Delayed Penalty: A Pilots Hockey Novel (7 page)

“This place is amazing.” A complete music studio took up the entire basement. I immediately felt better about auditioning at Greg’s house. It wasn’t as sketchy a situation as I’d imagined.

“Yeah, my dad’s a musician, so he lets us practice here when I’m home from school.” Greg shrugged. “That’s Josh.” Greg pointed to a tall, skinny guy with short, spiky black hair sitting behind a full drum kit.

“I’m Aaron.” A short guy leaning against the far wall raised his hand. I hoped he was starting dreads, because his light brown hair clumped in various spots, like he’d twisted it that way to get dreads started. “ ’Sup, beautiful?”

“It’s Auden,” I corrected. My tone was sharp, because I wanted them to treat me as an equal, not a piece of meat.

“Alrighty then.” Greg slipped a guitar strap over his neck. “What do you need us to play?”

“Do you guys know Social Distortion? ‘Making Believe’?” I asked, looking from Greg to Josh to Aaron. Josh’s blank face and Aaron’s scowl told me they didn’t. Great, I’d pissed them off in the first two minutes.

“How the fuck are we supposed to know that?” Aaron asked. He turned to Greg. “I thought you said she was singing the Violent Femmes.”

“She can sing whatever she wants.” Greg glared at Aaron.

I tried not to let Aaron’s glower throw me off. This was all in good fun, just me stepping out of the tiny box I’d sealed myself in when I’d chosen soccer above all other interests.

“Sorry. I know it’s a random song.” I hoped the comment would help mellow the situation. Instead, it was met with more blank stares and more scowling. So far the audition was going exactly as I’d imagined. Crash and Burn Berezin at my best.

Since I’d never auditioned before, I had a difficult time keeping my pitch while singing a cappella and remembering to have some sort of stage presence. I went with what came to me, and hoped that nodding my head and rapping my hand against my thigh with the beat impressed them.

When I finished, I looked up through the thick, fake eyelashes that Lacy had glued to my lash line. None of the guys spoke. Josh had moved to the edge of his stool and crossed his arms over his chest. Greg and Aaron stood off to the side, observing, I guess. Nerves pulsed through me as the silence persisted.

“That was fucking wicked!” Josh yelled, jumping off his stool. “Where did you say you found her? Karaoke at O’Callahan’s?”

I fastened the microphone back into the stand and let them talk like I wasn’t even in the room.

“Sing another,” Aaron demanded, challenging me without looking up. He was standing as far away as possible.

“Sure,” I said, pausing a moment before breaking into “I’ll Stand by You.” It was one of my favorite songs, plus it was a believable ballad to accompany my rocker-chic gear.

Greg joined in first, strumming along with my lyrics. After a minute Josh jumped in, too. Pulling the microphone from the stand, I approached Aaron, like a cheetah stalking her annoyed prey. I touched his shoulder, but he shrugged me off. When I started serenading him using ridiculous, exaggerated hand and arm movements, his lips curved into a smile.

“You’re mental,” he said. I didn’t even try to deny it.

“All right, we’ve heard enough,” Greg said, flipping a switch that caused the microphone to go out. I walked back to the microphone stand grinning. Humor could break almost anyone down.

“So what did you think?” I asked.

“You’ve got a great voice. You’re obviously hot,” Greg said, before his eyes settled on the floor. “We’re considering you.”

“Are you considering many others?” I asked. Didn’t want to get my hopes up.

“We got nothing,” Josh said. Though it sounded more like “Me mot mutten” because he was flicking a lighter at the cigarette dangling out of the corner of his mouth.

“Dude! You can’t smoke in here,” Greg told him. Josh rolled his eyes but lowered the lighter and got up from his stool.

“I appreciate you guys letting me audition.” I started toward the stairs, but then stopped and turned around before my foot hit the first step. “So, um, when should I expect to hear from you?”

“When you come back on Wednesday for rehearsal,” Greg said.

“Seriously?” I asked.

“After our old singer left, we ran ads in the
Central State Post
and on the campus radio station. A few people tried out, but no one with pipes like yours. Can’t believe you’ve never sung before,” Greg said, shaking his head.

“Awesome. Thanks. Oh, I have a job, so is it okay if I check my schedule and let you know when I can be back?”

“Are you kidding me?” Aaron asked. “You know this takes time and dedication, right?”

