Gametime: A Moo U Hockey Romance, Jami Davenport [best reads txt] 📗

“I’ll try.”

“No, you will. I believe in you, Paxton. Has anyone ever believed in you before?”

Our eyes met, and he saw the tragic truth written there.

He clapped me on the shoulder. “I believe in you. We need you to step up if we’re going to win it all this year. Don’t let me down.”

“I won’t, Coach. I promise.”

“One more thing, your grades look pretty good. Do you spend a lot of time studying?”

“I do my reading, go to class, and take good notes. I’m lucky in that I remember stuff really well, so I have to do minimal studying compared to a lot of people.”

“Good. You and I will be working on some confidence-building exercises every day after practice starting in a week. In the meantime, I have homework for you.” He riffled through one of the piles and pulled out a dog-eared book titled How Bad Do You Want It? “I want you to read, take notes, and we’ll discuss and implement what you’ve read at our first session in a week.”

I blinked a few times, trying to process everything. I stared down at the book.

“I appreciate your help. Thank you.”

He laughed. “Don’t thank me. I’m doing this for the team. If you become the player I know you can be, you’ll bring the team up with you and challenge others to reach deep within and find that extra something they didn’t know they had. Even your brother.” He dug in his desk drawer and pulled out something. “Here, this will help.”

“What is that?” I stared at the rock necklace he’d placed in my hand.

“It’s a moonstone.”

“Okay.” I’d heard about Coach Garf’s fondness for rocks, but I’d avoided any such gifts from him until now.

“The moonstone is a crystal that increases clarity regarding your self-worth. Wear it always for renewed vitality and to energize your confidence.”

“Uh, thanks, Coach.”

He must’ve read skepticism because he explained further. “Crystals aren’t magic, but they do positively interact with your body’s chakra, or energy field. They’re just another tool in your tool kit.”

“Okay.”

He stared at me until I realized he wanted me to put it on. I did so, and he grinned.

“Thank you.” I nodded, we shook hands, and I walked out of the building clutching the book and feeling a hell of a lot better than I had going in.

4

The Challenge

Paxton

I glanced at my phone for the first time in a long while, having avoided the thing since I’d left Naomi’s dorm room early this morning. There were several text messages from various friends but multiple ones from Patrick and Naomi. I sighed and fought off the guilt that I was being disloyal to my brother by vowing to up my game.

As far as Naomi went, the humiliation was still too fresh to deal with her. I’d been dealt a severe blow, but despite my dented and crumpled ego, I didn’t want to lose her as a friend. I wouldn’t be able to bear the complete absence of her in my life, even if being around her tortured me with memories of our night together.

Instead of responding to her, I read Patrick’s last message:

Where the fuck are you? A bunch of us are at the Biscuit.

I wanted to ask if Naomi was there. Part of me hoped she was, while another part hoped she wasn’t. I considered crawling off to my apartment and licking my wounds, but I’d been licking them all day. Time to stand up and take my blows like a man.

On my way, I tapped quickly and hurried down the sidewalk toward the Biscuit in the Basket several blocks away. The Biscuit was a fave hockey team hangout, known for their cold beer and awesome chicken wings. My mouth watered and my stomach rumbled, reminding me how long it’d been since I’d eaten anything substantial. The soggy convenience-store English muffin I’d wolfed down this morning had long ago worn off.

I pushed open the door. The place wasn’t all that busy on a Sunday afternoon, but my teammates were sitting at our usual table and already consuming beer. A few empty pitchers littered the large table.

The chair between Patrick and Tate was open so I took it. Everyone always left room for me to sit next to Patrick. Today that rubbed me the wrong way. I hated being treated like an extension of Patrick rather than my own person. Shit like this was a good example of all the little things that happened throughout my day reminding me most people considered me one half of a whole, instead of my own whole.

Barely acknowledging my presence, Patrick chatted up the waitress, Carly, pouring on the charm. He’d been hustling her all semester with zero luck. Tate and Michael debated hockey trivia, as usual. Jonah and our goalie, Josh, had their eyes glued to the football game on one of the big-screen TVs around the room.

Carly took my wings order and hustled off, and Patrick turned his attention to me.

“Where’ve you been?” His tone was slightly accusatory and somewhat hurt. “You didn’t come home last night and weren’t answering texts this morning.”

While it wasn’t unusual for us to spend the night elsewhere without notice, we always checked in the next morning, as part of our unspoken twin code. I hadn’t done that.

“I was home briefly. You were passed out,” I lied.

“I didn’t hear you come in. Yeah, wild night last night. Last I saw, you weren’t feeling any pain.”

I nodded. No sense denying what everyone at this table had seen. Patrick’s gaze softened with understanding, and the last thing I wanted right now was anyone’s sympathy.

“I get it. That wasn’t one of your most stellar performances last night.”

Not on the ice it wasn’t, but the sex had been epic right up until she’d seen the number fifteen tattoo on my hip. Shit. I shuddered at how far this charade might’ve gone if she hadn’t seen it.

I banished those mortifying thoughts from my head. Tonight, in the privacy of