Offside (The Barker Triplets 1)

“Well what are we waiting for?”

And then she stepped out on the ice.

Chapter Eleven

Billie skated a couple of laps on their side of the ice, nodding to the guys on her team as she slowly circled. The air was filled with energy—competitive energy—the kind she thrived on. She inhaled as the intoxicating scent wove her way among the players.

She caught sight of Kendall and her teammates. They sat behind the player’s bench and for a moment she faltered, realizing they didn’t have a game but had come out to watch her play.

Logan skated past and glanced behind her. “See you brought some fans out tonight.”

Billie didn’t know what to say, so she said nothing, grabbed the puck off him and took a shot at their goalie. The team circled and took shots until the referee’s whistle blew and they retreated to their bench.

“All right, let’s have a good game, guys.” Paul Leadbetter cracked his stick on the ice. “I mean, and uh, girls…or girl…Billie, too.”

Billie smiled as Paul blushed and swept by her onto their bench. She’d known him since middle school.

The whistle went once more and Shane shouted,”You’re up, Barker.”

The rest of the guys filed onto the bench, leaving Billie, her two wingers, one of whom was Strombley, and the defensive line which boasted both Shane and Logan.

She skated to center ice and took a moment to eye the stands once more. Jackie Everett sat with her husband Duke, which made her feel better because she certainly didn’t like the idea that she’d been responsible Duke and Jackie arguing. Beside Jackie were Billie’s friends, Tracy and Lana. And just behind them, a flash of white caught her eye. Grandpa Barker.

Herschel touched his cap and settled into his seat, a bag of popcorn in his hands, a proud expression on his face. For a moment she panicked…who was with dad? But then she realized Bobbi was home. All was good. Or at least as good as it was going to get.

“You ready, princess or are you too busy staring at your fan club?”

The referee, Bill Squires, scowled and glanced around, his large jowl or rather, second chin, jiggling as he did so. The man weighed at least three hundred pounds, which at several inches below six feet didn’t exactly make him an advertisement for [i]Men’s Health[i] magazine. Dressed in black and white stripes, his impressive girth wasn’t a great sight to behold either, especially the two inches or so that stuck out just above his belt. His helmet looked two sizes too small and his beady eyes glared at her like she was a piece of dirt…or a bug he’d like to crush.

Great. Always a good sign when the referee openly hated you.

“I’m ready,” Billie answered and watched as Seth Longwood skated to a stop on the opposite side of the faceoff circle. The Whalers logo was blue and orange—a massive whale crashing into a sea of orange. She eyed it and then bent low, elbows up, legs spread, stick at the ready. And as her eyes concentrated on the prize in the referee’s hands, which for the next hour was a small black puck, everything else faded away.

She didn’t hear Seth’s derogatory words or the referee’s instructions. She didn’t hear the shouts of encouragement from the stands—or the ones that weren’t so nice. She didn’t see Kendall’s team jumping around like crazy people, or her teammates take their positions—though she was keenly aware of where they were.

Billie inhaled a shot of fresh cold air and felt the thrum of energy that skirted along the ice and traveled up her body.

She set her stick down and exhaled. This was her element

. This was where she was king. Billie’s hand-eye coordination, her innate ability to anticipate and strike, was what had made her legendary in the faceoff circle.

She waited. She heard the breath pull through her lungs. Felt the beat of her heart.

Then the puck dropped and she exploded into action.

With lightening quick reflexes Billie jabbed her stick, won the draw, and passed it back to Logan. The Angry Pirates were off, skating forward, while Seth swore like a trucker and circled behind her, trying to play catch up from the get-go..

Billie tore down the ice and drifted to the right, easily maneuvering around a Whaler defenseman as she slowed down to wait for the puck. Logan passed it to her winger, Strombley, just as she neared the blue line and he passed it up. She scooped the puck, aware the Whaler forwards were skating like hell to get back to her. The defenseman in front of her skated backward trying to block her shot, his stick in the air, his eyes on the puck.

That was his mistake. His eyes should have been on her body. With a burst of speed, she skated to the side and when he glanced up it was too late. She nudged the puck behind him and was there before he could turn around to stop her.

Cronkwright faced her, eyes glaring through his cage as he moved forward in his crease. He was big and bulky in all his gear, but with a much practiced wrist shot, Billie hit the top shelf over his left shoulder.

Score one for the Angry Pirates seven seconds in.

Longwood skated past Billie and glided around the net, as Cronkwright slammed his stick on the ice and fished the puck from behind him.

Shane gave a fist pump while Logan headed toward the bench. Along the side, maroon and gold jumped up and down, crazily waving their arms as if this was a real game or something. A game that mattered. Not a Friday beer league kind of game, but something more.