Be There | A Dwayne Robertson Fanfic ✔️

What Happens in Town

The stadium is filled as we skate around, playing our second game for the tournament against Italy. Nearing the end of the first period, we're winning 6 to 0, two of those points being mine.

I come off the bench and onto the ice for defense as Goldberg catches the puck after Italy's attempt to score. The stands go crazy, jumping up and down and screaming.

Goldberg being Goldberg, he starts trash-talking one of Italy's players. "Have no fear, Goldberg is here! Hey man! There's nothing on that! Have a real shot!" Goldberg turns around, watching the player as he sets his gear on top of the goal. I catch the last part of Goldberg's "speech", which makes me laugh. "How do you say in Italiano, 'wussie'?"

The Italy player comes after Goldberg, and the referee has to break them apart. Coach shouts across the ice, "Goldberg!" It sounded a bit amused, but I know Coach was telling him to stop.

Goldberg shrugs nonchalantly, "What'd I say?"

The game continues through the second and third periods, Italy not scoring a single point. I sat out the whole second period, much to my disliking, but Coach put me back in as the end of the game neared.

There's only a few seconds left in the game, and Team USA steals the puck from an Italian player who I shoved against the glass. Fulton gets the puck, stopping a few feet from the goal, ready to shoot. Everyone, except Italy's goalie, quickly moves out of the way as he hits the puck. It goes in between the goalie's legs, another point for us.

Fulton cheers along with the crowd, and the goalie throws his stick down. The buzzer goes off, signaling the end of the game. We won, obviously, and the score's 11 to 0.

The whole bench is cheering as we skate over, Coach screaming "yeah!" over and over again. He throws his fist into the air, overjoyed at our second victory.

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I stand outside the dorm door, showered and no longer sweaty from the game. I had changed into light jeans, a sleeveless cream tank-styled shirt, and my white converse, much comfier than the ugly Team USA tracksuit that Connie decided to put on after. I know they were given to us by Hendrix, and they are our team tracksuits, but I think they're awful.

I lift my hand and knock on the door, rocking back and forth on the balls of my feet impatiently. The door swings open, revealing Goldberg, who's wearing nothing but a pair of black jeans. "Oh, my God, Goldberg!" I look away from him, turning sideways.

"What! You knock at your own risk, Meg! Chances are, most of the time, being answered by a shirtless dude," Goldberg retorts. "Why are you even here?"

I roll my eyes, placing my hand on my hip. "I was just wondering if Dwayne was here. I have something for him," I explain, tapping my foot.

"Yeah, yeah, hold on," Goldberg steps further inside, tilting his head backwards. "Hey, Cowboy! You're girlfriend's here!" Goldberg chuckles as my face heats up, a blush rising to my cheeks.

A hand shoves Goldberg lightly out of the way, and Dwayne's face appears in the doorway, an annoyed look on his face. That look, however, disappears when he sees me, and he gives a bright smile. "Hey. Sorry about Goldberg, he's just bein' Goldberg." He closes the door as he steps outside, wearing his light blue Team USA jacket, cowboy boots, and his hat.

"Hi," I respond, silently praying that my cheeks have turned back to their normal color. "Yeah, no it's fine. Uh, here," I hold out my hand which had been clutching his tee from last night. "Here's your shirt."

He takes it from me, smiling gratefully. "Thanks, Meg. You're the best." I grin at his words as he inspects the now clean shirt.

"It was no problem, really. It was nothing," I casually say, shoving my hands into my pockets. We stand there for a few moments, no talking just us staring back at each other.