Game Plan

by Camellia Tate

  Game Plan

  © 2019 Camellia Tate. All rights reserved.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

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  Chapter One

  Everyone had a soulmark - a name, written somewhere on their body, that usually showed up before they’d even finished elementary school. It was the name of a soulmate, the one person in the world who was most perfectly and totally compatible. Academics studied it, funded research into couples who’d found theirs, or people who hadn’t. There was still no definitive answer as to how it worked, or why the marks showed up in different places and at different times.

  Connor’s had appeared overnight, a week before his tenth birthday, and mostly Connor remembered being annoyed . His dad had promised a pool party, and Connor didn’t want to have to wear a t-shirt to go swimming. His mom had taken him to the mall, getting him a pack of stickers to wear over the ‘Ashley’ that curved around his upper arm.

  The stickers weren’t perfect. They covered your soulmark, and they were specially adapted to hold on through any kind of activity, but they didn’t really look like skin . It was rude to point it out, and even ruder to ask someone their soulmark’s name. Of course, ten-year-olds don’t care much about being rude, so Connor had been asked a lot.

  Connor was still asked a lot. It was one of the (very few) downsides of being Connor Lewis, up-and-coming star of the Madison Howlers. Press and fans were always asking, no matter how many times Connor brushed them off. He didn’t really get everyone’s fascination. It was just a name, and there was no guarantee that Connor would ever meet the ‘right’ Ashley. (There had been three Ashleys in Connor’s high school class, and Connor hadn’t liked even one of them.)

  “Over here! Connor!” the crowd was calling for him, someone waving a microphone in Connor’s face. “How does it feel to have scored the winning goal?” He grinned, pleased to have his feat recognized.

  “It feels great,” he answered, catching a look from Hayden Nickson. He was probably being asked what it had felt like not to score the winning goal. Hayden was older, had been playing with the Howlers longer, and Connor looked up to him a lot. He seemed to have a knack for getting the press off his ass, which Connor could really have used.

  Despite playing for a few years now, Connor still wasn’t used to the attention. He loved hockey and talking about hockey, but the press somehow seemed to put him on edge. Connor wished he didn’t feel so stupid, giving the same answers all the time.

  “Connor!” A different journalist waved Connor over, pushing a stunning girl in a ‘Heart the Howlers’ t-shirt in Connor’s general direction. “Connor, this is Laila Briggs. She’s a fan.” She smiled, and somehow she looked even more beautiful. It caught Connor off-guard, and he beamed back, lifting a hand to rub across the back of his neck.

  “It’s so great to meet you, Connor,” Laila was gushing, fingers toying with the hem of her shirt. “I’ve wanted to, ever since you were signed. You see -” She lifted the fabric, just enough to reveal a line of script – black letters spelling out CONNOR. Before Connor could even wonder if it was real, or just a convincing tattoo, Laila giggled. “I think you must be my soulmate. Can I -” Her other hand came up, her nails running across Connor’s arm as she went for the sticker that covered his soulmark.

  Connor snatched his arm away and was proud of himself for telling neither Laila nor the reporter to fuck off.

  “That’s not on, and you know it,” he growled, clamping his fingers at his sides to resist the urge to check the security of the sticker. It would only draw attention to it. What Connor needed was to get away from the crowd and sort himself out.

  He only did so slowly, answering the same question three more times, giving less and less enthusiastic answers. Finally, he pushed the locker room door shut behind him and leaned against it with a heavy sigh.

  “Everything alright?” Hayden asked, and Connor gave a deep laugh.

  “Fucking hell, Nix, I didn’t even see you there.”

  “Should’ve looked, then, shouldn’t you?” Hayden asked, and Connor had to admit he had a point. Hayden was standing at his locker, making no attempt to hide himself.

  “How do you keep so cool, out there?” Connor asked, moving slowly to start stripping out of his uniform.

  “On the ice, or with the press?” Hayden asked back. Connor gave him a look and was gratified when Hayden laughed. “It’s just practice,” he said. “It helps to be boring. They can only write so many articles about how Hayden Nickson is not looking for a soulmate at this time before they get tired of it.”

  Wrapping a towel around his hips, Hayden glanced around, like he was about to impart some great secret. “Or you can do what James does, take a different girl home every week.” That made Connor laugh, and he felt as if a weight had lifted slightly off his shoulders. It still sucked, to constantly be asked questions on a topic he didn’t give a damn about, but the camaraderie and the success of the Madison Howlers were worth the sacrifice.

  When Connor got outside, showered and dressed, there were only a few members of staff still hanging around. They were mostly swapping cigarettes before their drive home. Though he felt better after his shower, he still slowed when a cigarette was held out to him by Tex Banks, head of rink security. “You deserve it, after a goal like that,” he offered. Connor grinned, lifting the cigarette to his lips to take a drag.

  “I told you, I quit,” he teased, make Tex rumble with laughter.

  “Sure, sure, and you don’t tell Jeannie that you get them from me.” It was his and Tex’s secret agreement. Tex shared his cigarettes , Connor didn’t tell Tex’s wife he hadn’t kicked the habit. It worked well.

