Pipe Dreams(48)

"He was like, oh, omigod," Elsa giggled.

"Any topic but that," Lauren added, her stomach contracting with more  laughter. It was a few minutes before they could calm down. "We should  go or we'll miss the beginning."

"Okay." Elsa got off the bed carefully. She looked a little freaked out again.                       
       
           



       

"Do you feel okay? Does your stomach hurt?"

"It did earlier but I think I'm good."

Five minutes later they took the elevators downstairs, and Lauren pointed out the lobby shop.

"Are you going to, uh, ask for them?" Elsa whispered when they stepped inside.

"Sure. Don't forget-every woman buys these. And if there are men at the  checkout counter of Rite Aid at home, that's what self checkout is for."

"Huh. Okay."

Lauren strode right up to the bored looking woman behind the register. "Do you have maxi pads? I need them very badly."

"Omigod, Lauren," Elsa hissed. "Shhh."

The woman barely lifted her eyes from her phone. She turned around,  grabbed a plastic-wrapped pack of eight and plunked it on the counter.  "Six-fifty," she said.

Everything sold in hotels was such a rip-off. Lauren paid anyway, tucked  the pads into her bag and went outside. "There's supposed to be a  shuttle bus to the game."

The doorman turned to her with a frown. "It's running slow tonight  because there's a protest rally going on. Give it ten minutes. Or you  could walk it."

"Thanks," Lauren said, turning to Elsa. "Shuttle or walk?"

"Walk."





TWENTY-SEVEN



Beacon made a giant error by getting into the hotel's courtesy car.

He'd been trying to save time, and the guy was right there when he  emerged from the hotel's front door. But now they were stuck in traffic,  and he couldn't even see the arena.

The half-mile sprint he'd done along the river to get to his family? That had worked fine.

"Seems to be some kind of rally," the driver murmured. "I can't turn left at any of these cross streets."

"Shit." His phone was blowing up with messages, too. WHERE ARE YOU? the  general manager of the team kept texting. That was in addition to  Rebecca's texts, Jimbo's texts, and Silas's.

Your phone shows that you're at the hotel, Becca texted. Or maybe you  left your phone at the hotel, and you're here in the building? I hope  so. If you get this message, please know that people are freaking out. I  hope you're in a bathroom stall somewhere meditating.

If only.

He was truly MIA. When he'd gotten Lauren's message, he'd looked at his  watch and seen an hour before game time. The hotel was (sort of)  connected to the complex where the arena was. So he just made a run for  it.

Obviously they'd noticed. He knew the situation was really dire when the next text was from his agent. Where the fuck are you?

The car inched forward again. Then it stopped. The road in front of them  was a sea of brake lights. He leaned over the seat to ask the uniformed  driver, "Which way is the arena? I'm going to have to run for it."

"I apologize, sir. You have good seats for the game?"

"You could say that."

"That way." The man pointed. "We're three blocks north. You'll see it when you clear those blocks."

"Thanks," Beacon said, opening the door in stalled traffic.

Then he ran.


• • •

He got back to the dressing room at seven forty-five, sweating like a racehorse.

"What the actual fuck?" Coach Worthington spat.

"I'm sorry," he said, trotting toward his gear in the corner. He bent  down and grabbed his ankles, stretching. His entire pregame warmup was  shot to hell. His body was warm from the run, though.

"Where were you?"

"It doesn't matter. I'm here now."

Coach actually growled. "It does matter. I had to turn in the starting  lineup ten minutes ago. I put Silas on it because nobody could find your  ass."

Oh, shit. He straightened up slowly. "Okay. So Silas starts for a shift or two. Where is he?"

"Stretching."

Think, Beacon. "The last time Silas started a game he didn't get any notice, either."

"I recall," Coach snarled. It had been an awful game.

"The thing is?" Beacon said, thinking out loud. "This is a disruption for the other team, too. They won't be expecting Silas."

