by K R Collins
A NineStar Press Publication
www.ninestarpress.com
Sophomore Surge
ISBN: 978-1-951057-86-2
Copyright © 2019 by K.R. Collins
Cover Art by Natasha Snow Copyright © 2019
Published in November, 2019 by NineStar Press, New Mexico, USA.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher. To request permission and all other inquiries, contact NineStar Press at [email protected].
Also available in Print, ISBN: 978-1-951057-88-6
Warning: This book contains depictions of emotional abuse by a parent.
Sophomore Surge
Sophie Fournier, Book Two
K.R. Collins
Table of Contents
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
About the Author
Thank you to my family, my parents, my sisters, and my brother. And thank you to my writing group, Lis and Ray.
Chapter One
SOPHIE BRAVES THE Manchester airport, her ball cap pulled down low over her eyes so she won’t be recognized. On a different day, she wouldn’t mind being noticed by kids or even their parents. It would be a sign of how quickly hockey has caught on since she made her debut with the Concord Condors last season. Today, though, she’s on a mission.
Theodore Augereau, one of her teammates, is flying in, and she promised him a place to crash during the convention. Fan Fest is Concord’s first event of its kind, a weekend-long celebration of Condors hockey. They’ve planned autograph signings, player panels to answer questions, photo-ops, everything their PR team could think of to drum up support and excitement for the 2012-2013 season.
Sophie’s been in town for a few days helping to prepare, and her teammates are finally trickling in to join her. She spots a familiar figure in the crowd. Teddy has his hat tipped to hide his eyes, same as her, but she’d recognize those scrawny chicken legs anywhere. His goalie pads make him appear twice as large as he is, but in shorts and a T-shirt he looks small.
“You’re too skinny,” she tells him once they’re together. “Don’t you know the off-season is for bulking up?”
Teddy taps her shoulder where her shirt stretches thin to accommodate the breadth of her muscles. “You hit the weight room enough for both of us.”
She grins, pleased he noticed. She spent the summer training, determined to drag Concord into the playoffs this year. The last time she saw Teddy, his shoulders were hunched, the same misery in his eyes reflected in hers because it was locker room cleanout day, and their season ended too early. It’ll be different this year. They’ll have a postseason for the first time in franchise history.
“The guest room is made up for you,” she says as the baggage claim belt begins to move. “I even stocked the fridge.”
“You’ll spoil me.”
“You’re my goalie.” Goalies are meant to be protected—and spoiled—at all costs. Happy goalies make for happy teams. Jakub Lindholm—Lindy—is their starter, but he was Matty’s long before Sophie came to Concord. She knows better than to think she’ll separate their number one goalie from their captain. But she claimed Teddy last year, fair and square.
Teddy finds the black suitcase with a white 30 embroidered on it and hefts it off the belt. “Will you carry my bag?”
He grins as if he’s teasing. Sophie matches his smile. “Sure. I mean, it looks like I’m the only one who worked out this summer.”
“I tried!” Teddy slaps her hands away as she makes a grab for his bag. He lifts it up even though it has perfectly functioning wheels. His muscles flex, but where Sophie is thick and solid, he’s wiry like one of those Gumby figures she played with at her grandparents’ house.
“Men and their egos,” Sophie sighs.
“The summer didn’t make you any nicer.”
“I picked you up from the airport, I’m feeding you, and I’m giving you a place to stay.” She ticks each reason off on her fingers. “But you’re right. I’m not nice at all.”
“I’m not going to win this one.”
She laughs as she playfully bumps his shoulder. “I rarely lose.”
“Welcome to my apartment.” Sophie opens the door and ushers Teddy in. Last year, given her status as the first woman in the League, the Condors organization felt it was best for her to live with her general manager and his family rather than with one of her teammates. The Wilcoxes had been kind, but she’s ready for something different.
Sharing an apartment with Elsa will be new, but, more importantly, it’ll make her feel normal. Most players don’t eat dinner with their GM after practice or babysit his kids on their off days. They play video games with their teammates and eat too many tacos. She’s spent so much of her career set apart from what typical hockey players do. She’s excited to finally be like them.
She and Elsa haven’t talked much this summer which means Sophie’s done most of the decorating for their apartment on her own. The living room, the first thing anyone sees when they walk through the door, is all Sophie. The floors are hardwood, which is how the apartment came, but she picked out a slate-gray suede couch. It’s extra wide to accommodate hockey players, and she bought the matching love seat. The smaller couch won’t work for napping, but it’s somewhere for people to sit if they ever have company.
The coffee table is the same one displayed when she went furniture shopping. It’s square, with a glass inlay in the wood. The woman at the store said it’s ideal for displaying magazines without cluttering the top of the table. In deference to the saleswoman, she placed a few copies of After the Whistle inside. Carol Rogers, the reporter for the segment, also publishes weekly articles on the state of the League. At the end of each season, they compile her articles and interview transcripts into one large publication. It’s a look-back on the season, and Sophie can trace the history of the sport she loves by paging through the issues.
