Teaser Tuesday LA Storm MM Hockey Romance RJ Scott VL Locey

Today’s teaser comes from Script (LA Storm, 1), with VL Locey
Out now – https://rjscott.co.uk/read-script

Not again.

Standing at center ice, my eyes on the scoreboard as they showed the game winning goal for Boston, all my exhausted brain could keep playing on a loop was…

Not again. Our barn was quiet as a tomb save for the few Rebels fans who had made the trip from east coast to west. They were loud. They were happy. Our fans? Not so much. And rightfully so. We’d fucked up once more.

My sight flicked from the chaos on the screen over my head to the desolation on the ice. Off in one corner were the Boston Rebels, this year’s Cup champs, ebullient, some weeping in joy. And then there were the Storm.

Our goalie Phillipe was still splayed out in his crease, belly down, the grill of his mask resting on the ice, the very image of dejection. A stuffed storm cloud bounced over to me. There were several on the ice now, our fans way of telling us that we sucked. Which, yeah, we all kind of were feeling that vibe thanks gang.

My teammates were stunned, looks of shock and grief playing on their faces. Our captain, Brett “Prez” Kennedy seemed to have shaken off the stupor of last-minute loss.

“Next year guys,” I could hear him saying as he skated to each man on the ice. He moved to Phillipe and got him up on his skates. The man looked devastated. We’d all tried so hard for him knowing his time in the crease was limited. He was thirty-eight now. And this might have been his last chance. Fuck. This sucked and not in the good way. “Handshakes now.”

Fuck. Me. One of the toughest things to do was get in that line and congratulate the other team on achieving your goal. But that was what was expected. Hockey players were nothing if not humble good sports. Inside we all felt like beating ourselves over our heads with our sticks, but on the outside, we were moving into a conga line of sorts, only there was no joyous dancing. At least on our side.

Credit to the Rebels, they were hella good sports. Their captain, Xander Holden, took an extra moment with each Storm player, patting them on the shoulder while telling them that they played one hell of a series.

I wasn’t so sure about that. They’d taken us down in five games. This one had been tight, yes, but the previous losses were anything but. We’d won the first game here at home, lost the second in front of our fans, then flew to Boston where they trounced us.

“Hey man. Congratulations,” I said to Austin Rowe, his sweaty face aglow with their well-deserved victory. His cousins – Jamie, Brady, and Tennant – must be super proud. My family would be waiting for me to get home then the calls would start. “Great series. We’ll get you next year.”