In the morning, most of the guys are moving slowly while we gear up in the locker room for our early rink time before our game later. I grin at Cameron while he gingerly tugs on his leg pads next to me.
“Feeling it?” I pull my practice jersey on before checking the blades on my skates. “That’s why I cut myself off at two drinks.”
He huffs weakly, whipping me with his jersey. “Shut up. You’ve been in the same boat.”
“I definitely like being the one not hungover.” I dodge the glove he chucks at me.
Noah catches it. He’s half-dressed, hanging out in the middle of the locker room. He’s been selling all of us on surfing after he picked it up over his summer back home in California.
“It’s this little beach town my family visited right before I came back for training camp. The dude who runs the surf shop in South Bay is rad.” He mimes surfing. “Someone come fan my hair so you can get the full effect of how badass I looked cruising those waves.”
Elijah snickers at his antics, stopping when he spots someone in the hall. “What’s up, Kincaid?”
“See you out there guys. Let’s have a good practice.”
Cole Kincaid is one of the assistant coaches. He started about two years ago when our old defensive coach retired. He’s seen me, Cameron, Noah, and Madden develop to the players we are now. Having a younger coach much closer to our age has been great.
We go to him whenever we need anything. He’s the one we call when we’re in the shit. He’s like an older brother for all of us.
“Bauer!” Several guys say it in unison at the sight of Coach Kincaid’s black lab mix padding after him through the locker room wearing a blue bandana with the Heston U Hockey logo.
The dog eats up the attention, his whole body wriggling in excitement. He’s like our mascot after Kincaid got the dog in the middle of the season last year.
“Look how big you’re getting,” Noah says while the dog weaves through his legs. “Toss me a puck.”
Madden pops it in the air with an underhand throw, losing his permanent moodiness for a moment while we all watch Bauer go nuts for his favorite toy whenever Kincaid brings him to the rink. Once he’s got the puck to gnaw on, he takes it around to everyone like he’s showing it off.
Noah comes over and holds his phone up, rolling right into recording a clip for the team’s social media. “Are you a dog or cat person?”
“Get the phone out of my face, Porter,” Madden grumbles. “I’m too hungover for this.”
Noah chuckles. “That’s what you get for not taking my hangover cure last night. I’m telling you, hydration is key. It’s how I can still lift in the weight room the morning after to keep these sexy guns pumped up no matter how much I’ve had.”
He flexes and smacks a kiss on his bicep. I snort, giving Coach Kincaid’s dog attention when he brings the puck he’s chewing to me and drops it once I pet him. The dog’s tongue hangs out in a happy pant while he melts down to flop on his back at my feet.
“Better not be too much.” All of us straighten at the stern call from Coach Lombard before he enters the locker room. “I see players in my locker room rather than on the ice for practice. Are we going to fix that?”
“Yes, sir.” Noah loses his playful nature.
“Let’s hit the ice,” I announce.
Everyone picks up the pace, putting on the last of their gear. I head for the rink with Noah and Cameron.
Noah pats my shoulder. “That chick was hot last night. Did you hit that?”
We lose our skate guards and step through the gap in the boards. It’s always like coming home whenever I feel the crisp chill nipping at my skin and the first glide of ice beneath my blades.
“Nah, I wasn’t in the mood.” I follow the flow of everyone else with our usual free warm-up of skating a few loops around the rink to get our blood pumping.
“You? Not in the mood?” Noah smirks and bumps his shoulder against mine before he skates around me in a tight circle. He might play defense because of his muscle mass and broad frame, but he’s got damn good footwork.
He points his stick at me when he overtakes me, flipping around to skate backwards. “You’re still hung up on your mystery girl.”
“Maya,” Cameron sing-songs beside me. “I’m telling you, man, you should’ve seen him when we ran into her at the grocery store. E was struggling like I’ve never seen before.”
“Wow, I never pictured our boy with performance issues.”
“Keep it up. I’m not going easy on either of you today.” I grin, shaking my head. Finishing another lap, I scoop one of the pucks up, popping it onto the edge of my stick. “I’m making defense work. You’re both going to feel this one through both games this weekend and every practice until we play UConn.”
Noah and Cameron bump fists, then take positions with grins. I flip the puck off my stick and toy with them, zipping back and forth without going in for the attack.
Elijah skates over and links up with me when I evade Noah. I see the drive I had to prove myself in him. I catch his eye and give a small nod to signal it’s go time. Madden appears out of nowhere to pick up a three-man attack.
They whip the puck between them with wicked speed to keep Noah on his toes before sending it to me when I’m in the perfect position. My slapshot flies towards the net.
Cameron dives into a slide, arm outstretched for a glove save. The puck misses his glove by a scant inch and glides through the crease.
“Oh!” I hold my arms up. “That’s how it’s done, boys.”
“That was fucking beautiful, East.” Noah’s glove rubs my helmet.
