The Cocky Hockey Captain

Chapter 22 ● The Fake Girlfriend

I felt like a walking, ticking bomb for the next few days. If the bomb of me actually being a girl didn't go off, a bomb about Bernal Oil going under might. Dad was working harder than ever. I saw him only once during the entire following week, and probably it was due to the fact that he'd passed out on the couch with his laptop balanced on his chest. Otherwise I was sure he'd be at his office, meeting with people or trying to pull a magical stunt to save the company.

Meanwhile, the fact that I couldn't play had me restless. I'd find my leg bouncing under my desk while I was in class. Once, it got so bad that the calculus teacher flipped his lid on the class, asking whoever was producing the tap tapping noise to keep the anxiety to himself. The guys in the team were sympathetic, but there was nothing anybody could do. I just had to wait to heal.

I did get to join practice, and the fact that I was not able to do contact drills helped me work on my puck handling and footwork. I did realize that thanks to the ache in my face I didn't feel any discomfort anywhere else. It had either soaked up all the feeling my nerves were capable of, or I was getting marginally more fit for the sport.

The good news out of the whole ordeal was that cheap shot guy got suspended for five games. There was a chance we would meet him and his team again later in the season, but at least for now he was out and couldn't inflict his inability to cope with a superior opponent on anybody else.

After a month of just waiting for my freaking nose to repair itself, and Lena Lee not spilling a single word about all the things I ended up revealing to her, I figured that I was safe at least on that front.

The end of November arrived with a thick blanket of snow that fell on Silver Grove like a spell. One day it was bitching cold and the very next one it was motherfucking frozen. It got so bad that dad and I had to travel to Calgary to buy parkas to cover our entire faces with, except for our eyes and nostrils. We tried them on and looked at each other and burst out laughing in the middle of the store at how we looked like bank robbers. We figured if the family consulting company tanked after all we might try this tactic, and since most of the roads were frozen solid if we robbed a bank we could always escape via ice skating.

I didn't remember the last time I'd laughed along with dad without Miguel being the catalyst. Or the last time we had a joint thing that was not disagreement. At night, as I tucked myself under the covers of my bed, I thought that maybe everything would be okay, regardless of what happened with Bernal Oil. If only we could stay the way we were right now.

At present we were lining up to board the school bus. We had to travel a considerable stretch of land this time for an away game. I debated the safety of doing that when both the ground and the sky looked white, but every Canadian in sight scoffed at me. It was a sight.

And speaking of sights, Dean and Pace were right in front of me chatting about the team we were going to play. Apparently they had a genius goalie that was really hard to beat, and since Pace was ours he'd spent the entire night last night looking at videos of the other guy trying to find any holes other than the five — his words, not mine. He was feeding Dean some information when I felt a tug on my coat.

I turned around and saw Lena Lee. Or her glasses. She was just as covered up as I was, and the fact that a local was as affected by the biting cold as I was brought me comfort.

"Hey there," I said.

She lifted a thickly gloved hand, carrying a big plastic bag.

"It's sandwiches for the entire team for the ride back, courtesy of my mom."

Her mom was her boss. I'd met her a few times while eating at the diner. She was the shrewd lady who replaced Lena Lee every time the girl got too embarrassed to deal with a customer. Namely, me, back when she'd developed a crush.