“I’ll think about,” she says after a moment. “Have you talked to Mom and Dad or Ethan?”
“I talked to Ethan this morning and talked to Mom and Dad yesterday.” The bar is starting to get crowded and busy, so we leave for my place.
We watch whatever movie is showing on TV and eat a large bowl of popcorn drizzled with chocolate syrup, just like when we were younger. After the movie, I turn on my laptop and we FaceTime with Ethan.
“Baby number three should be here in roughly seven months,” he says with a smile before we can even say hello.
Whit squeals and congratulates him.
“Damn, didn’t she just have one?” Whit hits me on the arm and Ethan laughs. “Seriously. You’re like a baby-making machine. And you know Mom is going to really start pushing for me to settle down. Every time you have a kid, she doubles the pressure.”
“Stop being a wimp, Hudson. You’re a hockey player, act all tough and stuff.”
The conversation steers back to the pregnancy when his wife appears on screen and starts talking to Whit. An hour later, I shut down my computer, and we go to our respective rooms to get some shut eye.
~
/> One of my favorite things about playing hockey is my teammates and the atmosphere in the locker room. It’s not something that everyone sees all the time. I think that bit of privacy adds to why I like it. We’re a family, close enough to play together, but not close enough to be heartbroken when one of us gets traded to another team. The thoughts are pushed aside as I skate onto the ice and the roar of the crowd drowns everything else out.
When I prepare for the faceoff, crouching just a little, focusing on winning this task, the world is still there. My eyes follow the puck as it drops and the world falls away. It’s the other guy and me battling for the puck with me coming away as the winner this time. Hockey is a fast-paced game, even from the bench between line changes. We really want a win tonight, especially with the last two being losses.
A grin forms when one of their men is sent to the penalty box in the third with the score tied at 2-2. We have an excellent power play record so far this season. The play starts. We lose the faceoff and after struggling along the boards to regain possession, I manage to get the puck. I pass it to one of my boys and after a few more passes, it makes it back to me. A guy tries to put his stick in my way, but I crash the net and score!
3-2, baby! With three minutes to go, we dominate to protect our lead until the buzzer sounds. And that’s precisely what we do.
Afterwards, a bunch of the guys want to go out, and I know that Whit will want to catch up with some of them, so I agree to go. She meets me at the players’ entrance, and we ride over. We get a large round booth in the corner, and Jim sends over our drinks. Whitney sits next to me with the rest of the guys on either side of us. A couple of the rookies gather at the bar instead of sitting with us. They are the wilder bunch anyway, so I’ll keep an eye out on them to make sure they stay out of trouble.
“How is little Whitney King doing?” Gerald, one of my defensemen asks from next to my sister.
“Pretty good. I had to come see my favorite men.” She bumps his shoulder. “And Hudson, of course.”
Gerald laughs and another one of the guys asks her a question. My sister fits right in with us. A couple of them, like Gerald, see her as one of their little sisters too. One thing is for sure, no one will ever mess with her with all of us around.
Slowly, my adrenaline from the win fades as the night progresses. I like celebrating a win with the team and even with Whitney, especially when we make a bet against the rookies. Whitney has no problem playing the innocent girl.
“Hudson, show me how to do this one more time,” she says, looking at the dart like it’s a foreign object. She’s already missed two “practice” shots.
I silence my laugh as the rookies look at each other with a grin. They know I’m only okay at darts, but they have no idea how good Whitney really is. One hundred dollars is on the table, and they are planning to take it home because they don’t think she can hit the bulls-eye. They are about to get hustled.
“Alright, Whit. Don’t overdo it,” I tell her quietly.
She nods. Once I’ve stepped back, she gracefully throws the dart, hitting the bulls-eye. The pair of newbies exchange glances. Whitney throws her second, landing just outside the bulls-eye. When one of the guys opens his mouth to say something, I raise my hand to stop him. She throws her last one, making all three bunched close together.
“That was fucking bullshit,” one of them finally says.
I laugh as Whitney shrugs. “I’m just a girl, boys. If you don’t like it, deal with Hudson. It was his idea. However, this,” she grabs the money and stuffs it in her pocket, “is still mine. Thanks for buying my next pair of shoes.”
She walks away, and all I say before following her is, “Now you know better than to make bets.”
It’s getting late, so Whitney suggests we head home. She wants to leave early in the morning because she’s hoping to meet with that guy, Drew, for a study session before their test Monday. On our way out, a chick stops me.
“Hey, aren’t you Hudson King?”
Not again. Being recognized isn’t something I’m fond of right now. Maybe I should just stop confirming it.
“No, but I get that a lot,” I answer before leaving her behind.
Chapter Two