Hat Trick by RJ Scott & V.L. Locey

Author:RJ Scott & V.L. Locey [Scott, RJ]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-1-78564-146-6
Publisher: RJ Scott

The following Sunday we had an afternoon game, a matinee, which was good because Erik and I could be home for the nighttime routine before we left for a five-game Canadian road trip. Tonight, we would sit down with the children for spaghetti and meatballs and tell them that we were going away but only for a short time. We also had to explain to Eva that Sacha had found us a tutor and a nanny. The nanny, Anna Sanarov was a smiling woman with red hair who would begin the morning we left for Toronto. I wanted to call her Red, like the Russian redhead in the woman’s prison show, but Erik vehemently objected. I liked Anna, and so did Erik. Also, Mama approved. That was most important, for Mama ruled the house. We two men thought we did, but no, Mama did.

Sacha was still working with us, but we saw less of him now. That wasn’t a bad thing for me as he was very handsome and manly, and I worried Erik’s head might be taken with him.

The tutor, a slim Russian/American man by the name of Professor Peter Minkoff, who was retired, would start tomorrow. He would ease the children into a school-like routine while teaching them English so they could go to public schools. Pavel was having trouble learning any new words, and I wondered if he were even trying. I suspected he clung to Russian, as it kept him close to his guardian and all he had left behind. Or perhaps I was far off base. I was no child psychiatrist. I was only a man who played hockey.

Which was what I should be thinking on now. The current game against Philadelphia had been a slow one. Philly had been traveling and had come into our city late last night. They were tired and not nearly as gritty as usual. Our team was well rested but sluggish. Maybe the lethargy of the Philly team had infected the Railers. I couldn’t say, but neither goalie was working too hard. Weak shots on goal, no net front presence, and a tight defense left me standing there thinking about meatballs. Then the tide turned quickly when one of the Philadelphia forwards skated into our zone after an icing had been whistled the other end of the ice. He slapped the puck into the net.

“Hey, fish-face asshole, what is with that shit dick move?” I shouted at the man in orange, then spun to fish the puck out of my net. My teammates took offense, as they should have. That was an unwritten rule of the game. There were many, such as take off your gloves before a fight, don’t ice the goalie, never turtle during a fight, always try to get your teammate that third goal, heavyweights fight heavyweights, and you never shoot the puck on the net after the whistle blows. There are more, but those are a few. And fish-face asshole had shot the puck on the net after the whistle.

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