RoseMoneyyy
Tipsy Kitten
BʀᴇɴᴅᴇɴEᴅwᴀʀᴅLᴀᴘɪᴇʀʀᴇ__________________________
- The past twenty-four hours were like a dream that Brenden prayed he would never wake from. It was amazing how fast a few suitcases worth of clothes and a duffel bag full of gear could be packed when the destination was too perfect to be true. Looking at his reflection in the grimy Motel 8 bathroom mirror as he brushed his teeth thoroughly, he thought back to the phone call he received from one of Coach Reed's assistants just the other afternoon. How they spoke quickly and frantically of the injury sustained to their teams star player. How he was the only one they had on reserve that was qualified enough to take his place. What, was there no one else on the roster that played centre and shot right-handed? Not that he was complaining. Hell no he wasn't complaining. They told him to be in Vancouver this morning and in Rogers Arena by nine in the morning for practice. They also mentioned to get plenty of sleep because, after all, tonight was going to be the opening game of the playoffs.
Like he got any sleep last night with that running through his mind.
Noticing the accumulation of foam in the corner of his mouth, Brenden removed the toothbrush and spat the frothy remains in the stained sink bowl. He made a face and didn't think he needed to rinse with the disgusting water that shot out of the faucet. Instead he moved to towel off his face, then grabbed his suitcase and duffel bag, happily saying goodbye to the disgusting motel smell.
He found his Jeep in the parking lot, loaded up, and drove off; thankfully he chose a place to stay that was close to the arena because he was dangerously close to being late for practice. Since it was going to be his first time in a long time playing on a for real National Hockey League team, he needed to make sure he was punctual at least.
Wincing as he turned on his left turn signal and waited for the oncoming traffic to pass so he could turn into the back entrance of Rogers Arena, he thought about his brush with destiny the last time he stepped onto the Rogers ice. Thankfully it was merely a preseason game, but everyone loved to blame him for the drastic nine to three loss they had that day. He could see why though, his offense might've been decent at best, but his defense was what really threw the game when his line was out. The communication was lacking between them and it showed. Practicing on the College League team had been the best thing that happened to him and he couldn't wait to redeem himself.
Though he wished it was during a regular season game, not something as huge as the playoffs. That thought honestly had him shaking in his skates.
Now in the parking lot, Brenden pulled up next to a blue compact car and took his duffel bag out with him. Rushing only a little, he made his way to the back doors where the locker room was at. It opened with a small groan that echoed throughout the empty tile covered room. So they couldn't even be bothered to wait for him. There was a small scowl on his face that he couldn't quite shake, even when he realized they probably needed to get on the ice to practice as soon as possible. After pulling off his sweats and sneakers, he pulled on the pads first, then the practice jersey, and finally tied off the skates on his feet. Standing, he tested the strength of his ankles, then turned to the locker that had "LAPIERRE" carved over top of it, marked so everyone knew who it belonged to. He knew this was only a temporary thing, but boy did it feel good to see his name on that locker. Slamming the pad of his glove against it for good measure, he moved out of the locker room and out to the ice.
When he entered the players box, he instantly saw Coach Reed and attempted to go over, but he realized that the man looked completely worried sick. Jeez, was their practice really going that horribly? Taking a look out on the ice, Brenden's expression was instantly perplexed.
Out there, in the middle of the ice, laid a well dressed girl who looked to be in some pretty serious pain. "Help her, dammit!" Obviously the girl was of some relation to the coach, and it seemed like the other guys were a little too chicken to go near her. At this rate he'd be standing unseen next to the coach all day. Letting out a frustrated sigh, Brenden went out onto the ice and skated up next to the girl.
Stopping sharply, narrowly avoiding spraying her with the snow from his brakes, he put his hands on his hips and looked down at her. He tried discerning her movements so he could pinpoint where she hurt but she was just... lying there.
Lips moving from a discerning pout to a devious smirk, he held a hand out and teased her from under his breath so the others wouldn't hear; "You are an awful faker."
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