Puck Shy (Carolina Comets)

“You take that back right now, mister!”

I shake my head. “No way. I’m right and you know it.”

“You are wrong. So unbelievably wrong. Michael is a million times better than Freddy.”

“Is he, though? Freddy is hilarious and scary—that perfect combination.”

“Is he, though?” she tosses back. “Michael is menacing. He’s just always…there. Watching and waiting.” She lets out a shiver. “It’s creepy.”

“It’s predictable. Stalk, stab, chase, repeat.” I roll my eyes. “Freddy is the complete opposite. You never know what the hell the dude is going to do next.”

“Except call you a bitch. He always calls his victims a bitch. I’m coming for you, bitch,” she mocks in a deep voice. “Oh god, those movies are so cheesy.”

“Absolutely awful. But somehow still addicting and good? Except for that reboot. That was terrible.”

“Oddly enough, I thought it was too dark.”

“Agreed. They tried taking it way too seriously.”

“What about Freddy vs. Jason?”

“Absolute classic. A masterpiece.”

“Kia, he has asthma!” she quotes, and we fall into laughter again.

A loud rumble echoes over our sounds.

Now it’s just Harper who is laughing as I cringe.

“Was that your stomach?” I nod. “Hungry?”

“Fucking starved. I usually have a pretty set schedule for meals, and I’m about four hours past that right now.”

“You could have said something or just taken us through a drive-thru.”

I could have, but it didn’t feel right whipping into a fast-food joint. She’s already doing me a favor by giving me a ride. I don’t want to add more time to her journey.

“Pull off at the next exit,” she instructs, pointing at the sign as we pass it. “I could go for something to eat myself. You don’t mind eating while driving, do you?”

“I think I can manage.”

We’ve been on the road for an hour now, but we’ve only made it another thirty miles after hitting a long stretch of construction where we had to sit in traffic for half an hour. Thanks to that, we’re somehow still at least a few hours away from our destination.

I stifle a yawn, already knowing I’m going to be bone-tired for practice tomorrow.

I hit the next exit and we slowly make our way through the town, looking for something to eat. It’s fairly barren with only one drive-thru open.

“Well, guess that eliminates the whole ‘where do you want to eat’ conversation that always ends in an argument,” she says as I pull into the short line.

“If you weren’t going to pick a place, I’d have just gone wherever I wanted to eat and you’d either find something or you wouldn’t.”

Her brows shoot up in a way that says Seriously?

I shrug. “I don’t play around when it comes to food.”

“Noted.”

I place our order: two cheeseburgers and chicken nuggets for me and a burger with fries for her.

“Here.” I look over to find Harper holding her debit card my way.

I return her lifted-brow stare from earlier. “Not happening.”

She shoves it my way again, and I shake my head. She gives up with a groan, slipping it back into her wallet before tucking it into her purse. “You’re kind of annoying.”

I chuckle. “I’ll take into serious consideration from now on that the girl who tried to run me over finds me annoying.”

She crosses her arms with a huff. “Are you going to hold that against me forever?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, am I supposed to forget about it already?”

“It’s been over an hour.”

“Right.” I smack my forehead. “I forgot that all traumatic events only have an hour-long window for when I’m allowed to be salty about them.”

“Wow. So you’re not just annoying, you’re also dramatic.”

“I thought I was only kind of annoying.”

“You’ve leveled up. Congratulations.”

But there’s a smile on her face when she says it.

Even under the harsh yellow lights of the drive-thru, she’s still cute with her arms crossed and eyes narrowed, lips pinched tightly together.

She told me the reason she’s driving from Howardsville to Bartlett is because her older sister is getting married and she had to go home for an engagement party. I’ve never understood the point of those, but she seemed excited about it, so I didn’t say anything to crush her spirit.

When she asked me what I do, I quickly shifted the conversation back to her. She lit up like the sky on a July night and animatedly began talking about her love of all things horror. We started comparing our favorites, and the conversation has flowed naturally…and away from me. Just how I like it.

Talking with her has been so easy that I haven’t once thought about losing the Cup. Or the fact that my teammates probably hate me and I have to face them tomorrow.

I wince. Never mind. There it is.

Harper busies herself with her phone, and it takes a lot for me to not peek at the screen to see what she’s doing.

It’s a dick move, but I want to know if she’s recognized me yet, if she’s plugging my name into Google just to see all the shitty things I’ve done lately.