Geez, I thought I’d won that dude over.

“I wasn’t trying to be a jerk,” I explained. “I just got cut from the soccer team and I have to have a job because I lost my scholarship.”

“Damn,” Josh said, grabbing a black hoodie off the chair next to me.

“Yeah, well—” Aaron’s eyes lost some of their fighting flare. “See you later, Auden.”

“I’ll walk you out,” Josh said.

I climbed the steps two at a time, pushed the door open, and held it for Josh, who was on my heels.

“Holy shit. I’m in a band,” I said, unable to contain my excitement.

“Welcome to the jungle.” Josh cupped a hand around his cigarette and flicked his lighter multiple times to unfavorable results. The blustery winds wouldn’t let up, so I stood in front of him to shield the next gust. “You’re a kick-ass girl,” he said, turning his head and blowing the smoke away from me.

“Gotta take care of my boys.” I winked and skipped to my car.

Very rock and roll.

Soccer. A band. It was all the same to me. And it felt damn good to be part of a team again.

Chapter 6

“Soccer. Kerby Field. Pick you up in ten minutes,” Drew ordered when I answered the phone the following morning.

“It’s out of your way. I’ll just drive over there,” I said, holding the phone to my ear with my shoulder, crawling to shut my bedroom door.

“I’m going through Auden withdrawals,” he whined.

“Okay. I’ll be ready.”

Drew Bertucci and I went to elementary school and high school together. One of my favorite childhood memories was riding our bikes to the sports store three blocks from my house to buy hockey cards when one of us would come in to some birthday or holiday cash. Our friendship survived even after I’d made a fool of myself by writing him a note asking if he wanted to be more than friends.

The lesson: Don’t write down your feelings about a guy. And if you do, don’t ever share them with him. Unless, of course, your heart is made of rubber and you can bounce back from the embarrassing backlash unscathed.

I traded my pj’s for a Liverpool F.C. T-shirt and soccer shorts, then pulled black warm-ups over that. After shoving my cleats and shin guards into my duffel bag, I threw it over my shoulder and wandered into the living room to wait for Drew.

Grandpa was lounging in his recliner when I dropped my bag and parked myself into the chair across from him.

“What are you doing with that?” Grandpa asked, eyeing my soccer duffel.

Evidently, when you’re cut from a team, you can never play that sport again.

“I’m heading over to Kerby to play with some kids from high school.”

“What kids?”

“Drew and the hockey guys,” I answered, knowing my answer would end Grandpa’s interrogation. Drew was on the approved-friends list because our families had known each other since our parents were in high school.

When I heard the three quick honks signaling Drew’s arrival, I grabbed my gear and ran out the door, calling goodbye to Grandpa over my shoulder.

“Hey, Drewseph!” I said, sliding into the passenger seat of his faded red SUV. Drew came from a large Italian family where everyone was a Joseph, except him.

“What’s up, Aud?” Drew asked, alternating looks over his shoulder and in his mirrors as he backed out of the driveway.

“Not much.” I shrugged. “Just working. Viktor set me up with a job for the month.”

“Translating
The Communist Manifesto
?”

I laughed. Drew knew all about my previous projects. “No. He let me work with a real person this time. I’m a translator for a hockey player.”

“Really? Who?” Drew, a hockey player himself, had taken the college route. He chose State for their Landscape Design program.

“Aleksandr Varenkov from the Pilots.” I kicked an empty water bottle rolling back and forth on the floor.

“No way.” Drew glanced at me.

“Way,” I replied, happy to be around a friend I’d known so long that we had inside jokes. When we were in eighth grade, we’d had a movie marathon. Since neither of us could drive, we had to choose movies from his dad’s collection. We’d picked
Wayne’s World, Tommy Boy,
and
Billy Madison.
Absolute classics. People still quoting them today is totally understandable.

“I heard he’s—” Drew began.

“Douchey?” I supplied.

Drew snorted. “Exactly.”

“He’s not so bad. I’ve learned how to rein him in.”

“I bet. He’s got a reputation with you ladies.”

“Oh my gosh, Drew! That’s not what I was talking about.” I smacked his thigh. “I meant, Viktor will kick his arrogant Russian ass if he steps out of line.”

“Okay, good. I don’t want to hear that you were one of his conquests.”

“He knows I’m not a bunny.”

