lot and going back to my apartment where things were easy. Comfortable. No smell of athletes or their drama.

Something rooted me to the spot though. Maybe it was grit or a sliver of competitiveness that I’d hidden for all these years. My professor advised me to work on an assignment that pushed my boundaries. To get creative with data. To my little nerd heart, that could mean a lot of things. It didn’t require that I had to push my personal boundaries, but here I was. On the brink of walking away.

Time stilled at this seemingly huge moment that only I went through. No one gave a shit that I stood there, heart hammering and my palms sweating.

I’d follow through with it.

I’d never forgive myself if I walked away from this chance at maybe proving to my dad I wasn’t so different from him. Plus, the small voice in the back of my head spoke up. Be more like your sister.

I hated the comparison, but it was true. She’d squeal at this opportunity to be around all the guys and our dad. But it was me, not her, and I’d decided I was staying. I was doing this thing.

Surviving my exhausting mental crisis, I got onto the bus like my dad said and waited. The ants—players—scrambled all over as the bus was loaded with all their gear for the evening game. It was a two-hour bus trip to the east, some Indiana team, and I’d brought enough snacks for the night.

Chips, carbonated water, and peanut butter were all I needed.

The bus smelled like socks that had been sitting out in the sun too long and a hint of mint. The lone air freshener hung near the dashboard, and I laughed. At least that worked.

Guys started boarding the bus, each guy glancing at me. Their reactions were the same. Brief recognition, like they knew me from class or something, then nothing. A part of me wondered if they thought I was Cami for a second but realized I wasn’t and walked away. I wasn’t sure why their reaction bothered me, but it did, so I focused on my phone. Being insecure about my appearance when there was a literal human who looked exactly like me was a weird thing to grapple with. My friends could boost me up and tell me over and over that I was crazy to think so low of myself, but it was hard to move past a decade of always being the less cute twin.

“Fletcher,” a deep voice said, making me look up. It was a tall dude with the biggest eyes I had ever seen. “Pretty sick you’re joining us.”

My throat dried up. “Er, right. It’ll be an experience.”

The guy smiled before moving on. My face flamed at the attention. How did he know me? Did he confuse me with Cami? He called me Fletcher.

I chewed my lip as I overthought the entire three second interaction when an enticing smell caught my attention. It was like outdoors and the air right after it rained combined into woodsy perfection. I took a deep breath just as Reiner’s face came into view.

My heart thudded hard.

“I’m with you, Klutzy.” He flashed a grin that went straight to my core and lifted a bag to put it overhead. The movement made his shirt drag up and his biceps bulge, and I slammed my eyes shut.

I needed to open a window.

“You eat enough today? You look a little pale,” he said, sitting down next to me so our thighs touched like they did in the booth that night. It wasn’t his fault, more his parents’ fault. He was a tad too tall and his legs a tad too thick. Oh my god. I’m thinking about his thick thighs with his delicious cologne surrounding me. Plus, that sleeve of tattoos on his arm distracted me. The intricate designs were beautiful.

I fisted the strap of my backpack and swallowed. The gesture hurt, and I was pretty sure he could hear it. He watched me with the same intense eyes that distracted me at the bar, and I nodded. Right, he’d asked me a question. Answering him was the normal thing to do.

A line appeared between his eyebrows as he looked over the seat and down the aisle. “Any of the guys giving you shit? I know it can be overwhelming on a bus of hockey players, but most of the time, they’re alright. Just rowdy.”

“Fighting in college hockey isn’t allowed,” I said, almost shouting at him. Michael surely knew that already. I pressed my lips together as my face rivaled a furnace, and I scooted closer to the window.

“Oh, Little Miss Hockey knows a fun fact.”

His sarcasm made me glare at him, but he just wore that easy smile with one dimple on the side. Steve Kornaki had dimples too, but those didn’t have the same magnetic pull on me. Even though I tended to be logical and linear in thoughts, Michael overwhelmed my senses and my brain. I needed space. Air. A moment to think. “Are you sure you have to sit with me?”

Michael’s smile slipped, and he ran a hand through his unruly hair, the tattoos on his arm moving with the motion. The playful glint to his eyes dimmed, and my chest tightened. Did I hurt his feelings?

“I can leave you alone. No stress.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out headphones before settling into a comfortable position. His thigh still pressed against mine, but I swore it lacked the warmth from before.

I didn’t upset people. Going under the radar was my specialty, yet this larger-than-life guy seemed...bothered. My stomach soured, and sweat pooled on my forehead. I ran my arm over it and tried to think of what to do.

Linear.

He overwhelmed me.

I asked if he had to sit with me because I needed space. Not because… Oh. Did he take the comment personally? That I didn’t want to sit with him? That’d be silly though. How would that hurt his feelings? He was so… extra in every way while I was average. I exhaled, unsure of how to fix this situation when my dad got on the bus with the assistant coach following him. Hank was skinny for a coach and wore dark glasses that made me blush because he was cute. 

I might’ve had a crush on the assistant coach, but I kept that secret to myself.

“Has anyone seen Cal?” my dad asked, a dangerous lilt to his voice. I knew that tone. I’d heard it a few times when Cami or I were in huge trouble as kids. I didn’t know a lot about Cal, but I felt bad for him already.

“No, sir,” someone from the back said.

“Call him. This bus leaves in five minutes, with or without him.” My dad stomped into the seat across from Michael and I, his attention not once landing on me. It was fine. He had to worry about Cal. This was normal behavior I was used to. I just didn’t expect it to bother me. I hoped… or wrongfully assumed we’d talk on the bus or at least he’d acknowledge me being there. The indifference to my presence felt like a knife to the heart, and I wondered, again, if I should’ve said to hell with this.

My dad barked out Reiner’s name, making my seatmate sit up straighter. He sat a row back and popped his head over the seat.

“You ever miss a road trip?”

“No, sir.”

“Ever seen someone else miss it?”

“Yes, and it didn’t end well for them,” Michael said, running his hands along his thighs. He wore dark jeans that fit him well.

“What would you do?”

Michal’s entire body tensed. His thigh grew harder against mine, and the muscles in his jaw flexed a few times. He ran his hand through his hair again, making it stand on end a bit before he blew out a breath. “Are you asking as an alt-captain or as your intern?”

“Either.”

“This shit wouldn’t fly. If I was captain of the team, I’d rip into this guy and give him two choices. Either be a part of the team or transfer.” Michael looked down the aisle before continuing. “Helsing doesn’t seem too upset. Your captain does though. Look at Erikson.”

My dad hoisted himself up in the seat to stare down the bus. “Erikson, Helsing, get up here.”

The bus filled with tension as the two leaders on the team approached the front. Everything fell silent. No chatter, no radio, no sounds of players shuffling things around. It was pins and needles.

Whoosh. The bus doors opened, and after two stomps, Cal was on the bus. Even though I didn’t watch the team, I knew who Cal Holt was. The poster child for the Central Wolves hockey team.

The kid raised his brows and held up his hands. “I’m here, I’m here. We can leave now.”

No one responded. The kid scoffed and rolled his eyes before passing our row and taking a seat further back in the bus. Once we were on the road, my dad, the two captains, Hank, and Michael had a long discussion.

I tried listening to music, but it didn’t work. I was pulled into hearing how my dad talked about morals, leadership, teamwork. About how much he cared about shaping young men into good, decent, humans. The team was family for life, and that meant everyone.

My eyes got heavy, and I leaned my head against the window. I might have issues with my dad, but one thing was glaringly clear—he was a good coach. He never applied those same principals about family to his own though.

That was the part I couldn’t understand. How could a man be so good at one thing but neglect the other?