Hotshot

“Hey, Hotshot.”

Still clad in his full gear, Pekka groaned as he pushed his mask up. After a particularly intense practice that ended with Trotz yelling until he was an unattractive shade of red, all Pekka wanted to do was get a shower and get the hell out of there.

He was in no mood for her.

Not that she would care anyway. Good mood, foul mood, win or lose, she remained the same - cheerful and cheeky. A genuine pain in his ass. He couldn’t even pinpoint when it started.
She had just appeared in Bridgestone Arena one day and had yet to leave. He knew that she worked in the souvenir shop, selling Predator merchandise with a smile on her pretty little face. But she also seemed to do odd jobs around the arena, and could pop up without a moment’s notice.

He hated that.

Currently she was standing in front of one of the display boards, a box of magnetic letters at her feet. She was hopping a little to slap the first few at the top.

“If you had a chair you wouldn’t have to jump,’’ he pointed out, realizing he had made the same mistake he always did when it came to her- he engaged in conversation. With no visible means of retreat, he braced himself for whatever was about to come out of her mouth.

She turned, still clutching a letter in her tiny hand. “I know,” she began and a smile crossed her face that had him inwardly cringing. “But at least this way, I get in some exercise.”

It was nothing close to what he thought she would say. He imagined she would go for the obvious and point out how parts of her bounced in a delightful manner. He mentally kicked himself and she leaped to put up the next letter. She hadn’t pointed it out but he had still noticed. Thinking that she had given him an easy out, he started to walk again, eager for the dressing room and that shower.

“Trotz still breathing?”

Pekka had made it past her when the words fell out of her mouth. He turned to find her staring at him with big brown eyes. “Excuse me?”

“I was just wondering if Trotz was still alive. For a moment there I was sure that his head was about to explode. Knowing my luck, I would have to clean it up,” she commented leaning over to retrieve some more letters. The move had the fabric of her shorts pulled taunt.

Pekka’s eyes went skyward immediately.

“You saw him?” He asked, counting tiles silently.

“Heard him,” she corrected. “It’s amazing how things echo in an empty arena.” He heard shuffling. “Is there bubble gum stuck up there again? That is a pain in the ass to pick off.”

His head shot down to find her standing right next to him, her gaze fixed where his had been only moments before. Unsure of what to say, he watched as a slow grin spread across her face. He had the feeling she knew exactly what he was doing. It was like a showdown – who would crack first.

Finally, she glanced back at her unfinished task. “I’d love to stay and chat but I have a long list of inane chores to keep me busy and you, well…” She wrinkled up her nose. “You need a shower.”

Pekka wanted to point out that he had been on his way to one when she had stopped him but given that he was the one who actually continued the conversation he figured he really didn’t have a leg to stand on. She had already turned back to her task so he continued down the hall.

“See you around, Hotshot.”

He didn’t even bother to look back.

The rest of the team was in the locker room by the time he finally made it there. He began to
strip off gear, aware that a few eyes were on him. “About time, Rinne. Thought I was gonna have to form a search party.” It was Shea, coming straight from the showers clad only in a towel and ready to poke fun.

“Yeah, where did you go?” Hornqvist now, sounding less amused and more concerned. “Blowing off steam after what Trotz said?”

Yes. That sounded like a perfectly reasonable excuse. He was about to say so when Fisher cut in. “Naw, he was talking to Marie.” There was a moment’s silence before everyone in the locker room broke out in ribbing that ranged from good natured to downright explicit. He said nothing, instead heading to the showers.

When Pekka emerged thankfully half the locker room had cleared out. His mood hadn’t improved since he left the ice and he couldn’t take another round of the boys’ smart aleck comments. He dressed quickly, and grabbed his bag. He would go out the back way. It was longer, but chances were it would Marie free.

He hadn’t gotten far when he heard footsteps. He fought the urge to swear in frustration. Really? What possible reason could she have to be this far into the bowels of the arena? Was there no place safe? He geared himself for battle but instead received a rather impressive clap on the back that sent him forward. Decidedly not Marie – her strength was not physical but instead came in the form of quick wit and little shame.

“Avoiding her again?” It was the Captain.