  “Connor.” The soft, almost shy voice caught him by surprise. Connor was pretty sure his mouth dropped open for a moment when he spotted Laila walking across the parking lot towards him. He took a step back, and she froze. “I just - I wanted to say I’m sorry,” she offered, her hair falling forward over her face.

  “That guy heard me telling my friend that my soulmarks says Connor, and he said he could get me to meet you, and I thought -” She looked so hopeful.

  “It’s not Laila,” he told her, perhaps because this time she hadn’t even started to ask. He could see her face fall, and once again Connor simply didn’t get it. Why pin so many hopes on a person you might never even meet? “Connor’s a pretty common name,” he offered. Though Laila smiled, Connor could tell she was faking it.

  “I hope you meet her soon,” Laila muttered, turning back towards the cars. Connor hoped she was going to find her ride home.

  “Do I want to ask what that was all about?” Tex asked as Connor took another long drag from the cigarette. Connor shook his head. His gaze dropped to where the end of the word ‘Jeannie’ peeked out from under Tex’s collar. It was the highest placement on the body of any soulmark he’d ever seen, though no one knew why they tended to fall below the shoulder.

  “Don’t worry about it,” Connor advised.

  The Madison Gazette printed a story about Connor turning down a chance to meet his soulmate. At least they didn’t mention Laila’s name. Scott Dillon, the team’s PR, clipped the piece from the sports pages and pinned it to the notice board in Coach’s office. There, Connor’s name joined two dozen others who’d had precisely similar stories written about them. No NHL player, not even the newest recruit, could meet with every fan who claimed a soulmate connection. />
  After the next day, nobody even mentioned it. They all just got their heads down, preparing for their next game. It promised to be a good one, and Connor practiced hard to make sure his passes were on point.

  The Friday of the match was crisp and cool. The ice felt perfect under Connor’s blades as he skated out to a roar of applause from the stands. As far as Connor could tell, they didn’t stop applauding until the final whistle, at which point they went wild .

  It had been a good game: fast, aggressive. Connor had been slammed into the wall twice , and he was going to have bruises all down his arm by morning. It was worth it for a second consecutive win this early in the season.

  The team piled off the ice, shoving and shouting, practically drowning out the questions of the reporters who tried to gather around them.

  “Calm down, calm down,” came the foghorn voice of Hugo Nilsson, team Captain, making everyone else quieten down at least a little . “Drinks are on me!” Nilssy shouted, and the uproar started all over again.

  A guy Connor recognized as a reporter for the Wisconsin Tribune managed to squeeze to the bench where Connor was untying his skates.

  “Can I get a picture?” he asked, gesturing past James, presumably to where a photographer was waiting. “You’ve had two good games. I think I can talk my editor into a sidebar - all about the rising new star.” The flattery made Connor duck his head. He never knew how to respond without seeming arrogant.

  “Let me shower first?” he suggested.

  “If you think it will help,” Blake quipped from the other side of the bench. Connor gave him a shove that sent him sprawling, smacking hard against the row of lockers. When Blake came up theatrically howling, rubbing his arm as if he wasn’t still wearing elbow pads, everyone laughed. Connor slipped through them to the adjoining showers.

  Prodding at his sore arm, Connor noticed that the edge of the sticker covering his soulmark had come loose. The special adhesives they used in the athletic-grade ones held up pretty well, but you needed to change them at least a couple of times a week. Secure in the knowledge that no one could make any real detail through the steam of the shower, Connor peeled it off. He had spares in his bag, he could slap a new one on before they went out for the night.

  Showered and rubbed dry, Connor slung one towel casually over his shoulder, then wrapped another around his hips. Then, he joined the rest of the team, all in various states of undress.

  Leaning over, Angus tapped Connor’s hip. “What did you think of Charlotte Checkers’ new defenseman?” he asked. Connor’s answer launched them into a discussion on the dangers of an opponent who seemed equally comfortable with both offense and defense.

  By the time Connor was dressed, the conversation had circled back to self-congratulation.

  “Come on, Lewis,” the reporter from before complained. “I’ve got to drive home tonight, you know.”

  “Like you weren’t enjoying the conversation as much as anyone,” Connor retorted. There was a reason none of the reporters had left, even after most of them had got their quotes. They liked a good post-match analysis as much as the players. Connor checked his hair in the mirror, then swung his locker shut with a smirk. “Where do you want me?”

  He allowed himself to be positioned, sitting with his back against the bench, looking, apparently, tired but confident. The reporter waved a hand at the rest of the team, encouraging them to mill about, for ‘background-color’, whatever that might be.

  Other photographers had gathered too, holding their cameras up to get the best angle. Connor was grinning up at them all, ignoring Blake at a locker behind him, until he heard a snigger, and looked up -

  Just in time to get the cascade of water right in the face. Surging to his feet, Connor spluttered, his clean white t-shirt drenched through, sticking to his skin.

  “You asshole!” he shouted, but he was laughing, trying to brush the water off him and failing.

  “You deserved it,” Blake pointed out, rubbing his hand through Connor’s wet hair.

  The flashes of cameras were still going off, and Connor groaned, tugging his t-shirt off over his head.

