Gametime: A Moo U Hockey Romance Jami Davenport (best summer reads of all time .txt) 📖

thought she wasn’t going to show up, but true to form, she was thirty minutes late. The rest is history. I won her over that night.”

“That’s so lovely, Dad. Why have I never heard that story?”

“I don’t know. Too painful, I guess, or too personal? Naomi, love is something you don’t walk away from no matter how many obstacles are in your way. You’re facing obstacles. Do you find an inner strength to overcome adversity, or do you give up and walk away? Look, I need to go. Let me know what you decide.”

“I will,” I promised, but he was already gone.

37

Showdown

Paxton

The weekend’s games had been a mixture of the good, the bad, and the ugly. The bad was how I played in the first period of Friday’s game. The ugly was my further-strained relationship with Patrick on full display for all my teammates to see. The good was what happened after the first period.

Maine had fought tough on Friday night, and by the end of the first period, neither team had scored. I wasn’t playing badly, but I wasn’t quite right either. I struggled to get in the zone, and my brother wasn’t helping things. He barked orders at me like a general. He was on my ass every time we hit the ice. I wanted to pulverize him, but losing my temper wouldn’t help the team.

“Paxton, a word.” Coach Garf motioned me out into the hall. I followed him.

“What’s up, Coach?”

“I’ve been hearing rumors you’re going through some personal issues.”

“Yeah, somewhat.”

“It’s not that I don’t sympathize, but you’ve come too far this year to blow it all in a few weeks. Listen to me, and listen well. You must have a professional mindset. Do you know what that means?”

I nodded. “Yeah, it means that you don’t let your personal problems affect your game.”

“That’s the gist of it.” Garf leaned against the wall in a deceptively casual pose that didn’t fool me. He was intent on getting his point across. “Whatever is happening to you personally cannot collide with your professional ambitions. You must compartmentalize all else and concentrate solely on hockey. There’ll be time for personal healing later, but hockey doesn’t wait for your feelings to catch up. Hockey comes now. You must have a single-minded purpose to play your game and keep the crap out of your head. I’m so proud of what you’ve accomplished. I know you can do this.”

“I can,” I stated firmly with conviction. “And I will,” I added with a grin, knowing my coach hated the word can.

He snorted at me and slapped me on the back. “Good. Let’s win this game.”

I took a step toward the locker room when he called me back.

“One more thing. Coach Keller and I decided we’re moving you to right wing on the second line.”

“But?” I’d always played left wing on the first line with my brother. Always.

“This isn’t a punishment. Maine’s goalie is red-hot tonight. We need your scoring ability to hold down the second line, while Patrick can handle the first line. I believe in you, Pax. Trust the plan.”

I understood the strategy, and I had to agree with it. I’d have more opportunities to score on the second line, and my brother and I wouldn’t be at each other’s throats. And right wing? Usually I played left, but Lex played left on the second line. I had more experience, and it made more sense moving me.

We held on somehow and won on Friday night, and I did score a goal from the second line.

I approached Saturday night’s game with a single-minded purpose. I was about to be a professional, and professionals did not let their personal relationships affect their play. I mentally prepared using Garf’s techniques. I also swapped rooms with Lex’s roommate to lessen the friction between Patrick and me.

I couldn’t believe it had come to this. He’d always been my best friend, always had my back, and I missed him as much as I missed Naomi.

I stepped onto the ice that night mentally prepared and played a lights-out game. The gamble of moving us to separate lines paid off for me. Patrick not so much. He struggled and missed every shot, while I shined. I braced myself after the game, expecting to be the object of his frustration and anger. Instead, he didn’t speak a word to me.

We got home early Sunday morning, and I didn’t go home. I slept on the couch at the hockey house. I got up before noon, worked out, and studied at the library until Lex texted me a few hours later. A bunch of the guys were at the Biscuit, and I was starving. Even better, Patrick wasn’t there. I couldn’t avoid him forever, but I hadn’t arrived at any kind of viable plan on how to fix this problem between us.

I’d tossed and turned half the night, rotating between missing Naomi and frustrations with Patrick. I needed a drink and sustenance. Garlic Parm wings sounded like just the thing.

When I got to the Biscuit, our usual table was filled with teammates and no Patrick, thankfully. Maybe he’d decided to study for once. Finals were looming on the horizon, and my brother wasn’t known for taking his studies seriously.

I ordered a beer and wings and settled into my seat next to Lex. We talked about the game and gave each other shit, a normal night at the Biscuit with my boys. I was chomping on my sixth wing, enjoying the garlic goodness when our raucous table became oddly quiet. I frowned, put down my wing, licked off my fingers, and wiped them on a napkin. Everyone was staring at me or a point behind me. I turned my head to look over my shoulder.

Patrick stood a few feet behind me, hands on hips and wearing a big scowl. “Move over,” he ordered Lex, who looked to me. I nodded, and Lex vacated his chair so Patrick could sit there. The conversation resumed, but