Sophomore Surge

by K R Collins

  Did Big Red say something about Sophie and Teddy hanging out last night? All they did was talk hockey and watch poker. She knows she isn’t supposed to go anywhere alone with a teammate, the optics aren’t good, which means being alone in a hotel room is definitely off limits but…

  “No fights tonight,” Mary Beth says.

  Sophie draws up, preparing for a fight right now. “If Alstead goes anywhere near Teddy—”

  “None,” Mary Beth says, firm. “You have a whole bench full of teammates to defend Teddy’s honor. You’re still on probation.”

  Probation with PR, probation with Coach Butler; hell, her dad’s still pissed at her for the double-minor and even he has nothing on her mom’s quiet disappointment. She knew it would take her a long time to dig herself out of this particular hole, but she’s taken each insult and cross-check as penance. Standing by, doing nothing as guys go after Teddy is unacceptable.

  Rule one of hockey is always protect your goalie, and she’s supposed to sit back and watch Alstead take runs at hers? No.

  “Focus on what you’re good at,” Mary Beth tells her.

  She’s been on a tear since the Denver game, netting as many assists as possible and propelling her team to wins. She’s sitting at ninety-seven career assists, and if she plays as well as she did against San Francisco, she’ll hit one hundred tonight, the first in her draft class to do it. It’s an impressive accomplishment, and maybe it’s the thing she needs to make everyone shut up about Sinclair, but she’d rather defend her goalie.

  One hundred assists can come next game. She promised Teddy she has his back. She won’t break her promise to him.

  Sophie offers Mary Beth a smile, but no guarantees, and slips away from her PR manager. She almost makes it to the locker room before Coach Butler lays a heavy hand on her shoulder.

  “Nothing extra tonight,” he tells her. “You play hockey, it’s what you’re on this roster for. Anything else, and you sit.”

  Well, she can’t shake his direct order as easily as Mary Beth’s. She turns so she can go into the locker room and change, but Coach Butler’s hand squeezes her shoulder, holding her still. “Do you understand?”

  “I understand,” she dutifully repeats.

  As soon as he lets her go, she storms into the locker room. Fuck him and fuck Mary Beth and fuck the entire fucking League. Matty’s never been told to sit back and let his teammates get taken out by a dirty player. And she bets Theo’s never been kept out of a scuffle because he fought in a recent game.

  But she’s Sophie Fournier and the rules are different for her.

  Fuck the rules too.

  “Whoa,” Merlin says as she slams things around in her stall. “Save some of the aggression for the game, yeah?”

  Too bad she can’t. She does, however, take a deep breath. A temper tantrum in the locker room is marginally better than one on the ice, but Coach Butler’s threat still echoes in her head. She won’t risk being benched tonight or finding a yellow jersey in her stall.

  The team splits into groups for lunch, and her crew lingers after they eat, talking about the upcoming road trip. They fly home to play Indianapolis before they head out for their west coast trip.

  “It’s stupid is what it is,” Theo says. “We’re in LA right now. Why do we have to fly across the country only to haul our asses back again?”

  “The League hates us,” Kevlar says, far too solemn.

  “Damn right it does.” Theo slips into a familiar rant, and Kevlar’s lips twitch as he tries not to smile.

  Sophie makes sure to find him as they walk back to the hotel. She slaps his arm. “Two for instigating.”

  He laughs and drags her up to his room with him and Theo.

  “I have to take a nap,” she says.

  He checks his phone. “You have plenty of time.”

  Theo drops down onto his bed and sticks his headphones in. This feels like the setup for something, and Sophie draws her shoulders up toward her ears.

  “You got the Butler special?” Kevlar asks. “Part threat-part condescension but full asshole?”

  “Coach Butler knows how to get the best out of his players.”

  Kevlar opens his mouth like he’s going to argue but shakes it off. “Your leash is short tonight, and you’re already angling for a fight. Let’s do something about it before you get your ass nailed to the bench. We need you on the ice.”

  He pulls off his sweater, revealing a white V-neck shirt underneath. He shucks his pants next and pulls on a pair of mesh shorts. “Do you want to change before we wrestle?”