We pull up to the window to pay, and the moment the kid behind the register sees me, recognition dawns on his face. His eyes go wide and his mouth drops open.

Please don’t say anything. Please don’t say anything.

“Shit,” the kid mumbles. “You… You’re Col—”

“One sweet tea and one unsweet,” I interrupt, turning my body to block his reaction from Harper’s view. I don’t want this to turn into a big deal and have her asking too many questions. While she still hasn’t indicated she has a clue who I am, I don’t want to risk a scene. “Kind of in a hurry.”

“Right. Of course. Totally get it. But do you mind…” The kid, who doesn’t seem old enough to be out of high school, holds a pen my way.

“Sure. No problem.” I grab it and scribble my name on the blank receipt paper he hands over to me.

“Thanks, man. I’m a big fan.”

“Love to hear it.” I shoot him a grin. “Can I get those drinks?”

“Oh, shit. Right. Be right back.”

The kid scurries off, and I relax back into the seat.

I’m used to getting noticed, but a lot of times the people around town let me be. Sure, they’ll gawk at me and sometimes ask for an autograph, but I think with seeing me every day and realizing I’m just a normal person, the fame has kind of worn off for them. Something I’m undoubtedly grateful for.

Some players enter the NHL with dreams of fame and fortune and having their faces splashed everywhere. And some enter because they’re married to the game and all they’re jonesing for is their next shift on the ice.

I fall into the latter category.

Fortune? Well, you don’t see me bitching about being paid to play the game I love.

Fame? I’d rather take a puck to the gut from Zdeno Chara than be forced into the limelight.

It’s why I’ve always kept a low profile. My private life is just that—private. I don’t do big parties and I don’t get caught with my pants down. I keep my head down and I play the game. I don’t do relationships and I don’t really let people into my circle.

Until recently, I’ve kind of been known for being tightlipped about things. Now that all my history has been broadcast for the world to see, I’m having a harder time keeping to myself.

The kid returns to the window with our drinks and food, and I try to hand him my card again but he shakes his head.

“No way. It’s on me.”

Normally I’d argue, but right now I just want to get my food and go before more people start to recognize me. I can already see a few employees in the background trying to take sneaky looks.

“Thanks. Appreciate it.”

I grab the food and give the kid another wave before hitting the gas just a little too hard in an effort to get out of there quickly.

“What was that all about?” Harper asks, taking the bag from my lap. “You took off like a bat out of hell.”

“Just not used to the car, is all,” I explain.

“Fair enough. Since we’ve stopped, we should probably pop over to that gas station too. Top off the tank just in case we hit any more of that construction traffic.”

Shit. Probably not a bad idea.

I pull into the gas station right across the street.

“Can you pump? I better go pee before we get back on the road.”

“Sure.”

She shoves that damn debit card at me again. “Here. Use this.”

“Harper…” I groan.

“Just shut up and use it, dammit. You don’t know me very well, Collin, but I’m stubborn as shit. So you’d better use it or I swear I’ll make a scene.”

There’s a glint in her eye that tells me she isn’t lying.

“Fine,” I tell her, though I have no intentions of actually using her card. “Hurry up though. No dawdling or I’m sending Freddy in after you.”

“Oooh, I’m shaking in my boots at the thought.” She lifts her eyes skyward, then darts from the car, dashing into the small gas station.

I slide my card into the pump—she’ll never even know the difference—and stick the nozzle into the car, then lean against it, hoping she doesn’t take too long inside.

A car pulls up at the pump next to me, and I pull my hat down low.

It’s pointless though. As soon as the driver steps out, I see the familiar look of shock.

I give the guy a tight smile and look anywhere but at him. He takes the hint as he slides his card into the pump, then starts filling up his tank.

Except with my luck, it doesn’t stick.

“You’re Collin Wright, yeah?” He gives me a sad smile I’m beginning to recognize from fans. “Tough loss in Game Six, man.”

You’re fucking telling me.

“Yeah, wasn’t my best night.”

“That guy totally dove though. I can’t believe they called you on that penalty. Such bullshit, bro.”

It was bullshit. The biggest sack of it I’ve ever seen too.

Everyone who watched the tape back knew he dove. They knew I didn’t do shit. But it doesn’t matter. I had my stick there in a prone position and he took the opportunity.

I created the chance and let him take it.

I cost us the game.

“And those arrests? Man, that one…you were a minor. Shit doesn’t count. And everyone knows what happened at the bar was a joke.” He scoffs, shaking his head. “But don’t sweat it, dude. I’m sure everyone has already forgotten about it. You’re gonna kick ass this season. I can feel it.”