“No,” Pekka replied.

“Liar,” Shea said immediately. “You truly are a creature of habit. I suppose the best goalies are.”

“I have absolutely no idea what you are talking about,” he commented, wondering what else could happen to make him wish he had stay in bed that morning.

“You and Marie – you have this cycle. She teases, you remain stoic, she teases some more, you don’t crack a smile, she says something that crosses some imaginary line in your head and then you avoid her for a few days before you start all over again. What did she say this time? Offer to wax your stick?” Shea pushed open one of the doors and the two climbed a flight of stairs.

Pekka made a face. No, nothing like that. And while he knew that she was prone to suggestive comments, she had never been that blunt- at least not with him. “I needed the exercise,” he said in response to longer route to the exit.

“It’s the nickname thing, huh?” Shea guessed. Pekka tensed immediately and gave it all away to his teammate. Shea shook his head. “Come on, Rinne, she has one for everyone. She calls Mike Mr. Underwood all the time. Last week she started calling me The Bearded Lady. She doesn’t mean anything by them. It’s all in good fun.”

He knew damn well she wasn’t being hurtful. He was pretty sure that there was not a cruel bone in her mischievous body. He just wished she would call him something else.

Hotshot.

The very word had him envisioning some arrogant know it all whose only purpose was to outshine and outplay everyone around him. A hotshot would take risks, and not give a damn what anyone else thought of him. A hotshot couldn’t be a team player – a hotshot existed solely from himself.

Pekka considered himself the exact opposite.

He couldn’t even remember when she had started calling him that. He just knew that he couldn’t remember being called anything else. Now with the press zeroing in on him as the team’s saviour, the man that had already carried them through the first round of the playoffs, the man that could take him all the way – he found himself becoming all that more sensitive to the moniker. He wasn’t trying to upstage anyone, or lead anyone to believe that the Predators were just one man – he was just trying to play the best he could.

Shea gave him another slap on the back. “She’ll probably start calling you something else soon enough. I vote for Pecks of Steel myself.”

Pekka gave Shea the smile he knew the other man was looking before they went their separate ways.



There were nights that the team was on the ropes but they still had some fight in them. There were nights when they were down for the count and knew they had no hope in hell. This night – this night seemed to be to be a torturous mix of the two.

Pekka pushed back his mask so he could take a drink, thankful for the whistle so he could regroup. A one goal deficit – it was proving to be a big tease. Their chance to tie was seemingly within their reach yet at the same time, watching the Canuck defense destroy every play made the task seem impossible.

The Canucks’ second goal should have never happened in the first place. He should have been keeping a closer eye on the Sedins. It didn’t matter which one – both were lethal on the power play. A moment’s distraction had cost the team a goal – and if they couldn’t tie it up, it would cost them so much more.

He knew better than to blame himself at the moment. He ran the risk of letting the game fall through his fingers. The Predators needed him now, to stand tall and to give them a fighting chance to move forward.

So for a period and half Pekka fought. He did everything in his power to keep his team in the game. He snatched sure things out of mid-air, stretched his body until it hurt to cover the crease, even gave one of the boys in white, blue and green a hard shove when they got too close for his comfort. But nothing could make up for his earlier mistake.

As the seconds counted down, he felt the heaviness of defeat settle in. The game horn blew and out of the corner of his eye he could see the Canucks flying off the bench to celebrate. He slumped forward a little so he could only see the ice now.

A hand landed on his back. “Hell of a game.” It was Shea. Pekka pulled himself up to his full height, aware that the team was coming toward him. He pulled his mask up, shook hands, slapped a few guys on the back, and even accepted a hug or two. He was ready to retreat when Hornqvist put a hand on his chest. “Check that out,” the Swede said, his voice low.

It was then that Pekka noticed for the first time that the crowd was on their feet. The applause started quietly but quickly became a roar. It was accompanied by a cheer that threatened to take the roof off the place. His lips quirked a little before he did the only thing he could think of – he raised his stick.

A moment later, the entire team followed suit.



Pekka had turned down a few offers to go out for dinner. He assured them that he was fine –
or he would be as soon as it had all sunk in. Right now, he wanted some time alone.