  She looks down at her blouse and jeans and walks down the hall to her room. She changes into a T-shirt and shorts and hesitates, wondering if this is a good idea. She and Travis used to mock-fight, when they were both too keyed up to sleep or pissed off after a game and needed an outlet. This is the same thing, except Kevlar might understand where she’s coming from more than Travis did.

  He knows what it’s like to play by a different set of rules, half of them unspoken. And if they don’t live up to expectations, they might not be given a second chance. By the time she knocks on Kevlar’s door, she’s even more pissed off.

  Kevlar lets her in and backs up until he’s standing in the cleared area of the floor. He beckons to her with a crook of his fingers. “Think you can take me down?”

  She narrows her eyes.

  Challenge accepted.

  She runs at him. She crouches to knock him off balance, but he uses her momentum to shove her down onto the floor. She twists and hooks her legs around his waist to bring him down with her. He plants a hand on the rug so he doesn’t crush her. It’s a moment of weakness she uses to flip them, pinning him against the floor.

  He flashes a smile at her, draws his knees up, and pushes her off him. She lands flat on her back, the wind temporarily knocked out of her. He pins her with an arm against her shoulders and his knees against her thighs.

  She drops her head back against the carpet and he eases up on her. “Again?” he asks.

  They go again.

  And again.

  She’s breathing hard by the end of it, her shirt sticking to the sweat on her back, but the worst of her restlessness gone. There’s still a little bit there; she never beat him once, and part of her doesn’t want to give up until she’s won, but they have a game later tonight. Kevlar gives her a hand up, pulling her to her feet. He reels her the rest of the way in until they’re hugging.

  With her face tucked into his shoulder, it’s easier to mumble, “They won’t let me protect Teddy.” She would take back the cross-check to Sinclair if it meant she could knock Alstead around the ice. She should’ve known she was only allowed one violent outburst per season. She’ll have to ration it better next year.

  “Trust the rest of us to do it then.”

  It’s similar to what Mary Beth told her, but she doesn’t snap at Kevlar or storm out of his room. He understands the position she’s in. He knows how much it sucks to be held back, and he knows the frustration of battling back against a narrative. It doesn’t stop her from balling her hands into fists against his back.

  “Every single guy on this team will defend Teddy if Alstead tries anything. We need you doing the things no one else can do.” He leans back and tilts her chin up, forcing her to look at him.

  “Yeah.” Her voice comes out too quiet so she clears her throat. “Set up some goals, maybe score one of my own. Keep your head up on the power play. I’ll look for you.”

  By the time she’s tucked into her bed for her pregame nap, she feels settled enough to actually sleep.

  In all her worry about Teddy, she forgot Alstead has more than one target in his sights for the game. He jaws at her from the moment they step onto the ice together. He’s one of the more creative opponents she’s had, but she doesn’t let him goad her into a penalty.

  Midway through the second period, he’s on a breakaway when Garfield swings out with his stick and taps Alstead’s skates. The Orca goe
s down easy and doesn’t even try to avoid contract with Teddy. He slams into Sophie’s goaltender and they knock the net off its moorings.

  She starts to stand up, but Kevlar puts a hand on her shoulder. She settles for grumbling and outraged swearing when Garfield’s sent to the box. They blame the tripping on Alstead’s contact which is fucking bullshit.

  Garfield must think so too because as soon as he’s out of the box, he grabs Alstead by the front of his jersey, and they exchange blows until they’re both sent to the penalty box with matching five-minute majors.

  There’s a freeness to the next five minutes. She isn’t looking over her shoulder, wondering where the next hit or insult is coming from, and she doesn’t keep half her attention on Alstead, tracking his movements to make sure he stays away from her goalie.

  They don’t manage to score, but they have a few good looks. Besides, she’s on the ice when Alstead’s released from the box and as much fun as it would be to score while he’s stuck watching in there, she’d rather do it while he’s stuck watching here.

