Icebound: Chapter 5

We hand Denver their asses on a silver platter fit for the King of England himself.

Two minutes into the game, Denver’s goalie chokes, and Patty hits a slap shot right through the five-hole.

What a beauty.

In the second period, Denver starts racking up weak penalties—slashing, holding, even tripping.

The bastards.

In a dirty move, Forty trips Cruz with his stick, but our boy bounces back up like a goddamn gopher. His backhand rebounds off the boards, soaring right into their net while Forty gets time in the box.

We fucking chirp like crickets.

They send puck after puck flying my way, but I’m the Wall of Steel. Denver doesn’t get a single shot past me, and the buzzer rings through the rink when we secure a shutout.

The locker room is electric after the game.

“Fuck yeah!” Cruz shouts, spitting water from his mouth. “I’m a goddamn legend. Who wants to suck my dick as a thank you?”

“Pass.”

“Hell no.”

“Suck your own dick.”

Even though the rookie curses every other word, Micah Cruz has a good heart buried under his ego. The kid’s an instigator, and while he’s quick to drop gloves, he’s even quicker to forgive.

The guy never forgets a teammate’s birthday. Not to mention he’s a warrior on the ice with some downright hilarious trash talk.

Everyone waves their jerseys in the air, but I’m frowning as I pull my phone from my stall. The smell of sweat, tape, and cleaning supplies permeates the locker room.

At least the pungent scent is a nice distraction from the funny doctor who’s been dominating my thoughts. It’s been ages since I’ve hit it off that easily with a woman, but I might be the only one feeling this because she still hasn’t texted me back. Our date’s supposed to be tomorrow, but crickets respond faster than Nina Alstyne.

Why didn’t she text me back?

Did she look me up online?

I hope not. If she did, she’s going to find those Tenerife pictures, but that past version of myself might as well be a stranger I don’t want to meet.

“Alright, gentlemen, huddle up.” Coach Watson sweeps her gaze across the team. Her piercing steel-gray eyes challenge every player as she launches into her post-game debrief.

At five-foot-four, Patricia Watson’s gray head barely reaches the shoulders of most men here, but her raw intensity commands attention. As the daughter of a hockey legend and a former player herself, she’s a well-respected head coach within the League.

“All in all, great work today,” she says in a voice steadier than a Zamboni. “This is a testament to the hard work, dedication, and countless hours we’ve put in, so enjoy the celebration, but don’t let it get to your heads. We’ve still got half the season left, and we’re going for the Cup this year. Now, get some rest.”

My teammates laugh, push, and shove each other out of the locker room. I slap the back of one of the fourth-line rookies. “Nice work out there, Jenkins. The way you found the back of the net was nothing short of artistry.”

“Thanks, Tremblay. Means a lot coming from you.”

He grins, showing the gap left by a puck that hit his jaw in our opening preseason game. I grimace in return. Been there. It’s rough, but he’s on the list to see the team dentist for some veneers, and Dr. Alder works magic.

I make it a point to give each one of my teammates a solid pat before pulling out my crossword from the locker, needing to decompress after the adrenaline rush.

It’s a decent distraction from a word that starts with N and ends with A.

“Fuck, I hate that we have to go commando for every game,” Cruz says, itching his crotch. “My balls are chafing against my jockstrap. You sure I can’t wear one of those man girdles?”

Patty hides his laugh with a cough. “Hey, we’re icebound… Bound by the rituals of the hockey gods, my man. You know it’s bad luck if we don’t go commando for every game. We win as a team, and we go commando as a team.”

Patty and I exchange a glance, trying like hell to keep a straight face. We’ve kept this commando lie going with Cruz since our opening pre-season game. We’ve all got our superstitions, but I pulled one over on Cruz because the veterans did the same to me all those years ago, and I’m passing the torch.

Cruz tugs at his pants. “I fucking hate this tradition.”

My phone buzzes, and I lurch forward like it’s a puck flying at me, hoping to see Nina’s name, but a muscle ticks in my jaw when I read the screen.

My jaw clenches as I shut off my phone, irritation rippling through my body like it does every time I see Morgan’s name on my screen.

Cruz pokes his head over my shoulder, but I slap his hand away. “Don’t touch my crossword.”

He whips his hair, sending droplets of sweat flying onto my paper. “What the fuck crawled up your asshole? A wasp? Did you not see that saucer pass I intercepted? We slaughtered Denver.”

Patty ties back his blond hair. It must be irritating as shit keeping it long. “He’s mad that his doctor driver ghosted him.”

I glare at the crossword like the words have a hidden message that will decode Nina’s thoughts. I wasn’t angry at first because I don’t want to force someone to go out with me, but the more I thought about it, the more it annoyed me. Am I not good enough for a doctor?