Has everyone forgotten though? I’ve kept off social media for the summer, but that doesn’t mean I haven’t heard the rumors.

There have been countless articles wondering how I’m going to screw up and get arrested again. They already have a name coined—the Hothead Hat Trick—just waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“What’d you say your name was?”

“Max.”

“Thanks, Max,” I say, sticking my hand out to him.

He beams down at it with shock, then finally latches on, giving me an excited shake.

“The team is grateful for fans like you,” I tell him. “We’re gonna need your support this season.”

“I ain’t no fair-weather fan. We’ve gone this long without a Cup. I’m not turning my back on my team now.”

Even though they’re pissed at me, I’m not turning my back on them either.

My pump clicks and I tap the nozzle against the gas tank a few times. I replace it, then screw on the cap as the bell chimes.

“Oh my god, Collin!” I glance up to see Harper looking at me with big, excited eyes. “They have pickled sausages! Can you believe it? I’m grabbing some!”

She scurries back into the gas station with a new pep in her step.

I watch as she races through the aisles, then deposits two arms full of candy and snacks on the counter.

She looks…cute.

Man, I gotta stop calling her that.

But there’s really no other way to describe her.

I know you shouldn’t judge people based on how they look, but the fact that the girl wearing a pair of cutoff shorts, a t-shirt covered in pink flowers, and glitter Converse makes horror props? Yeah, fucking color me surprised by that.

Even though I don’t really know her, I think it sort of fits. She seems to march to the beat of her own drum, and I like that.

“Hey, uh, Collin?” I turn back to the guy at the pump who is now holding a pen and a piece of paper. “Mind if I get an autograph?”

I paste on my fan smile. “I’ll do you one better.”

I pop the trunk of Harper’s Honda and feel around my hockey bag for a puck. When I finally pluck one free, I scrawl my name across it, then hand it over to the guy.

“Here you go. As I said, the team needs more fans like you.”

He stares down at it with amazement. “Holy…damn, man. Thank you. Think I could get another one? My…buddy is a big fan too.”

There’s something in the way he says it that reminds me of the way my brother introduces his boyfriend to people he’s not so sure are willing to accept his sexuality.

I take a chance and grab one of the few Pride Night pucks I have tucked into my bag, sign it, and hand it over.

His eyes widen as he looks from the puck to me and back again.

“I brought those for my brother to give out at the safe house. Had a few extras left over.”

He swallows, nodding. “I appreciate it.”

“And we appreciate you, Max.”

“Hey, you—oh. Sorry.”

I spin around to find Harper holding two bags, which I can see are stuffed with all kinds of things, including…is that a blanket?

I slam the trunk closed, not wanting her to see my hockey gear that I brought with me in case I wanted to train, and turn back to Max.

“Thanks again,” he says, giving me a big smile.

“Sure thing. Any time.”

I turn back to Harper. “You ready?”

She nods, eyeing Max curiously as she makes her way to the passenger door.

I wait for her to get into the car before I blow out a heavy breath.

Maybe I should just tell her who I am. Let her make her own decisions about me. Maybe she won’t give a shit about my status.

Or maybe she will, like everyone else does.

Maybe she’ll use it against me or for her own gain like so many others have.

I don’t know…it’s kind of nice just being Collin Wright, an everyday guy, instead of Collin Wright, an NHL player with an impressive stats sheet and arrest record.

I wince, not wanting to think about that now.

When I finally climb back into the driver’s seat, Harper’s busy digging through her bags.

“Did you buy the whole store?”

She peeks up at me with guilty eyes. “Maybe? Did I mention gas stations are kind of my weakness? I always end up spending my emergency cash in them. I can’t help myself.”

“You didn’t mention that, or else I wouldn’t have let you run wild in there.”

“I can’t help it!” She laughs. “They always have the coolest stuff.” She pulls a blanket from the bag, then wraps it around her shoulders, snuggling it close. “Plus, gas station blankets are the best.”

I shake my head, grinning as I turn over the engine. “I’ll take your word for it.”

“You should. What did that guy want?”

“Huh?” I play dumb. “Oh, he, uh, needed some cash for gas.” My stomach turns at the lie. “Did I hear you say something about pickled sausages?”

“Oh!” She dives back into the bag, searching around for her emergency pickled sausage.

Bullet dodged.