Cocky Score (The Hawkeyes Hockey Series)

I walk through the locker room, the walls echoing with game-day chatter. Everyone’s pumped up for today’s game.

“Hey, welcome to The Commons,” Lake says and then pulls on his jersey over his pads. “I was going to come by and bring you a potted plant or some shit so I could come over and get to know this girlfriend of yours that we only met yesterday. Must be fucking serious if you’re already moving in with her,” he pokes.

Figures he’d bring it up.

Lake isn’t an idiot; he knows something’s up. Whether or not his flyby plan is to stop into our apartment because he’s curious about Autumn or because he thinks he’s going to find out that our relationship isn’t what it seems, is the question.

I consider Lake a buddy, but that doesn’t mean we don’t flick shit at each other. He can run his mouth about me all he wants but if Autumn ends up in the middle of it, I’ll draw a hard line.

“How about minding your own damn business, Powers?” I tell him, dropping my duffle bag on the bench in front of my locker and opening up the metal locker door to start pulling out my game-day gear.

“It’ll be a cold day in hell before Powers learns how to butt the fuck out,” Kaenan says, walking up to his locker next to mine and start unloading his gear out of his bag, also sitting on the bench that runs along all of our lockers.

He gives me a look and then grunts his annoyance. Lake’s been razzing Kaenan about the good-looking live-in nanny that he hired a couple of months ago.

“Shit, you’re right. Where are my manners? Why don’t you come over tomorrow night for a full-course sit-down dinner with Autumn and me so you two can gab over your zodiac signs? You’ll be the guest of honor,” I offer Lake.

“Sure, I could go for that… unless you’re cooking again.”

A few of the guys chuckle. I barbequed on one of our poker nights that Lake usually hosts in his penthouse on weeks that we play at home. I swear I walked away to take a piss. I wasn’t more than half a minute, but I burned the burgers and then ordered take out Thai food down the street to replace dinner.

It would seem I still haven’t lived that down.

I turn around and face Lake. “Fuck no, Lake, I was kidding. If I have a choice, you’ll never see her again.”

I’m only partially kidding. Lake and I talk a lot of shit, but all these guys are the closest thing I have to family, besides Isaac and my parents, but I spend a shit more time with my teammates than almost anyone else during the season.

“Why? Worried she’ll like the idea of wearing the number twelve instead?” Lake jokes, referring to his jersey number over wearing mine.

I look over at Kaenan, and he just shakes his head.

“I shouldn’t be surprised your delusional. You’ve taken too many pucks to the noggin this season. It’s a goddamn medical marvel you have any living brain cells left with all that scar tissue.”

“Lucky for Autumn, my cock doesn’t need brain cells to—”

“Shut up, Powers,” Bex Townsend, our coach and fearless leader, says as he steps out of his office. “And get your head in the game. The right head. We need this win just like we needed every win before this, and we need every win after this. If you want a Stanley Cup, you’d better start proving you deserve it.”

“We’re just bonding coach,” Lake says sarcastically, looking over at me a few lockers down and smirks.

Coach Bex doesn’t like Lake isn’t taking him seriously and turns to face us, his hands on his hips scowling at us both. How the hell did I get grouped into this?

“Do it somewhere else. Conley lives at The Commons now, so if you want chit-chat so damn much, go over to his apartment and have a little slumber party… braid each other’s hair, have a damn cock sword fight for all I care, just do it on your own time… not on mine.”

Bex is a two-time Stanley Cup winner and a hero among most of us. He retired eight years ago from the NHL but came back as a coach when retirement became too boring for him. The guy is still jacked and looks like a Spartan, even after so many years after retirement. We all look up to him, so his words incite silence through the entire locker room.

He’s right. Poking fun is all well and good, but tonight is going to be a tough game, and we need our heads in the game. This is our fucking year. We deserve it.

Ryker, our team captain, walks in a minute later with layers of athletic tape wrapped around his bare shoulder and bicep. Something that our in-house sports therapist has been doing for him every game since the start of this season.

Most of us have to tape up ankles, knees and shoulders before skating out on the ice to play a game. This sport isn’t easy on your body, and we all show the signs of broken-down bodies just trying to get one more game in before our bodies give up the farm, as the saying goes.