  She takes a pass from Witzer and streaks into the offensive zone, dodging checks and sticks. Two players drop down with her, and they realize their mistake at the same time. One scrambles back to his defensive position, but she snakes a pass to a wide-open Merlin who puts the puck home.

  She spares a glance at Alstead before she joins her team to celebrate.

  There’s a hair less than five minutes left in the game when Alstead is sprung for a breakaway. He takes off down the ice, and Kuzy, who pinched too deep, won’t be able to catch him. Spitz skates after the streaking winger, but he isn’t fast enough.

  Sophie bites down on her mouth guard as Teddy pushes himself out of his crease to challenge. He’s square to the shot, his glove up and ready. Alstead’s running out of space, and he isn’t good enough to pull the kind of move he’d need to score. He also isn’t slowing down. He knows better than to barrel into a goalie with the entire stadium watching, but…Teddy flinches and it’s enough to freeze him. Alstead taps the puck into the net and screeches to a halt, showering Teddy in ice flakes.

  The home crowd erupts into cheers as the goal light flashes. Teddy tips his mask up and skates away from his goal.

  No, she thinks as she watches the Orcas celebrate. They aren’t winning this game. They won’t even make it to overtime. Teddy deserves this win.

  Two shifts later, Rowan only gets half his glove on a shot from the puck so Peets whacks at it a couple times. Rumfield, one of LA’s d-men, hauls Peets out of the crease which is hilarious given how Alstead’s tried to make his home in Teddy’s net all game.

  “Fournier, you’re up,” Coach Butler says.

  She checks the clock. They’re down to 0:52.

  “Don’t tell me you’re nervous,” Alstead says, catching her look.

  “Nervous?” she allows herself a smile. “I have plenty of time.” You won’t even make it back into the offensive zone this game.

  She wins the faceoff and cycles around to the far faceoff dot. Theo passes across the blue line to Kevlar who passes down to Witzer. Sophie creeps closer to Rowan’s net as everyone’s attention is taken up by watching the puck. Witzer fakes a pass to Kevlar and slides the puck to Sophie.

  Rumfield drops to block her shot, Rowan pushes post-to-post, and it opens a sliver of a lane for her to shoot the puck. She fires, and the puck skims over Rumfield’s shoulder and hits top corner.

  Two-one.

  She checks the clock again—0:14. She taps her helmet and points to Alstead before her team swarms her.

  They’re home for their next game, and the crowd is raucous, even though it’s warm-ups. Sophie stretches as the fans shout and chant and bang on the glass, hoping for a puck tossed their way or even a quick selfie.

  She knows the seats are packed because they’re finally winning again, but she likes to think it’s because they all want to see her hit one hundred assists tonight. She’s sitting on ninety-eight, and two tonight is within her reach. She could reach a milestone at home in front of her fans. And if she doesn’t…well, Edmonton is the first game of their road trip, and she wouldn’t mind hitting one hundred with Shawn Wedin on the ice.

  She’s stretching her hip flexors when Riley Dennison drops down next to her. He’s one of Indy’s forwards, and she exchanged a handful of words with him at last year’s All-Star Game, but she doesn’t know him, and he doesn’t know her. There’s only one reason opposing players find her before games. She narrows her eyes, a warning he doesn’t heed.

  “We’re not Denver,” Dennison says. “None of my guys will hassle you.”

  Her gaze dips to the A on his sweater, but she doesn’t let herself believe him. Sinclair has a C, and he’s a first rate asshole.

  “Sure,” she says.

  Dennison opens his mouth as if he has more to say before he shrugs. “Won’t stop us from shutting you out.”

  She laughs, sharp and surprised. He’s gone before she can say anything else.

  Serov, one of Indy’s d-men, battles with her in front of Hyde’s net as Sophie tries to screen the goalie, and Serov tries to clear her from the crease. They were two of the finalists for the Clayton Trophy last season, and tonight they lock into a struggle neither of them wins before Dennison clears the puck.

  The Renegades strike first, flipping the puck past Teddy once he’s braced for a hard slapshot.

