Captain's Curvy Puck (Locker Room 2)

“Yeah, I’m here,” I say, pulling my phone to look at the screen. I see ‘Noah’ as the caller and when I push the phone back to my ear, a loud smash clatters. “Noah? Is that you? Is everything ok?”

“Bro! I can’t really hear you,” Noah’s voice yells, another smash of glass rattling my eardrum. “I need you to come down to the bar. It’s fucking crazy here tonight and I might need some help keeping things under control.”

I slurp my drink and look down at my comfy black trousers with a deep sigh. I’m also wearing my favourite Beatles shirt. It’s the shirt I wear when I want to be comfy. It’s my go-to top when I’m sure I’ll be laid back on the sofa all night. It’s so fucking old the cotton is soft and worn down. It’s the softest fucking thing I’ve ever felt. I don’t care if it’s faded and got holes in it… It’s. Fucking. Comfy.

“Oh, man…” I drag out. “Are you sure you can’t handle it? I’m settled in for the night, man.”

The phone fumbles and I hear girly screams and deep roars of wild hockey fans. There’s chanting and by the sounds of it, someone has one of those Vikings horns and is using it in a sculling contest. Without him even saying, I know where Noah is. There’s no other place in the city that has people who makes noises like that.

The Bloody Viking.

It’s the place to be for hockey fans.

“Miles! Are you there?” Noah’s voice comes back to the phone. “Seriously, I need to go. Some weird chick has straddled Jamie Fisher. Bro, when you get here… Find Ellie.”

My stomach drops at the mention of his twin sister’s name.

Ellie’s there…

“…she’s disappeared and I can’t look for her.” Another fumble echoes in my ear, but I’m already racing up the hallway to change my pants when I hear Noah’s final words, “I’ll see you when you get here.”

I grab the first pair of jeans on the floor of my bedroom. Stepping across to my wardrobe, I pluck a white hoodie and race out of the front door of my apartment, only stopping to slide on the closest pair of shoes to the door.

One of the benefits of being a pro-hockey player is I get paid handsomely. I can afford a downtown apartment, and as I sprint up the dark streets of late-night Vancouver, I’ve never been more grateful for that.

I turn the final corner and my chest heaves at the sight of at least thirty bodies loitering outside of The Bloody Viking. You know it’s a busy night when there’s a line-up to get inside. And that normally spells trouble.

I’m coming, Ellie. I’m coming.

My untied laces act as a hazard as I sprint harder and faster at the sight of the busy bar, but I don’t bother to tie them. Even if I fell face first in a pile of snow, I’d have the possibility of Ellie’s safety being at risk to pick me straight back up again. I can’t afford to have her alone. Not for one second. Not tonight. Not any night.

I reach the front door of the bar. Two bouncers are holding the line of impatient drunks waiting to get inside. A group of guys at the front recognize me and start shouting out for an autograph.

I’m too focused on the bouncers. I work my way around the line of people, finally reaching the front of the line.

“You’ve got to let me in,” I breathe, gripping the biggest bouncer by the jacket. It’s a weird feeling being bigger and bulkier than a nightclub bouncer, and I’m sure if it came down to it, I could take both of these fuckers at the same time.

“Miles Johnson?” The bouncer smiles, his eyes bright. A hot breath of steam leaves his smiling mouth as he turns to his buddy and then back to me. “You don’t need to wait in line, big guy. Come in!”

He grips the red rope that’s blocking the door, unhooks it, and pushes the door of The Bloody Viking open. I offer a quick smile as thank you, but there’s only one thing I want right now, and that’s to find…

“Ellie?”