Coach blows his whistle to signal warm-ups are over. The team circles up near the bench where he leans against the boards. We’re ready to work.
Practice goes well. The wingers on the first line with me connect all our passes and our defense tightens up. Coach even smiles, which is a rarity.
As long as we keep this up, we’ll make Ryan Donnelly eat Elmwood’s lucky win against us.
After we finish, the locker room is almost empty when I’m out of the showers except for Cameron and Elijah.
“Ready to go?” Cameron shoulders his duffel bag.
“I’ll meet you outside. I’m going to talk to coach for a minute.”
He throws up a peace sign on his way out and the rookie follows him. I get dressed and go to the office.
“Coach?” I hover in his doorway.
He’s seated at his desk reviewing game tape with Kincaid.
“Come in, Blake.”
“I just wanted to talk to you about this thing I saw. I thought the team could do it.” I lay my phone on his desk. “You’re always saying we need to train all sorts of ways.”
“Right.” He holds the phone away, squinting to read. “Yoga, huh?”
Coach Kincaid peers over his shoulder. “It’s great for improving stability and range of motion. Especially for goalies.”
Surprise hits me. There are plenty of ways to train for hockey outside of practice. Some guys take figure skating and ballet classes. It didn’t occur to me that yoga would fall under that, too.
Coach Lombard hums thoughtfully. “Let’s do it. I’ll sign off on a special class. Keep up this initiative, Blake. Kincaid?”
“I’ll take care of it.”
A few days later after our evening workout, I hang back while the guys go inside the house. I take a seat on the porch steps, allowing my bag to slump beside me. I taped my stick before practice this morning, but I redo it anyway to keep my hands busy.
I’ve let my fixation on Maya take me on a ride. Coach commended me on my way out of his office when practice ended Saturday morning. He believes I suggested goat yoga for alternative training because of my dedication to the game. I’m always looking for ways to edge out our competition by doing everything to train at peak condition.
The truth is, I really want to see her. There’s no doubt how much I like her, which makes me fucking nervous because I’ve never been in this situation before. This is brand new territory to be more interested every time I see her.
At first she caught my attention because I was curious how she had the guts to sit front and center in the Heston student section, cheering for the opposing team. Then she held my attention with that dance in the bar and her intriguing challenge. After only a handful of encounters, I’m drawn to her, searching campus for her in every brunette I pass, hoping it’ll mean I get five minutes with her.
Maybe in the past I’d fuck her a few times and get it out of my system, but this isn’t about that. Yes, I want her. Obviously I want her. But it’s more than that. I’ve been thinking about hanging out with her and holding her hand, for fuck’s sake.
This is beyond simple attraction to her because she’s hot as hell. I’ve never become so consumed by an unending desire for a girl like this. I want more—way more than I should. If I’m this crazy over her when I hardly know her, I can only imagine what it will be like once I do. The thought is equally exhilarating and nerve-racking.
I haven’t even kissed her yet and I can tell once would never be enough. She’s not a hit it and quit it girl. Not if the strange sense in my gut like I’m excited and freaked out all at once whenever I’m near her is anything to go by. Not when I want to be around her in any way she’ll tolerate my presence.
I just like her. End of.
Our upcoming games against UConn and UMass didn’t factor in when I talked to coach.
UConn is always a tough team that we fight neck and neck with to win overall in our division on the road to Frozen Four. Playing UMass is personal for me. I fight for every win against them. Their recruiter came to a few of my games in junior league, but ultimately they passed on me.
At eighteen, that shit stung. By now, I know I’m where I should be. Since I started at Heston, I’ve put the work in to prove to the coaches, to my teammates, and to myself that I’ve got what it takes to take us all the way every time.
Am I putting all of that at risk if I keep chasing Maya? This isn’t the time to split my focus. Being drafted from the NCAA is a slim chance at best, yet it’s way better prospects to reach the NHL that way over going the free agent route.
I have been skating my ass off in games, especially against Vermont last weekend. In fact, I played incredibly every time it was my shift on the ice. We won in a shutout, and I’m not going to lie, I wanted to win it for her because she wished me luck. Even if she wasn’t there to see it.
If I can win while she’s on my mind, it’s okay, right?
“Doesn’t have to be a bad thing,” I reason under my breath.
There are guys on the team who have girlfriends. They find the balance, like Keller used to say to me and Cameron as rookies. He and his girlfriend—now fiancé—made it through okay, so maybe I have nothing to stress out over.
There’s never been a deeper connection to worry about before. I’ve worked so hard at keeping girls as a surface level thing so I’m not distracted from my goals. Screwing that up now when I’m so close to the goals I’ve been striving for could be the end of everything. It hasn’t been an issue until her.
I never expected a girl to catch my eye, least of all Donnelly’s sister.
Maya turns me into a man possessed. Obsessed.
The only thing I’ve ever been obsessed with is playing hockey.