  Sophie misses a wide-open net on the next shift, but Turner doesn’t ask if Sophie needs some help getting it in as they battle for the loose puck. He shoulders her to make some space and she pins the puck against the boards and holds it there until Witzer drops down for support.

  It takes another four shifts, but she assists on Witzer’s goal. We have a tie game, she thinks, laughing as she pats his helmet and is patted in return. All across the stands, fans wave signs with the number 99 on them.

  “Focus,” Coach Butler says when her line reaches the bench.

  Oh, she’s focused.

  Spitz scores to give them the lead, and Sophie braces herself as she hits the ice for her next shift. It’s one thing for Dennison to make promises before a game. It’s another to expect him to keep them when his team is down by one and desperately needs a win. Indy’s situation isn’t nearly as dire as Seattle’s or even Concord’s, but they’ve had their struggles.

  Serov hits her harder, slamming her into the boards so Turner can scoop up the puck.

  Two shifts later, when she draws a tripping penalty, Turner spits his mouth guard out to accuse her of diving.

  Normal hockey stuff.

  She grins and skates to the bench to hear Coach’s plan for the power play.

  It’s impossible to keep from thinking this power play could be what gets her a hundred. She’s on the first unit with Matty, and they’ve connected enough times for her to know where he likes the puck and where he’s most effective with it.

  Kevlar carries the puck into the zone, dodging a half-hearted stick lift. He passes to Sophie, and she takes the puck around the back of the net. It forces the penalty kill to split their attention between her and their assignments. It isn’t a big advantage, but it’s enough for her to have a clear pass up to Merlin. He fires the puck on goal, but Hyde fights it off with his blocker.

  She collects the rebound, defends it, and passes up to Merlin. He cradles the puck as he looks for the pass he wants, but a defender drifts up to cut off his pass to the point, and there’s too much traffic for him to make a cross-ice pass. He sends the puck back to Sophie. She sees an opening he didn’t, and she threads the puck through sticks and legs until it lands right on Matty’s tape.

  Hyde pushes off his post, but he isn’t quick enough, and Matty slams the puck home.

  She skates right for her captain, laughing and knocking him gently into the boards. “I knew I could trust you! Knew you’d put it in.”

  “Was that an important goal or something?” he asks. He laughs and then laughs harder as she punches his shoulder.
>
  One hundred assists in 111 NAHL games. The crowd chants her name and hold up their “100” signs. Matty rubs her helmet, smiling even though she’s taking some of the spotlight away from him.

  When they reach the bench, Kevlar tosses the puck to Ben Granlund, their equipment manager. He’ll give it to her after the game with today’s date written on it so she can put it with her first NAHL goal puck and her fiftieth assist puck and her one hundredth point puck. Before the end of the season, her fiftieth goal puck will join the collection.

  Sophie takes her puck home with her and places it in the display case alongside her others. She changes out of her suit and pulls on one of her tighter pair of jeans. She debates between a T-shirt and a V-neck. She goes with the V-neck, and Zinger gives her an over-the-top double-take when she joins them at their favorite bar.

  “Is that skin you’re showing?” he asks.

  “Fuck off,” she tells him, smiling too much to mean it.

  “Do you want a water?” Theo asks before she can slip into the booth and hide from all the offers to dance. “There’s a guy at the bar who is definitely checking out your ass. I can chaperone.”

  “Chaperone?” Sophie echoes.

  “You know, I’ll make sure he checks out before you go home with him.”

  “What?” Nelson asks. “Sophie doesn’t go home with people.”

  “One hundred career assists, she can do whatever the hell she wants tonight.” Theo looks over at Sophie as if to ask I did the right thing, yeah?

  But Matty’s gripping his beer, obviously uncomfortable, and Nelson looks one wrong word away from springing out of the booth. “Yes on the water, no on the guy.”

  If she wanted to pick up, she would, even if it forced her teammates to confront how she’s a healthy young woman with a sex drive. But after listening to the Sinclairs and Supinskis of the League spew shit at her for the past two weeks, she doesn’t want to let anyone with a dick near her. She hasn’t even wanted to touch herself recently, but tonight’s different.