“You’re a hot girl hanging around hockey players. To them you’re a bunny.”

Frowning, I gave Drew a sidelong glance. “For my job,” I emphasized.

“Don’t get involved with him, Auden.”

The big-brother role, which I’d appreciated every other time he’d played it, annoyed me now. Where did he get off trying to interfere in my dating life? I held back my anger, as I always did with my friends. I didn’t have very many, so there was no reason to rock the boat with the close ones I had.

“You don’t have to worry about that. I called him out in the locker room in front of his team. It was in Russian, but I think he got the point.”

“The bunnies say he’s a total dick afterward.”

“Oh! So this is really about you trying to hook up with Varenkov’s leftovers? No wonder you’re mad,” I joked, massaging his shoulder in an attempt to ease the tension between us.

“Just looking out for you.” He shrugged off my hand. And my comment.

“Thanks, Drewseph. I appreciate your concern,” I said, hoping my sincerity was apparent.

A few silent minutes later, Drew whipped his Explorer into a parking spot at Kerby Field.

Instead of following Drew toward the group of guys warming up near one of the soccer goals, I scouted out an empty patch of grass on the sideline near the white chalk line and sat down. The dry, brittle blades prickled my calves when I tugged off my warm-up pants. Though the ground was hard and frozen, the grass’s earthy scent was so ingrained in me, the memory of the smell alone brought me close to tears.

Being cut from Central State’s soccer team hadn’t been a hit only on my college finances. It majorly bruised my entire sense of self. Soccer, the one thing I excelled at and never gave up on, had been taken away from me.

Coach Tamber’s words still echoed in my head:
There’s no easy way to put this, Berezin, but we’re gonna have to cut you. We’ve got some talented upcoming freshman, and we need to make room. Now, I’m not saying you shouldn’t try to walk on next year. I just can’t hold your spot.

Or my scholarship. Or my pride. Or how I’d defined myself for the last fourteen years.
See ya, Soccer Girl.

I should have realized my dismissal was imminent, having sat the bench for both of my two seasons on the team. Most players sat as freshmen, but when sophomore year came and went and I still hadn’t been subbed in, I saw the writing on the wall. Still, I hung on to that last optimistic thread of the severed rope I’d been grasping, hoping I’d get my chance. Was I the most talented player? No. But I worked my ass off and practiced harder than anyone on the team.

Shaking my head to dismiss the thoughts, I checked out the crowded field. Guys I’d known for years scattered across the grass. A few went to high school with Drew and me, but the majority were guys that Drew had played with on travel hockey teams. As the only girl who’d ever been invited to play, you’d think I’d have dates for the rest of the year. But no. None of the guys had ever expressed interest in me. Granted, I’d been shy in high school, but still, not one of them found me even remotely attractive?

No wonder I went boy crazy when I got to Central State.

A few feet away from me, a guy jumped up and down tapping the top of his ball in an alternating pattern, left foot then right foot. It was someone I hadn’t seen at the field before but recognized immediately.

Aleksandr, in all of his soccer-shorts-wearing, Mohawk-pulled-back-in-a-ponytail, ridiculously muscled glory. His thighs and calves alone were a testament to how much time he spent working out off the ice. As my gaze traveled upward, my mind flashed an image of his half-naked body. I blinked a few times as if that would erase the memory of the magnificent work of art under his shirt.

Without thinking, I ran up behind him and stole the ball he was tapping on.

“Hey!” Aleksandr called, looking up with narrowed eyebrows as I darted away. His annoyance faded, and he smiled. “I didn’t know you’d be here.”

“I play with these guys all the time.” I waved to a guy I’d gone to high school with then spun around and passed the ball back to Aleksandr. “Who invited you?”

“Your twin.”

“Excuse me?” I didn’t have any siblings.

“Landon’s brother, Jason. He looks just like you.” He nodded to the circle of guys juggling balls. The one next to Landon Taylor had dirty-blond hair very similar to my color, but I couldn’t get a good enough glimpse to see if we had more similarities.

“Not mad at me anymore?” Aleksandr’s question caught my attention in time for me to see him send the ball back to me.

I stopped it with my left foot. “I’m over it. I just want to finish out the month.” Which was true. I’d taken Kristen and Gram’s advice to heart. His prank could’ve been a hundred times worse. I could handle a few more weeks of his immature shenanigans.