O'Doul joined the conversation. "I thought about that. They might take  it as an opportunity-drop everything and rush the net. If they think  Beak is injured, it will change their whole game. Beak's fine, but they  won't believe it."

"Because only idiots would put in their backup guy to start game seven,"  Coach pointed out. He still looked surly, but he also looked intrigued.

"Yeah," Doulie agreed. "Putting Silas in isn't something you'd do unless you were desperate."                       
       
           



       

"Unless your goalie went fucking MIA at the worst possible moment."

Beacon tried to ignore the tidal waves of anger that Coach threw out. He  lifted a foot up onto the bench and stretched his hamstring.

"Let's just ride this for a little while and see how Silas holds up,"  Doulie said. "Beak will take his time getting ready. Silas starts. If he  gets into trouble, Beak steps in immediately. But in the meantime, the  front line is gonna play hard and try to capitalize on the confusion."

Beacon kept his mouth shut and stretched the other hamstring. He was too  far in the doghouse to say so, but he thought Doulie had a point. The  worst thing that could happen would be an early goal against Brooklyn.  That would suck, but the other team would assume they'd just gained a  night's worth of momentum.

That's when he'd skate out to replace Silas, fit as a fiddle, breathing  new life into their defensive game. Their momentum wouldn't be worth a  nickel if it was based on a misunderstanding.

Really, it was an intriguing idea.

"Let's talk strategy," Coach grumbled. "Where's Beringer? Castro! Trevi! Get over here."

Beacon left his pads at his locker and went to find Silas, who was facedown on a mat in full gear, stretching his hips.

"Finally," Silas said as soon as he walked in.

"Don't get up." Beacon walked right around in front of him and got down into the same position. They were face to face.

"Are we gonna make out here or what?" Silas grumbled.

"I get that you're pissed at me for doing a runner. But you're still  between the pipes when the game starts. Sorry you didn't get any  notice."

Silas chewed his lip. "My name is on the card, huh? So Coach has to put me in for a couple of minutes."

"Yeah, but I want you in there longer."

"What the hell for?"

Beacon reached up and punched him in the shoulder. "To guard the net,  moron. Since you're on the card, Detroit thinks there's something wrong  with me, right?"

"Is there?"

Beacon shook his head. "No. I had a little freak-out thinking something  was wrong with my kid. And I thought the hotel was closer than it really  was. It's a long, boring story. But I got us into this weird situation  so Doulie wants to have some fun with it."

"It's only fun until someone loses a goal."

Beacon grinned. "You're going to get scored on tonight. So am I, probably. But you're going to get scored on first."

"Oh, joy."

"I'm not kidding." It came out a little gruff and Silas's young brow  furrowed. "You're starting this game. And there's gonna be an ugly  moment when you can't hold them off. The lamp is gonna light behind you  and it's going to feel like shit. Your job is to make sure that happens  later instead of sooner. That's all. You're playing until one goal gets  through. Game seven in the play-offs. Make it count."

"Okay." Silas nodded, his jaw set. "All right."

"Good man." Beacon maneuvered his hips to stretch out.

"Detroit is going to assume either that you're injured or that we're insane."

"They'll think whatever they think. Just do what you've been doing in practice, bud. This is gonna be fun."

"Wonder if my mom is watching tonight." He chuckled into the mat. "It will be interesting."

"Let's go!" said Hugh from the doorway. "On the ice, Silas."

"You got this!" Beacon called from the mat. "I'll be on the bench just after the game starts."

Silas got up, gave him a salute and strode away.


• • •

Beacon suited up just as soon as the rest of the guys went out for the  pregame announcement and the quick warm-up skate. When he tossed his  phone into his locker, the screen held a text from Lauren. We're here  and we're fine and we love you!

There were three heart emojis, but he was more thrilled with the we in  that sentence. He strapped on his pads knowing everything was fine in  half his universe, at least.