  It wasn’t until Hayden stepped forward, putting himself between Connor’s right arm and the photographers, that Connor remembered he wasn’t wearing a sticker over his soulmark.

  “None of you are going to publish any pictures of Connor’s soulmark,” Hayden said. His tone wasn’t angry, but it was firm enough to command attention. Someone put a hand on Connor’s back, handing him a spare shirt, which he pulled on with shaking fingers.

  In fourteen years, no one had ever seen Connor’s soulmark, except his mom. Knowing that the information was out there, even only among the Howlers and their trusted photographers, was disorientating. It felt like something private had been pulled away from him, leaving a hurt that Connor had never experienced before.

  He took a deep breath, paying attention to the way his ribs moved, trying to ground himself in the physical sensation. There wasn’t any reason to panic. As much as Connor trusted the Howlers, he couldn’t help but picture a parade of Ashleys, all friends or friends-of-friends. People believed in soulmates, and they wanted to help them find each other because it was supposed to make people happy. Connor could understand that. It didn’t change the fact he’d prefer people to just not know .

  Blake sat heavily down on the bench in front of Connor, looking up but fixing his gaze somewhere in the vicinity of Connor’s shoulder. He spoke, but Connor couldn’t hear him over the voices of the photographers. They were all solemnly promising Hayden that of course, they wouldn’t print anything. Several were going through then and there, presumably deleting the images of Connor’s soulmark off their cameras.

  Sinking into a crouch brought Connor more onto Blake’s level. “I’m really sorry,” Blake croaked, finally meeting Connor’s eyes. “I didn’t mean to - I was just fooling around, trying to get you back for shoving me.”

  “Of course you didn’t mean it,” Connor agreed, though something in his voice sounded almost mechanical. “You couldn’t have known I had to go and take the sticker off in the shower.” Stupid. It had been stupid to forget to replace it. That should have been the first thing Connor had done, he just hadn’t thought.

  “It’ll be alright,” Blake promised, and Connor’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “No one’s going to make a big deal, or be weird.” Connor wanted to believe that, he really did, so he nodded.

  “Let me drive you home?” Blake offered. “Or buy you a drink. Your choice.”

  Looking around, Connor could see Hayden ushering the press towards the door. The rest of the Howlers were mostly standing around, finishing getting dressed. There was no chatter, and Connor felt the responsibility for recovery of their good mood settle on his shoulders.

  “Did we win tonight, or what?” he asked, his voice carrying over the unnatural hush.

  “Yeah!” A couple of the guys responded, the others looking startled, but then smiling.

  “ Who won tonight?” Connor asked.

  “Howlers!”

  “Who’ll win the next game?” Connor could feel his body loosening up, lips quirking into a smile.

  “Howlers!”

  Blake stood up, clapping Connor hard across the shoulders while the rest of the team cheered. They carried on the call and response, voices getting louder and louder. Once again, it was Nilssy’s voice that rose above them all.

  “Let’s get the fuck going, then!”

  The next morning, staring down at a full-color picture of his soulmark splashed across the front of the sports section, the mood was a lot harder to turn around. Connor’s stomach clenched with the certainty that once the name of his soulmate was out in the world, there was no way to call it back.

  “I’m sorry, Connor,” Coach offered. “I don’t know what to tell you. We vetted every man or woman we gave those press credentials to, but I guess the temptation was just too much. We don’t even know who leaked it, but we will find out.
I’m putting a media ban in place, but obviously, that doesn’t change the facts. The photo is already all over the internet. Scott’s been fielding calls since first thing this morning.”

  All Connor could do was nod. He’d had to turn his phone off, the notifications from twitter only getting more and more frequent as people woke up to the news. He’d had easily fifty pictures of Ashleys, male and female, sent his way. Some had even had legitimate-looking soulmarks of his name, though apparently, that wasn’t a requirement.

  “What happens next?” Connor asked, and Coach sighed. It was uncomfortable seeing him so serious. He usually joked around as much as any Howler, giving them all shit for not working hard enough. This was different. It made Connor feel almost like a little kid again, watching the adults who were supposed to hold his world up falling apart themselves.

  “Are you seeing anyone?” Coach asked. “If you are, I suggest giving them a call, -” He didn’t need to finish, Connor had already shaken his head. There was one small mercy, at least. He couldn’t imagine trying to hold together a relationship while all of Madison was hunting for his soulmate.

  “Then other than that, you just wait,” Coach carried on. Waiting wasn’t exactly Connor’s strong point. He wanted to do something, drive around every store in the city and buy up all the papers, or find a tattoo artist who’d be willing to say it wasn’t a real soulmark. None of them were good plans. If Connor had been able to come up with anything practical, he’d be out doing it, not here listening to Coach tell him to be patient.

  “It’ll die down,” Coach promised, and looked frankly relieved when Connor didn’t ask when . “I’ll tell Tex to up the security checks, make sure you’re not getting hassled on your way in or out.” He spread his big hands out, in a gesture to indicate there wasn’t really anything else that he could do.

  Before he left, Connor borrowed the office phone to put through a call to his mom.