He had managed to be the last one in the locker room. He sat with his helmet in his hand. He traced one of the musical notes with his finger, a tribute to his adoptive city. Despite the standing ovation, he couldn’t help but feel like he would be a little less welcome now.

He put the helmet away, and reached for his suit jacket. He was running the risk of falling into the trap of self-pity. A hasty retreat was needed. He knew if he hurried, he could meet up with the boys, have a few drinks and toast to the better moments of the past season. With that game plan in mind, he headed out of the locker room and toward the nearest exit.

However, as if a siren was calling to him, he found himself standing on the second level of the Bridgestone Arena, overlooking the ice. It seemed strange to him that the place was nearly empty, save for a few members of the maintenance crew who were working diligently to clean the place up. He walked toward the ice, cutting in midway to take a seat. He told himself he wasn’t wallowing.

Ten minutes later he hadn’t moved. And he had no intention of doing so any time soon. He knew the window for meeting his teammates was now closed. He really had no place better to be at the moment. He slouched forward, letting his eyes fall shut. He probably would have stayed like that if he hadn’t been jarred to life by singing.

Horrible, ear splitting singing.

He glanced over his shoulder toward the source. He immediately groaned. He should have guessed.

Marie.

She was currently a section over, a few rows up. With headphones covering her ears, she probably had no idea of the racket she was making as she danced through the row, scooping up garbage and tossing it in a bag she was dragging along behind her. When she got the end of the row, he could see that she was wearing a Predators t-shirt…his t-shirt. There was blue and gold face paint on her cheeks although the shapes had long since been smudged.

She did an elaborate twirl and in doing so caught sight of him. She lowered her head, and for a moment he thought she was embarrassed by her display. But he should of known better – not Marie. She dropped the bag, and slid the headphones down so they rested around her neck. “Last call, Hotshot. They’re going to turn the lights down on this place soon.”

Pekka tried not bristle at the nickname. He didn’t need it – not now. “I didn’t know you cleaned.” Again, he engaged when he should have just walked away. What was it about her that had him making the same mistakes time and time again?

“One of the cleaning crew snuck off to celebrate and they needed someone. I need the money. Seems like a match made in heaven if you ask me,” she said as took the stairs at a rapid pace. She dove into the row behind him and he could see her snatching up empty beer cups and napkins.

“Celebrate? People are out celebrating?” Pekka asked, truly realizing what she had said for the first time. He heard the bag hit the concrete floor again and when he glanced up, she was
standing behind him, towering over him for the first time in her life. “Why would they do that?”

“Why wouldn’t they? The Nashville Predators made it to Game Six in the second round of the playoffs for the first time ever. If that is not something to down a beer over, well hell, I am not sure what is,” she said with flourish, reaching up to tuck some of her short dark hair behind an ear. With the remnants of the face paint picking up the lights, he thought she looked a bit like a pixie at the moment. It was a fair assumption – she had no doubt been sent from another world with the sole purpose of tormenting him. “It was a great game – wished we could have won it but you sure gave them a run for their money.”

She probably couldn’t understand that he felt as if he did the exact opposite. His lips were set in a grim line as he regarded her wearing his number. He wanted to ask her why, of all the merchandise in the store, she had chosen that one to parade around in. Wanted to – but didn’t for fear that he would not like the answer.

Or perhaps like it too much.

She glanced at her watch. “As much as I would like to stay and chat, I’ve been told that if I get this section done in under an hour I can go home.” She retrieved her bag and started to walk away. She got a step before she stopped. “I was only kidding about them lowering the lights. I am sure that they won’t mind you sticking around as long as you want, Hotshot.”

Pekka was a goalie who prided himself on his lightning fast reflexes. Therefore his hand shot out and curled around her wrist before she could even take another step. He hadn’t meant to do it – it was no doubt a gut reaction to her parting shot. She was looking at him as if he had suddenly grown an extra head so he immediately let go. “I am sorry.”

“It’s okay…” she said slowly. She dropped the bag yet again and this time he swore he heard something break. He watched as she climbed over the seat and thought for a moment that he was going to have to catch her. But she managed; with much less grace then he expected she had been aiming for, to seat herself next to him. She furrowed her brows together. “Uh, look, I know I probably have not got the sweetest clue what is like to lose something like this but…”

“I am not a hotshot,” Pekka found himself saying.

