Gametime: A Moo U Hockey Romance by Jami Davenport (classic novels to read .txt) 📕

“For being so book smart, you’re dumb when it comes to common sense. Let me spell it out for you. You’re playing well while Patrick is having an off couple of weeks. Of course she switched to you. But, boy, you’re a fool if you don’t think she’ll go running back to Patrick when he regains his stride and you go back to playing like normal.”

I gaped at my father, deeply hurt and offended. Even worse, a tendril of doubt wrapped a painful tentacle around my heart.

“Dad, Mr. Smith offered to spend some time with me after the season working on my slapshot.” Despite us being at odds, Patrick deflected Dad’s attention to him. He gave me one of those you can thank me later looks.

Patrick’s slapshot was the weakest part of his game, while it was my best. Even so, he had a good slapshot, but my brother had to be number one at everything.

Our father forgot all about me, and I was able to fade into the background while he gave Patrick his opinions on how to improve.

Thankfully, Dad got a text a few minutes later and abruptly stood.

“Sorry, boys, a lady I’ve been seeing here in town on occasion needs me. I need to go, but one last thing. I’ve been laid off, so I won’t be able to attend your games until I’m back at work.”

I didn’t dare look at Patrick because I was pretty sure we were both inwardly cheering our father’s bad news and feeling like shit for it.

He was gone before we had time to comment or say goodbye, and he took the remainder of the whiskey with him.

“I owe you one, bro.” I grabbed the last of our beer from the fridge and handed one to Patrick.

“Hey, you’d have done it for me.”

“I would’ve.”

“I feel like a huge weight was taken off my shoulders when he said he wouldn’t be at our games.”

“Yeah, thank God.” I fist-bumped with my brother, feeling closer to him than I had for a long time, despite the rock that sat in the pit of my stomach regarding their suspicions about Naomi.

We sat down on the couch and found a hockey game on TV, watching it and commenting on anything and everything, like we once had.

During intermission, Patrick turned to me. “I think Dad’s right, you know. She’s using you. Can’t you see it?”

“She is not using me.”

Patrick’s pitying glance irritated the hell out of me. I was either going to thump him or I needed to get the hell out of here. I grabbed my coat.

“Where’re you going?”

“To the library. Some of us study.”

“Fuck you,” Patrick shot back. I was being an ass, and I knew it. Patrick’s sore spot was his studies, and I’d been getting in my jabs.

I hesitated in the doorway, about to apologize to him, but he turned his back on me and stomped off down the hall.

I slammed the door, getting a small measure of satisfaction from the loud noise, and trudged through the snow toward campus. I was furious with my family and missing Naomi. They were wrong about her. Damn it.

I spent the evening and next day mired in doubts and whether now was the right time to be wrapped up in a serious relationship with all the other shit in my life. Even Coach Garf’s positive thinking lessons weren’t overcoming the negativity and self-doubt creeping into my thoughts.

I was in no shape for two away games this weekend.

Naomi spent the weekend with her father, so I didn’t have her encouraging presence to bolster my confidence. Nor did I have my brother to confide in. He’d made his position clear.

By the time I skated onto the ice for the puck drop on Friday night, I was a mess inside. No one noticed, not even Patrick, which was a testament to how far apart we’d grown in the past month or so.

As we raced up and down the rink, my feeling of destabilization intensified. The ice felt off under my blades. My uniform restricted my movements. My brain wasn’t seeing the shots. I was tense and growing more desperate by the second. I forced several shots at the net and missed every one of them, drawing disapproving scowls not only from Patrick but from the other members of my line.

“I’m hot tonight. You’re colder than this ice we’re skating on. Be a fucking team player. Feed me the puck,” Patrick hissed at me as we took the ice for the third period.

I bit back a retort. He was right. He was hot. I was a team player, damn it. I slid back into my old method of play, passing my brother the puck instead of taking a chance on my shots. Patrick was ecstatic, and I was miserable by the time the game ended, even though we won.

The next night, Coach Garf approached me during warm-ups. “Relax, kid. Don’t panic. Don’t fall back on old habits. You’ve got this. Trust yourself and your instincts.”

“But the team…”

“The team is still winning. Stick with our plan.”

Only I didn’t. Our opponent was tied with us for first place, and they were tough as nails. The game was hard-fought and fast-paced. I was slammed up against the boards more than I had been in the previous four games.

We won, just barely thanks to my teammates stepping up, while I stepped down, considerably.

My life was spiraling out of control, and I needed to simplify things by making smart, sound decisions, rather than ones based on emotion. At the first sign of adversity, I’d abandoned my new way of playing and gone back to being Patrick’s wingman.

31

Backsliding

Naomi

I spent the long Thanksgiving weekend with my dad and his girlfriend. Dad had taken the liberty of making sure I had the weekend off from my statistician job without even asking me first. I’d have preferred going to the games, but instead we watched them on television as a family.

I missed Paxton immensely,