“Do you want a snack before your shower or after?” Sophie asks Teddy as she moves into the kitchen. It’s smaller than her parents’ kitchen, but it’s functional. There’s an oven with four cooktops and a fridge with a freezer big enough to store all the ice packs she and Elsa will need.
“The shower isn’t optional?” Teddy grins as he slides his shoes off near the door. “What’re you trying to say about me?”
“You smell like airport. You can’t take forever, we have places to be today.” Matty—Daniel Mathers—offered Lindy’s house for a team get-together before the convention. It’ll be a good opportunity to see everyone before they have to be on their best behavior for the fans. “The guest room is the one at the end of the hall. The bathroom’s the one with the toilet.”
Teddy laughs as he wheels his suitcase down the hall. Sophie pulls two bags of tortilla chips out of h
er pantry and takes out the salsa dip she made after a frantic Google search last night. It’s a layered dip with shredded buffalo chicken, and she hopes it tastes good. Cooking’s still new to her. At Chilton Academy, all their meals were provided to them and not much has changed since she made the jump to the North American Hockey League. Last year, Amber Wilcox and the team accounted for the majority of her meals.
When she asked Elsa if she has any hidden talents in the kitchen, Elsa sent back a picture of an open-face sandwich with either pickles or cucumbers on top. Sophie reapplied herself to finding easy, but trainer-approved recipes. At least if things become dire, she and Elsa can always order takeout.
“What are these?” Teddy pops back into the kitchen, holding a powder-blue hand towel with a seashell border.
“They came as a set; shower curtain, rug, towels. It means everything matches.”
Teddy stares at the towel. “Seriously?”
“It’s the guest bathroom. There are no seashells in mine.”
“Do they make towels with embroidered hockey pucks or do you have to custom order them?”
“Fuck off and shower.”
There are already cars lining the curb when Sophie and Teddy pull up. Music reaches the street from the backyard, and Sophie and Teddy exchange looks before they race each other around the side of the house. Teddy’s legs are longer, but Sophie’s more motivated. As soon as they round the corner, Sophie skids to a halt to avoid knocking into Theo and Kevlar.
Theodore Smith and Kevin Faulkner are a defensive pair, but their similarities end there. Theo’s over six and a half feet tall and pushing two hundred fifty pounds. When he smiles, there’s a gap where he’s missing two teeth. He lost them in a fight years ago and figured he’d wait to replace them until the end of his career. Kevlar’s a few inches shorter and almost fifty pounds lighter. He has a full set of teeth, and he shows them off as he smiles.
“Woah there,” Theo says. “Where’s the fire?”
Teddy crashes into Theo and they pop the bags of chips between them.
“I win,” Sophie says.
“You fucking did not!”
Kevlar laughs as he steps back, careful of the casserole dish Sophie’s holding. He pats her shoulders and then her biceps, and his eyebrows climb upwards. “Did you live in the gym this summer?”
“I wanted to make sure I was ready for the season. I’ve been watching some fighting videos.” Kevlar is the one who worked with her on the punching bags last season. He taught her to throw a punch, a skill she won’t ever use, because the NAHL has unofficially forbidden her from fighting.
“We can progress to sparring.”
“Don’t break our Sophie,” Theo says. He reaches an arm out and reels Sophie into a three-way hug.
She wriggles out of Theo’s hug so she can safely set her dip on one of the long tables in the backyard. Garfield, his shoulder length black hair tucked behind his ears, leans over to inspect her dip. Where Garfield is, Nelson isn’t far behind, and she’s unsurprised to see the other winger wander over, holding a plate of cookies.
Garfield plucks one off the plate and mumbles a thank-you through a mouthful of chocolate chip cookie.
“Once Zinger’s gotten his ass kicked by J-Rod, you’re up.”
Hockey players like their nicknames. Some, like José Rodriguez, have their names smushed together. Jeffrey McArthur told everyone he has magic hands and became Merlin. Nelson is called Odie because he’s always with Garfield. It’s from a comic she’s never read. Faulkner’s called Kevlar because of all the shots he blocks. Petrov was dubbed Marinara Man after face-planting in his spaghetti and meatballs last year. For brevity’s sake they mostly call him Peets unless they’re recounting the story or giving him a hard time.
“Mario Kart tourney,” Garfield tells Sophie as he scoops her dip into a paper bowl. “Do you want in?”
“I’m good but thank you.”
They take their food and head back inside, arguing over which one of them gets to be Princess Peach. Sophie shakes her head and inspects the table to see if anything catches her eye.
“Look who finally made it.”
She turns to spot Merlin opening one of the drink coolers. Merlin was her right winger last season, and they played good hockey together. This season, they’ll be even better. His copper beard is trimmed short, but as soon as he starts a point-streak, he’ll grow it out until his streak is snapped. For the sake of the team she’s almost grown to like the scraggly mess he calls a beard.