“What the hell are you assholes doing standing around?” Ryker asks, looking at all of us, still silent from Bex’s scowling. “We have a game to win. Get your gear on. Let’s go.”

We all quickly turn toward our lockers and start layering on our gear, getting ready for a hard game ahead of us. I spend the next half hour getting my head in the game.

Two hours later, the game is tied, and there are only ten seconds left on the scoreboard. This is as hard of a game as I thought it would be, and every second of it, my mind has been filled with trying to win this fucking game.

Ryker is making a mad dash with the puck when he sees I’m closer to the goal with no one flanking me. He whacks the puck to me, and I catch it with my stick as I skate full throttle toward the goalkeeper.

An opposing player is right on my heels as I come whizzing toward the goal at full speed. The goalie’s eyes are on me, and my eyes are on the sliver of opening to his left foot in the corner of the goalpost. I pull back on my stick and whack the puck with everything I have. The puck goes flying across the icy surface just as I spin out of the way around the goalpost in order to not ram right into it, along with the goalie.

The buzzer sounds!

GOAL!

The crowd goes wild. Fans race up to the plexiglass and bang against it. In my peripheral, my teammates from the box jump out onto the ice as my other teammates currently on the ice all hall ass at me with sticks in the air.

We fucking won!

Without thinking, the first place I look is up to the owner’s box. Everyone in the owner’s box is jumping up and down. Sam, Phil, Penelope, Tessa… but the only one I’m looking for is the brunette wearing my number.

The second my eyes catch on Autumn, I see her jumping up and down, screaming, cheering, and high-fiving Sam Roberts. Her loose waves of soft brown hair bounce with her, along with the jersey she’s wearing, as she celebrates with everyone else in the owner’s box. I point my hockey stick up at her, and I can see her pound her hands against the glass in response. My teammates ram me into the plexiglass as they all pile against each other in celebration.

“I love you, you motherfucker!” Ryker yells over the crowd, his arm wrapped around my neck in a tight vise.

He’s the first one slammed up against me. We break into laughter as the mob of players creates a pile-up of turquoise, white and black jerseys… our team colors.

“We won!” I yell back to him.

I look up again to see Autumn, and she must know I’m looking for her again because she spins around and shows me my jersey number on her back. She pulls her soft brown hair off her back so that I can see CONLEY #48 spelled out across her shoulders.

Fuck, that looks good on her, and I can’t wait to see it close up.

After enough celebration, we skate off the ice and head for the locker room. Now that we’ve won, the memory of what I get to go home to tonight floods back in. I’m not used to being impatient to get through media in order to get to see someone waiting on the other side of the stadium doors. I’m usually just racing to get to the bar for a celebratory drink or looking forward to an ice bath after this is all over, but tonight, showing off my fake relationship with Autumn to the media might not be so much work anymore.

I sail through media, luckily, they got the hint from the last time, and they kept the questions off Autumn and only on the game.

Once I answer enough questions, Sam excuses me and brings in another player. I exit the media room as quickly as I can, and a smile widens as I see Autumn standing where she was last time, at the end of the hall, this time in my jersey.

I stop in front of her and give her body a full scan, using the jersey as my excuse for my inspection of her body.

“You like it?” she asks, stretching out her arms like she’s modeling it for me.

“Looks good on you. Now you’d better throw away your Altman jersey,” I tease.

“She has my jersey?” I hear Kaenan ask behind me, slapping his hand on my shoulder and then squeezing as he settles beside me.

I look over to find Berkeley fast asleep against his chest as he holds her with his right arm and Isla standing next to him on his left.

“Not anymore, she doesn’t,” I growl at Autumn more than him.

He laughs.

‘Are you coming out with us?’ I ask.

Kaenan bends his head down a little a kisses Berkeley’s head softly, trying not to wake her.

‘Nah, I’m going to take the girls home,’ he says, giving a quick side look at Isla and then looks back at me. “Good game Conley. See you tomorrow at morning skate.”

I see Autumn smile at Isla as the three of them turn and then head for the exit.

“Ready to head to the bar?” I ask Autumn.

“Sure.”

I pull her hand into mine, and we leave before the media gets out of interviews, and we head for my car.

I’m looking forward to getting to spend a little time tonight getting to know the adult version of Autumn Daughtry.