Women tell me I’m an attractive guy, and no one’s ever ghosted me before. I’m used to women jumping into my bed—headfirst.

I take off my jersey. “Technically, she didn’t ghost me. She was pretty blunt about ending things.”

Cruz slaps my shoulder. “Look at you, actually knowing the definition of ghosting. Did your crossword teach you that, old man?”

I grit my teeth. His old man comments are getting on my last nerve. Yeah, my back might hurt in the mornings, and sure, I get knee pain if I don’t take an ice bath once a week, and alright, my ideal Friday night includes getting nine hours of sleep, but your thirties are not old. Sixties aren’t even old. Age is a mindset. Cruz just thinks he’s invincible. But it’s hard not to feel old when I’m surrounded by guys in their early twenties, and have to compare myself to all their stats.

“Old man? I’m thirty-three,” I cut out, fully aware that my piss mood has everything to do with a certain doctor.

“You’re right. I should show some respect for my elders. I mean, you were born in the nineteen hundreds.”

I level him with a glare. “Is that really what we’re calling the nineties now?”

“Hey, give it up to your elders,” Patty says. “I was born in the nineteen hundreds too.”

Cruz rubs a towel over his face. “Yeah. It’s prehistoric. I bet you guys still look at magazines when you jerk off.”

I smack the kid with my crossword. “At least I don’t get hard while watching goat videos.”

“For the last fucking time,” Cruz yells, going from zero to a hundred in a second. “I was thinking about something else. I already had a semi when Patty started playing that video.”

“What were you thinking about?” Patty interjects, snickering. “Horses?”

We bust out laughing.

Whenever tensions rise, Patty’s the first to get everyone to simmer down. He’s a man of few words at first, but he’ll talk for hours once you get to know him.

Our right winger possesses a heart of iron, all while exuding a golden boy charm with his farm-boy drawl and that baby girl on his hip. I swear the guy’s gilded in integrity. Wyatt Patterson’s a true beauty with that rare ability to command respect on and off the ice.

Cruz unscrews an electrolyte drink. “Don’t fuck with me. I’ve got a lot of pent-up energy after that damn puck bunny edged me for like three hours, then fell asleep on me.”

“Stop calling your one-night stands puck bunnies,” I say. “You realize women are responsible for half our ticket sales, right? Do you really want to piss them off?”

Cruz scoffs. “They like being called puck bunnies.”

I squirt water in my mouth. “Not when you say it like that, they don’t.”

“You want to talk about pissing off women? What happened to all those stories I heard about you? Where’s Tenerife Threesome Tremblay? He sounds like a good-ass time. I want him back.”

Threesomes are a lot of work, and I only have one mouth. Yeah, I had a good time in my twenties, and so did the women I slept with, but I’m almost thirty-four. I’ve had pickles in my fridge last longer than my relationships.

“That was one time, and it happened years ago,” I say. “Stop bringing it up. Camille spent way too much time taking down those articles, and I still can’t get any sponsorships because of it, so I have manners now.”

“Manners?” Cruz snorts. “Is that what you call fucking two women at once? ‘Cause if that’s the case, my mom raised me wrong. Why the hell have I been opening doors?”

Patty groans. “That’s it. My daughter’s never dating. I’m going to buy a castle and lock Betty up when she turns thirteen.”

My shoulders sag like they do every time Patty brings up his baby girl. He has someone waiting for him, someone who relies on him. All I’m coming home to is a cat that scratches me as a greeting because I couldn’t bring myself to declaw him.

Wiping away the thought, I lift my leg on the bench, stretching my groin. “You won’t need to lock Betty up in a castle because you’re going to raise her right, so she’ll know exactly what kind of man she deserves. Her standards are going to be so damn high, thanks to you.”

Patty rakes a hand through his hair like he wants to pull out the strands. “How am I going to protect her from the assholes of the world? I think I’d shoot myself in the foot if she dated someone like Cruz. No, actually, I’d kill Cruz.”

The murder victim in question swats Patty’s leg with a towel. “Hey, she’d love me. I’m very generous in bed. Just ask Tremblay’s sister.”

“Nice try.” I throw an empty bottle at him. “Rowyn would never date you. She’s got standards.”

He shoves his tongue in his cheek. “Wanna bet?”

“I’m a terrible role model,” Patty continues, interrupting again like the peacekeeper. Good thing, too, because I was tempted to smack Cruz for that one. I’d break his lucky stick if he tried anything with Rowyn.

“Hell, I almost gave my daughter honey. How come no one told me you can’t give newborns honey? People should talk about that more, or at least put a warning label on the bottle.”