He snags a second beer from the cooler he stands guard over. “Want one?”
She holds up her car keys. “I’m in charge of driving home.” It’s an easy excuse not to drink. Plenty of her teammates do, even when they’re underage, but she refuses to give the League an excuse to drop her. Besides, years of playing hockey have taught her she can’t always trust her team. Being the only sober one means she’s often accused of being boring but it’s better than the alternatives.
“Are you sticking around until the start of the season?” Sophie asks.
Merlin tosses her a purple Gatorade and she catches it and twists the cap off. He shakes his head as he sips his beer. “Marissa and I are visiting her parents before the season begins. What about you?”
“I’m making sure the apartment’s ready for Elsa.”
“Am I being replaced as your favorite winger?”
“I don’t have favorites.”
“Liar!” Teddy calls from the snack table. He has a bowl full of her buffalo chicken dip. “I’m your favorite.”
And, well, he’s not wrong. But goalies are different.
“He’s your favorite goalie,” Merlin says, stubborn. “I can still be your favorite winger.”
“I’m her favorite winger.” Witzer—Eli Aronowitz—her left winger from last season, comes over to argue his case. His brown hair floofs today without the usual product slicking it down.
Sophie holds her hands up. “I am not stepping in the middle of this.”
“You’re my favorite center,” Merlin says.
“One might even say, you’re the center of our universe,” Witzer adds.
They glance at each other before they squish her between them in a hug. She laughs, happy to be back and surrounded by her team.
Teddy stumbles into her kitchen the next morning, bleary-eyed and adorably miserable. His Condors T-shirt is loose, baring a bony collarbone. “Coffee?” he asks, hopeful and longing.
Sophie takes the scrambled eggs off the burner and pushes half of them onto Teddy’s plate and half of them onto her own. “Elsa’s picking out the coffeemaker, because I don’t drink it.”
“No coffee?” He sinks onto one of the island chairs, looking lost.
“I have tea?”
“We’re stopping at Dunkin.”
When they arrive at the hotel for Fan Fest, Teddy’s still clutching his large coffee in both hands. He breathes in the scent of it as if he can get caffeinated this way until it’s cool enough to drink.
“Go find a chair to curl up in,” she tells him. She has a cup of coffee too but it’s for Mary Beth Doyle, their PR manager. She’s in the middle of the room, giving instructions to the six eager men and women crowded around her. She’s wearing a smart business suit, her hair pulled up in a tight, professional bun. Her ever-present phone is in her hand, and she glances at it a few times as she speaks.
Once she sends her underlings on their way, she spots Sophie and smiles, or maybe it’s the coffee which brings out her smile. “For me?”
Sophie hands the coffee over. “Your day is longer than mine.”
“Easier too.” Mary Beth takes a cautious sip followed by a longer one. “You’re starting with the media. It isn’t the fun part of the weekend, but it’s how we grow the game.”
As the first woman in the League, Sophie stood in front of more cameras last season than some guys will over their entire careers. She knows why media exposure is important, but she still wishes she had a p
anel to kick-start her day. The fans are who she cares about, and she’ll answer what her favorite color is fifteen times if fifteen kids come up to a microphone and ask.
She wants to know how many young girls have shown up to see her. She doesn’t play only for them—first and foremost she plays for herself—but inspiring girls was a big factor in why she’s playing here in the NAHL and not overseas. She has vivid memories of lying on her grandparents’ rug and watching Bobby Brindle lift the Maple Cup for Montreal. She knew the first time she saw him do it she wanted to lift the Cup one day. Now, she hopes, when she does, there will be a girl on her grandparents’ living room floor who sees her and thinks I can do it too.
But Sophie doesn’t start with a panel and kids who ask her who on the team has the best pranks and whose gear stinks the worst. Instead, Carol Rogers from After the Whistle says, “You were focused on making a place for yourself last season. Will we see a better balance of hockey and a social life this one?”
Sophie’s brain screeches to a halt. This is her first question of Fan Fest? As a rookie she broke a hundred points to notch 101 and earn herself the Maddow Trophy. She lost out on the Clayton, the trophy awarded to the best rookie, but she’d rather talk about her disappointment than—
“You must be on the radar of a lot of young men,” Rogers continues.
A boyfriend question. She wants to seek out Mary Beth and share an eye roll, but she’s too well-trained. She fixes her media smile firmly in place. “I’m as committed to hockey this season as I was last season.”
“Have you been encouraged by the front office to remain single?” asks Marty Owen, a sports writer for The Concord Courier. He’s wearing a rumpled suit, seemingly the only kind he owns. His eyes, too close together, are especially piercing this season. He’s always hunting for the angle which makes the team look the worst. She doesn’t understand why he covers a team he appears to hate.
“The front office doesn’t interfere with my personal life.” Though maybe they will now. “The NAHL isn’t an easy League to play in, and I don’t want any distractions.”