“Excuse me?”

“I am not a hotshot,” he repeated. “So please stop calling me that.”

“Okay,” she looked confused, perhaps even a little bit hurt. He hadn’t meant to do that. Guilt pooled in the pit of his stomach.

“I know you don’t mean anything by it – it’s a joke. I just – I am no team’s saviour…”

“Oh,” she began, her eyes widening. She fell silent for a moment before twisting in her seat to face him. “I get it. The press are bunch of jackals, always looking for the best sell. Nashville is not a hockey town- there is no way their team is ever going to amount to anything. But oh wait, would you look at that? They’re winning games. Well hell, they’re going to be in the playoffs. What on earth put them there? Couldn’t be a team effort – must be some miracle worker. Hey did you hear about their goalie? He’s quite a piece between the pipes. I am pretty sure he’s the only player on the team right now. The Nashville Predators consist of a goalie and nothing else.” She took a deep breath at the end of her ramble and raised an eyebrow in his direction. “Does that sound about right?”

“Yes,” Pekka said surprised that she had so easily gotten it.

“That’s a lot of pressure to shoulder,” she leaned back, kicking up her feet so she could rest them on the seat in front of her. “But you got to think – they said all that stuff for a reason you know? They didn’t just pull it out of thin air.” He made a face which she promptly seemed to ignore. “You’re something else. Watching you play live…it’s pretty damn cool. An experience I consider myself damn lucky to have.”

He turned his head to find her looking at him. “You watch the games?”

She nodded, and there was a bit of devilish glint in her eyes. “I sneak out when I get a chance. I don’t think I’ve ever caught a full game. Just bits and pieces. But enough to know that you’re good at what you do. Better than half those guys out there doing the same thing. We’re lucky to have you here, and I doubt Nashville is going to let you forget that.”

“I let that goal in…”

“I’ll let you sulk about that one for now because everything is so fresh,” she seemed to concede. He felt as if he should defend himself, to point out that he wasn’t sulking. But she never gave him a chance, instead continuing her rant. “But if you think that this city is going to blame you one bit for that goal then you need to pull your head out of your ass!”

Pekka raised an eyebrow; sure that no one had ever said anything like that to him before- at least no one that barely knew him. “You don’t hold back.”

“I don’t see the point,” she told him. She glanced around the arena and did too, noting that much of the maintenance had disappeared. “Well, I have officially slacked on the job long enough. I meant what I said – sit here as long as you want. But when you wake up tomorrow remember that you’re our goalie and we protect what is ours, even if it is from themselves.” She stepped on the seat of the chair so she could launch herself back over the row. She looked down at him for a moment. “Have a good night,” she said and he could tell she was itching to spew forth her nickname. She didn’t – but she did however reach over and ruffle the top of his head.

He watched her go down the row, shaking his head at the entire exchange.

When the horrible singing returned moments later he immediately got up and left.



Locker cleanout went better than to be expected.

Pekka had given his interviews, talked about the disappointment of losing when they did. However, he talked of the pride too – pride in himself for doing the best he could, pride in his teammates for pulling together, and pride in the city for standing behind them no matter what.

With that out of the way, and his gear stored safely in the back of his car, he figured he had time for one more walk around. He had promised the boys he would meet them for a few drinks and this time he meant it. Still, just one more time.

He knew where he was heading. He didn’t even try to pretend like he wasn’t seeking her out, that he had just stumbled upon her by accident. No, he meant to end up there, standing to watch her pull down various souvenirs and merchandise to pack up. Like him, she had to clean out and make room for the band t-shirts and whatever else they sold during the offseason. She had just jumped to reach a stack of Weber jerseys when she saw him.

“Exercising again?” He asked, his hands firmly shoved in his pockets.

A smile played across her lips. “That I am.”

He crossed the space so he could reach up and pull down the one she had missed. She took it from him, before cocking her head to the side. “Hello, Blondie,” she said as she did a little leap again to ruffle his hair.

He smiled in return.

“Hello Marie.”