Cruz swipes a towel through his hair. “I think they do, man.”

“Nice. Even you know that,” Patty moans, throwing his water in the recycling bin. “I’m a shitty dad.”

“Hey, listen to me.” I pull Patty into a hug so Cruz can’t hear. “Only great parents feel like shitty ones. You’ve got one hell of a support system, and you know what Betty’s going to see when she grows up? She’s going to see her daddy chasing his wildest dream, and that’ll make her want to be just as wild as you.”

Patty wipes his eyes, but this is his norm now. He cried at a pet food commercial because Betty laughed at the mini dachshund eating dog food.

“Thanks, Tremblay. I needed that. My mom gave Betty a blueberry for the first time today, and I didn’t get to see her eat it, which sucks. She makes the funniest faces when she tries new things.”

Cruz grabs two foam rollers. “Why the fuck would you want to see her eat a blueberry? I’ll eat a blube for you.”

Patty scowls. “I don’t want to see you eat a blueberry.”

My phone rings, and I lurch for it, but my shoulders slump when I see Rowyn’s name and not Nina’s.

I put my phone to my ear. “Hey, Wyn, what’s up?”

Cruz moans. “Is that your sexy-as-fuck sister? Tell her I miss her, and I think about her all the time.”

I point at him. “Don’t go there.”

That’s all it takes for my twenty-two-year-old sister to launch into her monologue. “So, my professor failed literally everyone in the class yesterday, so we all went for drinks to drown our sorrows. Have you heard of a Sourtoe Cocktail? I shit you not, there’s actually a human toe that has been mummified in the salt, but that’s a whole other thing. So, I might have ended up in jail—”

“What? You ended up in jail? Why didn’t you call me?” I demand. “What ha—”

“What the hell?” Cruz shouts, jumping from the bench. “Why’s she in jail? Put her on speaker right the fuck now.”

Patty slaps the side of his head. “Stop talking. We’re listening.”

“Calm down, Ro. I’m talking to you, aren’t I?” Wyn says on the line. “I’m fine. I got myself out. No record. Anyway, what were we talking about? Can I borrow your jersey for a Jocks in Socks frat party next weekend?”

My sister almost gives me three aneurysms by the time she finishes talking. Every time I chat with Rowyn, I swear I age a decade.

Her wild nights make my weekend naps look like a documentary on snails, which is why I need someone in the same life stage. I can’t imagine Nina calling me up to ask if she can borrow my jersey for a party.

“Tremblay!” Coach strides into the locker room with her mouth in a flat line. “Camille wants to see you in her office.”

Camille Bernard is one of the top sports agents in the industry, and after the way she handled the Tenerife Incident, I’d trust her to fly a plane blindfolded.

“I’ve got to go, Wyn,” I say. “Coach just walked in, so I’ll talk to you later. Love you.”

“Love you most!” she says before hanging up.

I stride over to Coach Watson. As I approach, she nods to my leg. “How’s the knee?”

“Good,” I lie. There’s a slight twinge, but there’s no chance I’m admitting that when it’ll only start more retirement rumors.

Coach purses her lips. “Go see one of the PTs before you talk to Camille. We need you to be playing in top shape since your contract’s up this season, and you’re hesitating a split second before dropping into butterfly. Stop pushing yourself to the limit, or I’ll pull you, so you’re forced to rest. We need you focused.”

The pressure of her words settles on my shoulders, but I’m used to the weight. Still, it’d be nice to have someone to lift it off every once in a while. “I’m always focused.”

“Good.” She slaps my back. “Stretch and then find Camille. She seemed excited to tell you about something.”

After stretching and showering, I’m ready for bed, but when I round the hallway with Cruz droning on about his latest hook-up, I find Camille walking up to me with her black curls bouncing. My agent could run for office in her navy suit, and she’d win.

“Tremblay. Come with me. Now.”

“Someone’s in trouble.” Cruz winks. “Hey, Cami. Am I in trouble too? I feel like I’ve been a very bad boy. I could use a spanking. Make it a hard one.”

“Keep flirting with me, and I’ll file a sexual harassment claim to make you stop,” she retorts in her typical no-nonsense tone. “Unless you have a vagina hidden under your jockstrap, I’m not interested. I’m taking Tremblay from you.”

She nods her head, and I fall into step behind her as we pass the Hall of Fame jerseys. I glance over my shoulder to see Cruz dry humping the air before I roll my eyes and turn back around.

“Is he dry humping the air again?” Camille asks.

“Yeah.”

She keeps walking forward. “Stop dry humping, Cruz, or we’re circling back to that harassment claim!”

“Sorry, you know I’m only joking!” Cruz calls from behind. “You’re my favorite, Cami.”

