Page 5 of Knocked Sideways

Before Jed could decide whether he had any feelings about that, someone smelling like beer stumbled against his back and threw an arm around his shoulder.

“Monty. Mountain Man. Je-de-diah!” roared Petey Moreau straight into Jed’s ear.

For the thousandth time, Jed wished that Mike hadn’t given him such a stupid nickname that first year in Boston. He’d let his guard down enough to tell Mike about growing up in Montana and how much he missed the Northern Rockies. It had been dumb, and it probably served him right that Moreau had picked up on the nickname and was never going to let it go.

“Hey, Monty,” Moreau said again with a squeeze. “Why’re you just sitting here like one of those scary, badass stone thingies?”

Jed pushed him off, but that didn’t deter Moreau one bit.

“Help me out, man. What’re those called? Like, those scary demon things with the evil eye you’ve got going?” Moreau twisted his face into a grimace and held his hands up like claws. “You know what I’m talking about, Monty.”

Jed gave in. “Are you really calling me a gargoyle, Moreau?”

“Yesssss. A gar-goyle.” Moreau drew the word out like being compared to an ugly-as-hell piece of stone was a good thing. “And you don’t need to be, is what I’m saying. ’Cause it’s New Year’s Eve! And some people find that look hot, believe me. If you ever wanted to hook up, this is your night. You just gotta come out with us on the dance floor.”

“Watch it.” Jake McBride pulled Moreau upright. He and Moreau were usually together and somehow balanced each other, often playing like two bodies with the same brain. “Not everyone wants you as their wingman. Especially when you’re wasted.”

“No way, buddy!” Moreau leaned back against McBride and gave him a huge grin. “I’m only a teensy tiny bit buzzed. And Monty always looks so lonely when we go out—I jus’ wanna help him, Jakey.”

Jed gave McBride a pointed look, and McBride lifted Moreau’s glass out of his hand and put it on the bar.

“I know you do, Petey. And I’m sure that if Monty ever decides he wants help, you’ll be the first to know. Let’s get you some water and then find you someone to fuck in the New Year with, eh?” To Jed’s relief, McBride pushed Moreau back toward the dance floor before Moreau could say anything else.

Jed knew from experience that Moreau was smarter than he acted, but he was way off base tonight. Well, he might be right about the gargoyle thing, but Jed wasn’t lonely. A lot of the time, he didn’t even like other people all that much.

He was just feeling a bit—melancholy, maybe, sitting too long in a sea of other people on New Year’s Eve.

It would pass.

Jed was slowly sipping his second beer and watching Moreau, McBride, and the rest of the younger players pull increasingly ridiculous moves on the dance floor when his phone vibrated again. This time, he wasn’t at all surprised to see that it was Hal checking in like the team captain he was.

Hal

Having fun with the children?

Well, that didn’t deserve a response. Jed glanced back at the dance floor, where the guys were now enthusiastically—and, it appeared, consensually—grinding on a bunch of not-too-apparently inebriated women. That was progress, he supposed. He gave it ten minutes, max, before at least one of them decided it was time to get out of there and the rest followed.

Hal, of course, wasn’t going to be ignored. Jed’s phone started buzzing again as texts streamed in.

Hal

Heads up from coach

We got a new d-man from Montreal

Flying down tomorrow

Remy Ladoux

Looks like he went to UVM

You know him?

Jed flashed back again to the UVM locker room, to caramel-colored eyes looking earnestly into his, and then shook it off.

Grant

Not really