When I’m around her, there’s nothing I won’t do to earn her gorgeous smile. Then when she’s not around, I hear her voice, imagine her sarcastic eye rolls that ignite something warm and thrilling within me. She’s constantly on my mind.
And half the time, it’s like she barely acknowledges that I exist.
A soft laugh leaves me. I set my stick aside and massage my forehead. What the hell am I doing?
The shuffle of feet on pavement draws me out of my thoughts.
Neil Cannon pauses in front of the short pathway leading up to the house, eyeing me. The retired NHL player is a local legend. He comes to all of our home games and usually takes a walk about this time. Some of the guys think he does it to keep an eye on the players coming back from practice. He stops sometimes to offer his advice.
After another moment of scrutiny, he turns down the path and takes a seat beside me on the porch steps with a gruff, crackling hum. Neither of us speak until he sighs.
“I don’t have all night.”
“Uh.” I’m not clear on what he means.
“Talk,” he grumbles without making any move to go. “Better be quick, or I’m leaving you to sort out what’s on your mind for yourself.”
“Oh. Okay, right.” I clear my throat, pushing my fingers through my hair as I search for where to start. “I’m just out here thinking about a lot of stuff.”
Cannon snorts. “You don’t say.”
His crabbiness is a staple around town. He’s got a hard shell to him, but it doesn’t put me off. If anything, it sets me more at ease and gets me to open up.
“Yeah. A lot’s changing and the pressure’s on. This is my last year to make it in the draft. I’ll be above the age requirement before next season.”
“You’re the team captain this year, I hear. Lombard drinks with me down at the sports bar.”
“Yeah. I wasn’t expecting it, to be honest. I thought Reeves would’ve made a better captain.” I scrub my face. “And I just need to stay focused. This is when it counts most.”
“But you’re not focusing,” he surmises.
I duck my head when he levels me with an expectant look, lifting his bushy gray eyebrows. Sliding my lips together, I pinch the zipper on my duffel bag to tug it back and forth.
“I am, it’s just—there’s…a girl.”
“Uh huh. Always is.”
“Usually it’s not a problem, except I can’t stop thinking about her.” Warmth prickles through my chest. It’s strange to unload like this about feelings. Especially to him. “I never expected there to be anything in my life that could possibly rival my concentration on hockey, and I don’t know what I’m doing.”
Cannon narrows his eyes. “Holding back never did anyone any good.”
I blink, nodding at his advice. It gives me a new perspective I hadn’t considered. I’ve always drawn a line in the sand between me and the girls I’ve been with. No sleepovers. Keep it casual. No repeats if they think what we have is going anywhere, because I don’t let it go further.
But none of them have ever made me crazy the way Maya does. It was easy to hold back with them.
With her, I feel like I’m fighting against a whole team to skate towards the goal.
“Like game seven of the Stanley Cup the year before you retired where everything was riding on that win. Down in points until halfway through third period. Your hat trick tied it up and you won in overtime with a wicked assist.”
Cannon grunts in acknowledgement. That game solidified him as one of my favorite players. I look up to him. Hell, I picked my number because it was his.
“When it’s all on the line, you make it count,” he says.
The heaviness sitting on my shoulders lifts, leaving me lighter. “Thanks.”
“Sure, kid.” He rises to his feet with a restrained groan people his age make whenever they get up, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his jacket. “Buck up. I don’t want to see the Knights get your asses handed to you again on the ice.”
A laugh huffs out of me and I squeeze the back of my neck. “Yes, sir.”
While watching him continue his nightly walk, something Dad used to say to me filters through my thoughts. The players that seem like they have it all are the ones who put the work in, on the ice and off it to achieve their goals. At the time, I didn’t think much of it beyond remembering when to rest my muscles and when to put my all into practicing, but now it rings a little differently.
Having it all could mean I don’t have to draw any lines in the sand when it comes to Maya.
The thought is dangerous, taking root as soon as it slips through my mind. I picture her as something much more than a casual hookup. Coming to my games wearing my number to cheer me on, celebrating my wins with me at The Landmark, eating dinner with me and the guys followed by breakfast the morning after. All things I’ve never had with any other girl—an actual relationship.
I have Mom to talk to. My little brother, Asher, although he’s too young for topics like this. Coach and the assistant coaches. My boys. But it’s not the same. Sometimes I get hit square in the gut with how much I wish Dad were still here with me instead of the hole left behind in my heart after we lost him in the accident.
Five years isn’t enough to make the grief of losing him go away. It will probably always hurt that I lost my dad too soon. I try to be strong for Mom and Asher. It’s my job to take care of them now.
If he were, I think he’d be proud to see how far I’ve come, how hard I’m working to achieve what we both believed I could. Proud of the man I’ve grown to be. He’d want me to have it all.
Including the girl.
The corner of my mouth tugs up with a renewed sense of drive. Hell yeah.