“Excuses, excuses,” she mumbles.

“What’s going on?” I ask as we round another corner. “Please tell me it’s good news and not another old scandal that’s resurfaced on social media.”

Her heels click on the tile. “Not here. We’ll talk in my office. I’ve got a call scheduled that I want you on.”

I hold open her office door, letting her stride inside. She takes a seat behind the giant glass desk. “What’s going on?”

She taps her nail-colored nails on her keyboard. They’ve got frosted tips. “Here. Read this.” She turns the computer screen to show me an article online. I scan the headline.

Rhode Tremblay and Mystery Girl Save ¡Vamos! CMO Andrea Peña’s Son After Asthma Attack Post-Car Crash.

I stiffen as I read. ¡Vamos! is big time. They’re famous for their all-natural protein bars and have commercials in the Super Bowl. The buñuelo flavor is addicting. I once ate six of them after a game.

There’s a picture of me and Nina looking like a superhero duo, but there’s no doubt I’m the sidekick. Damn, I forgot how cute she was with those glasses. Why the hell did she turn me down?

Nina’s handing the boy a cold brew coffee with a warm smile, and I’m bent down beside him, rubbing his back.

Camille grins, kicking her black heels on her desk. “Guess who’s interested in sponsoring you because of your good Samaritan act? Andrea Peña’s calling me soon.”

“No shit!” I jump out of the rolling chair, sending it flying back into the door.

If I can secure a sponsorship with one of the most prominent brands in the sports nutrition industry, that will settle these retirement rumors. No more talk about my contract year. “You better not be joking, Cam. You know I’ve been trying to find someone ever since Quench pulled out.”

She threads her fingers behind her head like a corporate powerhouse. “When do I ever joke, Tremblay?”

“Good point.”

Her phone rings on her glass desk. “Speak of the devil…” She swipes it open. “Andrea, it’s Camille Bernard. Great to talk with you. I’ve got Rhode Tremblay on speaker with us, as promised.”

“Mr. Tremblay, it’s a pleasure to speak with you again,” a smooth voice rings through the line. “I don’t have much time, but first, I’d like to express our deepest apologies regarding the tire incident. I’m so glad you and your partner weren’t injured. Rest assured, any damage caused will be compensated.”

I keep my mouth shut. I’m not about to correct the energy bar industry’s most prominent CMO on the partner thing. “Don’t worry about it, Ms. Peña. I’m glad everyone was alright.”

Camille gives me a thumbs up of approval. I give her one back, trying not to fuck this up.

“You and me both,” she says. “But please, call me Andrea. Your assistance during my son’s time of need was greatly appreciated, and for that, I’d like to personally thank you by inviting you to our sponsorship event next month, and please bring your partner. I’d like to extend my gratitude to her. Perhaps we could discuss some business opportunities over drinks.”

“Thanks, Andrea. I’d be honored. We’ll be there,” I blurt without thinking.

Do I tell her Nina’s not mine? No. I don’t want to risk correcting her, and it’s not a big deal. If Nina can cut into brains, I bet she can make small talk. Plus, this gives me a reason to see the cute doctor again.

“Excellent,” she says. “My assistant, Matthew, will be in touch. I look forward to seeing you again.”

We talk for a couple more minutes about logistics, but I’m too keyed up with energy to focus, so Camille takes control.

After we hang up, Camille gives me one of her famous confident grins. “I’m guessing I don’t need to tell you what a big deal it is getting someone as big as ¡Vamos! to back you. I didn’t realize you were dating someone, though. That would’ve been nice to know.”

I blow out a sharp breath. The thought of seeing Nina again has my stomach churning with nerves, but they’re the good kind.

It’s been a while since a woman’s made me this nervous, and I want to impress her, especially since she seems so damn underwhelmed with me.

“Her name’s Nina, but we’re not dating. We’re not even together.”

Camille hums under her breath. “Well, you probably should’ve asked her first before committing her to an event, so you better see if she’s willing to pretend for one night.”

My mind’s working at warp speed, already concocting a plan. I type out a text, almost misspelling a few words thanks to my eagerness.

I almost drop my phone. Holy shit. She actually responded. I re-read my text, grimacing as I type a new one.

Well, damn. I slump toward the screen. Maybe I should let her go. After all the shit I pulled in my twenties, I’m not good enough for someone like her. Hell, she saves lives. What the fuck am I doing? Entertaining America?

I stare at the screen, bouncing my knee. If this doesn’t work, I’m out of ideas. There are dots, then nothing. Dots. Nothing. That happens ten more times before a text comes through.

Even though she’s texting me back like I’m a tax collector, I can’t stop grinning on my way home.